#But they get along like a house on fire once they do hit it off

[lemmetreatya]

hear me out… the spiderman kiss with miguel 👉🏾👈🏾

it’s a canon event for every spidey (source: trust me)

YES ITS A CANON EVENT, SOURCE: ME!!!!

“thank you for dropping me home.” you say.

walking up the few steps to your house and getting to the front door, you turn to see miguel looking towards you with eyes that gleamed even within the charcoal blue night.

he however, stood at the bottom step.

“no worries.” he flashes with a strong smile. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you wave him off as he turns himself around and proceeds to walk the way you both came. it was disappointing, because you thought the date had gone really well and that you were finally making progress with the man. however, seeing him be that eager to go made your heart sag.

you unlock the door to your apartment and walk in, dumping your bag by the door along with your shoes.

normally after you had a night out and the evening was still young, youd at least have a drink or a few snacks to yourself but all you wanted to do was go to your room and sulk.

flipping on your light switch, you sigh as you fling yourself onto your bed back first, your arm covering over your eyes. you would have stayed like that had it not been for the knock at your bedroom window. suddenly getting up, you shuffle towards it before opening the glass vertically. your face automatically lights up once you see who it is.

“miguel!”

he still had his shirt and smart pants on — smile as big as ever — but the man was hanging upside down in front of the glass.

“i forgot sumn.” he says, but as soon as does, he’s capturing your face in his and pulling you to kiss him within the gap of the window.

the kiss is so tailored for you that it makes you think he’d been practicing elsewhere. you’re not sure if the thought of that made you jealous or if it made you feel special that he’d do all that just for you.

regardless, once miguel (reluctantly) pulls back from the kiss, you stick your arm out to lightly hit his shoulder.

“idiot.”

“really thought i’d just leave you hanging dry like that, huh?”

rolling your eyes, you walk away from your window and back to your bed, only this time you sit on it with your arms splayed behind you.

“whatever. you coming in or not?”

miguel unlatches himself from his webs which drop him on the fire stairway just under your window before crawling up the remainder of the wall and scrambling into your bedroom.

“oh!” he says with a devious grin as soon as he lands onto your floor. “i thought you’d never ask.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Slugger

Evan "Buck" Buckley x shy!probie!fem!reader

summary: you're the newest member of the 118 and Buck will stop at nothing to tease you as a form of flirting and you believe that he doesn't like you, but Eddie is going to do whatever he can to set the two of you up.

word count: 4k

cw: miscommunication, hurt/comfort, jealousy, reader gets hit on by a creep and it’s a little unsettling

part two part three part four part five

As soon as you stepped foot into the fire house, you were convinced that you were home. You couldn't explain it, but it was a lot more cozy than you would have thought. When you looked up and saw the rest of the crew eating a meal together like a family, you knew you were in the right place. You hadn't heard of departments doing that and knowing that they were like family to each other was refreshing.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and slowly made your way up the steps on the hunt for Captain Nash who you knew you needed to report to. And you were nervous to say the least. You always had a bit of anxiety lingering, but especially when it came to a new situation with a new place and people. This was all three and you were honestly just applauding yourself for even getting at far as you did.

As soon as you got to the top step, every single head turned to look at you. You felt your anxiety reach its peak as you realized that you were the center of attention and suddenly felt the urge to throw up. You noticed that everyone had even stopped eating in favor of getting a look at you and it took everything in you to not run down the steps and never come back.

"Hello," the man at the head of the table greeted as he waved you over. "And who might you be?" Your name suddenly floated out of your brain as the man waited for you to answer.

You told him your name once you finally remembered it and the man smiled, waving you over to the table.

"You're just in time for dinner. Take a seat." There was a seat at the end and you reluctantly set your bag in the floor before taking a seat.

"Welcome to the 118," the man next to you spoke. You turned to him and couldn't help but notice how pretty his brown eyes were.

"Thank you," you nodded as the man sitting across from you handed you a bowl that was full of spaghetti. You took it from him and couldn't help but noticed that he was eyeing you suspiciously. Maybe he was thinking that you were a fraud just like you were. He was definitely onto you.

"You're welcome. I'm Eddie," the man put his hand out for you to shake with a bright smile and you completely abandoned the bowl that was being held out to you. You shook Eddie's hand and you couldn't help but notice that it was soft but rough.

"Y/n," you replied softly even though he definitely already knew that since you had just said it. Eddie took the bowl from Buck and served you some of the pasta and the salad along with some garlic bread.

"So, it looks like we've got a new probie," the man across from you spoke. "We haven't had one of those since Ravi."

"Probie?" You had never heard that term before and by the way everyone was looking at you, you assumed that you should have known what it meant.

"Probational firefighter," Eddie replied, leaning closer to you before leaning back up before continuing to eat his meal. You just nodded and began to eat, the man across from you eyeing you for longer than you would have liked.

Buck gave you small smile then went back to his spaghetti and everyone engaged in conversation while you sat there silently, just content to be there.

Just as you were getting comfortable, the siren went off and everyone but you got up from their chairs, making a dash for the engine.

“You coming, probie?” Buck asked as he stopped at the top of the stairs. You got up and followed him, rushing to the engine where the only available spot was in between him and Eddie.

Eddie handed you a headset and you put it on, turning to him just in time to see his warm smile and you mimicked it, feeling grateful to have someone who was nice to you. You could feel Buck nudge you and you turned to your left to see what he wanted.

“I’m Buck, by the way,” he smiled and you thought he was cute, especially his little birth mark right by his eye. “And that’s Hen,” he pointed to the Black woman across from him. “And Chimney.” The Asian man next to Hen gave you a wave and Buck didn’t miss the confused look on your face. “Don’t ask,” he laughed. “And then that’s Ravi,” he pointed to the Indian next to the left of Chimney.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Hen smiled. “I’m looking forward to having another woman in the department if it works out.” You wouldn’t have expected everyone to be so nice on a job like fire fighting and it warmed your heart that they were so welcoming.

“Same to you,” you replied and you began to pick at the skin around your finger nails, trying your hardest to not hum to yourself, something you often did when you were nervous or anxious.

The ride to the call seemed much shorter than it was as you listened to everyone exchange conversation. People usually called you out for being quiet, but you didn’t ever feel the need to speak unless you were spoken to or had something of value to say.

And the 118 seemed to respect that. No one commented on it and you found that odd. At least one person usually had something to say, but they all just talked amongst themselves and would occasionally involve you so you wouldn’t feel left out.

They were a family and that much was obvious, but even on your first day, they were so inclusive, trying their hardest to make you feel like one of them.

Once the engine pulled up to the scene, all of you got out and hurried to the fire that was taking over the house in front of you. You watched Buck, Eddie, and Ravi race inside while Hen and Chimney checked on everyone who was already out of the house. The fire was huge, consuming the house with it's bright orange hue and you desperately wished you could have followed the others into the house.

Your job was to get the others supplies when requested and to assist where help was needed. You really wished that you could have been in the action like everyone else, but you knew that it was just the way it was when you first started out on the job. You were still new and needed to prove yourself before you could really showcase how good you really were.

Ravi came running out with a cat in his arms that somehow seemed unharmed and passed it off to the little girl who had been crying for it. You hoped to be able to do that soon. That was the whole reason why you had even wanted to become a firefighter; to help people. But for the time being, you were going to go above and beyond by doing anything that was asked of you. That was all you really could do until your probation was up.

"Probie, hose!" Buck called out as he rushed out of the house and you quickly hurried to the engine and grabbed the hose before racing over to him. He had everyone clear back then turned on the hose, moving it back and forth to diffuse the fire.

The fire slowly died down and Buck handed the hose back to you which you put away and once everyone was taken care of, you all piled into the engine, you finding yourself between Buck and Eddie again.

Eddie clapped you on the shoulder with a smile that matched everyone else's. They applauded you for you first call and you were beginning to think that maybe you were going to really like it there.

"You actually did a good job, probie," Buck told you and you weren’t sure if that was an insult or an compliment. The word "actually" led you to believe to that he didn't think you were up to the job and that offended you a little. That because you were on probation didn't mean you were cut out to work with him. You had gone through all the training and schooling that he had, so why was he giving you such a hard time?

"Don't mind Buck," Eddie was the one to nudge you this time. "He just likes to tease. Ease up, alright?" He leaned over to look at his friend. "It's her first day." Eddie didn't know why, but he felt the need to protect you.

“I’m just teasing,” Buck replied. “She can take it,” he nudged you. Could you, though?

The rest of the shift was nothing but tiring as you responded to multiple calls and by the end of it, you were beginning to feel super sore even though you hadn’t done nearly as much as the others. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but that was what you liked about it. You felt like you always needed to be challenged and maybe this was finally going to be the job for you.

It had been a week since you started working with the 118 crew and you really did feel like you were fitting in with everyone. Well, everyone except Buck. He was especially hard on you and you weren’t sure why since all the others seemed to think you were doing a pretty good job. He’d tell you that the dishes weren’t washed the right way or that you missed a spot when wiping down the engine. The rest of the crew told him to knock it off, but he wouldn’t let up.

Buck wasn’t doing it because he didn’t think you were good enough, he just felt like you needed a little push. You were working hard, but he felt like you needed to work harder. He was just trying to make you into the best firefighter that you could be, and yeah, maybe sometimes he was being a bit too harsh, but really, all he was trying to do was help.

But that wasn’t the way you saw it. At that point, you were just convinced that he didn’t like you. He just wasn’t as nice as the other’s in the crew and he certainly wasn’t going to tell you what his intentions were. You’d never admit it, but he was starting to frustrate you. Bobby was the one in charge and here Buck was trying to tell you what to do. It was infuriating.

You weren’t going to tell him that, though. When you were angry with people, you tended to just ignore them and pretend that they weren’t there. You weren’t a fan of confrontation so that was the only way to let people know that you were upset. And you felt like it really sent the message in a more subtle way.

Buck didn’t seem to take your silence as anger, though. He just continued on with his teasing and pointing out your wrongs like nothing had changed. Maybe you should have taken a different approach, but what was done was done.

The only thing that seemed to make it worse was the fact that you and Buck turned out to live in the same apartment building. You saw him one night when you were getting off He awkwardly made small talk with you but you just acted as if he wasn’t there, completely ignoring him until the elevator got to your floor. Maybe it was more rude that you were willing to admit, but you had a point to prove.

Every time Buck saw you in the elevator, though, he still tried to act as if the two of you were actually friends. He would try and make jokes with you and when he was feeling a bit more confident, he would even get a little flirty, loving the way you would get all flustered and lower your head so he couldn’t see the adorable look on your face.

Then came the night at the bar. The 118 insisted on taking you out to celebrate your first week and everyone discovered that you were a completely different person when you drank. You were significantly more outgoing to the point where they were convinced that you were someone else. The normal you definitely wouldn’t have danced on the bar.

Buck watched you and Eddie from the other end of the table. He had his arm draped over the back of your chair and he was leaning into you as the two of you whispered and giggled with each other. It made Buck sick, but there was no way in hell that he’d admit that.

“Hey probie,” Buck called from across the table and both you and Eddie’s giggles were cut short, the two of you turning to the man who was trying to get your attention. “You wanna play some pool?”

You nodded enthusiastically and pulled Eddie along even though the invitation wasn’t extended to him. There was no way you were going to be alone with Buck for that long. The three of you headed to the table that was across from the one where you were sitting and Eddie handed you a cue which you gratefully took.

“I don’t know how to play,” you told him. “Can you teach me?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Eddie talked you through the game and you listened and nodded despite knowing exactly how to play. You were just trying to get him to actually help you. You wanted him to stand behind you and help you guide the cue where it was supposed to go.

Buck was the one to break and then the balls were assigned to the three of you. You were pretty good at the game, but you were just trying to get Eddie’s attention, wanting him to help you in any way that he could.

“Can you show me?” You bat your lashes and Buck could see what you were up to, able to see right through all your tricks and he had to admit that you were good.

“Of course,” Eddie nodded and moved to stand behind you. He placed his hands on top of yours and guided you, causing the ball you wanted to hit to be launched into one of the pockets. Buck could feel his blood boiling when you stood on your toes to press a kiss to Eddie’s cheek and was very tempted to throw in the towel right there.

Eddie helped you throughout the entire game and Buck was suspiciously quiet as he watched the two of you. He didn’t like the way Eddie would drape his arm over your shoulder and tuck you into his side. He also didn’t like the way he’d lean down to listen to what you had to say because you were so soft spoken.

What was so great about Eddie? Sure, the guy was his best friend, so he could see it, but what did you see in him? What was the thing that set him apart from Buck? Maybe it was because Buck had a history of sleeping around and that none of his relationships lasted very long, but that wasn’t necessarily his fault.

It was down to Buck and Eddie and they were both competing to hit the black eight ball. Buck seemed to be hitting it a bit too hard and Eddie wondered what was causing him to be so competitive. Anytime they played, it was always a friendly game and now he was acting like he wanted Eddie dead. He was going to have to ask him about it later.

It was Buck’s turn to hit the ball and he turned to you to see if you were watching only to see you applying some lip gloss. You dropped it and bent down to pick it up, giving him a great view of your ass. He was so occupied with his staring that he wasn’t paying attention and hit the ball without even looking.

“Ha!” Eddie pointed at him. “You scratched so I win.”

“That’s not fair!” Buck retorted, putting the cue stick away. He really didn’t believe that it was. He was only human and didn’t think it was fair that he only lost because you had distracted him.

“Life’s not fair, Buckley,” Eddie laughed. “Well, I’m gonna head out and get Chris to bed. Y/n, you need a ride home?”

“No thanks. I think I’m gonna hang here a while.”

“You’ll stay with her?” Eddie asked and who was Buck to say no?

“Yeah, sure, probie, I’ll keep you company,” he patted your shoulder and Eddie gave you and Buck hugs before heading out to his truck, leaving the two of you alone. Both Hen and Ravi left a while ago so it was just the two of you and a few others still there.

Maybe you really were drunk since you were willing to spend time with him. You pulled him over to the bar to get another drink and he was hoping that he could get you to see that he really wasn’t all bad. That he was a nice guy and that he was completely willing to show that to you if you would have let him.

There was a man to the far left, nursing a beer and you briefly made eye contact with him, giving him a smile before turning back to Buck. He, for whatever reason, took that as an invitation to come over to you and got a little close for your liking. You moved closer to Buck to show the man that you were with someone, but that didn’t seem to deter him.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he greeted and you could feel bile rising in your throat. You ignored him and felt a little guilty for doing so, but you knew that you weren’t required to be nice to him.

“Hi,” Buck replied, sensing that you were uncomfortable. As a man, he didn’t see why other men preyed on people when they were clearly uncomfortable. Why they never took no for an answer and would try their hardest to take what they wanted, not caring who they hurt in the process.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the man shot back with a glare. “C’mon, don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Unless you ask,” he winked and you could feel the anger building up inside you. You had been told those words so many times in your life and you were sick and tired of that being a problem for people. Especially men that were trying to hit on you.

“I’m not interested, thank you,” you turned to him and he put on a smile. You also hated that you felt obligated to be polite and felt like someone bad would have happened if you didn’t. What was so wrong with saying no? Why did you feel like you had to spare their feelings when you were the one who was uncomfortable?

“Ah, so she speaks.” You could smell the alcohol on his breath as he got closer and your stomach lurched as you felt like there was no return.

“Can you please leave me alone? You’re making me very uncomfortable.” That only made him step closer and you stepped away, your back colliding with Buck’s chest and he rested his hands on your arms, pulling you into him.

“Oh, is this your boyfriend? I’m into threesomes,” he tried to reach out and grab your hand, but you pulled it away before he could, the bile coming up more quickly now.

“She said to leave her alone,” Buck said. He could see your shaking hands and wondered why your fear wasn’t making the guy let up. He was about to do something drastic until the man spoke up again.

“Why don’t you make me?” Without another word and only having thought about it for a split second, your fist collided with his face, the force causing him to stumble back.

You could see the anger in his eyes as he lifted his head and blood poured from his nose as you shook your hand, hoping that would get rid of the pain, but it didn’t. He clutched his nose then made a beeline for the bathroom to clean himself up, giving you and Buck the perfect chance to call it a night.

Both you and Buck gasped at your actions and you both hurried to pay your tabs before Buck took your hand and pulled you out of the bar to his jeep. All you could think about was how guilty you felt for punching the guy, but you knew that Buck would have just told you that he deserved it.

And maybe he did. He was crossing a boundary and definitely needed to be put in his place. And yeah, maybe a punch wasn’t the best move, but it was the first thing you thought of to do and clearly it had worked.

“Damn, I didn’t peg you for a slugger, probie,” Buck laughed as he opened the passenger door of his jeep for you.

“I’m not. I mean, I know how to, but I never thought I’d have to throw a punch.”

“Well, he deserved it. Are you okay? Can I get you anything? I know that can be scary and I want to make sure you’re good before I take you home.”

“I’m good, Buck. Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Your chariot awaits, ma’am,” he opened the door wider and you got into the seat before he closed it and got in on his side.

You thought he was going to start the vehicle up, but instead, he reached over and opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small first aid kit. He set it on top of the console and pulled out an alcohol pad, some antibacterial gel and some gauze.

“Can I see your hand?” You held it out to him and he opened the alcohol pad before rubbing the stranger’s blood off of your knuckles before putting on some of the gel and wrapping it up in the gauze. “Be sure to put some ice on it when you get home,” he said before letting go of your hand and you almost didn’t want him to. It was soft but rough and you immediately wanted to grab it and intertwine your fingers, letting them rest together on the center console.

The car ride on the way to your building was silent and you were on the fence about how you felt about it. A part of you liked it since the bar had been so overstimulating, but the other wanted to fill it so you wouldn’t have any opportunity to think about all of the things that made you anxious.

You wondered if Buck was going to behave that way with you from now on or if it was a one off because of the alcohol. Granted, he hadn’t had a drink in hours, but still. He was being so caring and thoughtful and you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed.

Buck, on the other hand, still wasn’t able to realize that he was crushing on you. The jealousy that coursed through him when you were with Eddie should have been a tip off, but it wasn’t. He was still convinced that he was just protective, but really, that was the role that Eddie had taken on.

Or maybe he knew how he felt, but was suppressing it because of his dating history. People didn’t seem to want to be with him for very long and he was beginning to think that he was the problem. Everyone was always leaving him behind and he couldn’t stand to add you to that list.

He didn’t think he was good enough anyway. Eddie was the one that you deserved. He was sweet and kind and obviously cared for you. And he seemed to be more of an adult than Buck was. He didn’t sleep around and had actual adult relationships, something that Buck still wasn’t super accustomed to. He knew he could be that for you if that was what you wanted, but he felt like you deserved much better that what he was able to offer at the moment.

He pulled into his spot in the parking garage and the two of you headed for the elevators before Buck pressed the button with the arrow facing upwards before leaning his back against the wall.

You awkwardly stood in front of him, going back to your old self since the effects of the alcohol had worn off. You crossed your arms over your chest then stepped into the elevator as soon as it opened, Buck following you.

You pressed the buttons for both of your floors and actually found yourself hating to cut your time with him short. You glanced at him and were surprised to find that he was already looking at you. He was sporting a cute smirk and all of a sudden, you found yourself wanting to know what his lips felt like. Maybe there was a little alcohol in your system after all.

The doors opened on your floor and you shook off some of your nerves and pressed a featherlight kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

“Goodnight, Buckley.”

“Goodnight, slugger,” he replied, giving you a new nickname that you definitely preferred to “probie.”

You stepped out of the elevator and stood there until it closed, watching it go up, taking your cute coworker with it. As soon as he was alone, Buck chuckled to himself, wondering what had prompted you to kiss him, but knowing that he shouldn’t have questioned it. At that rate, he was going to take what he could get. And if he was going to get more kisses from you, he was really going to have to play his cards right.

[bucks-babe]

Let Me Be of Service

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Pregnant!Wife!reader

Summary: With your growing belly, it gets a lot harder to take care of yourself. Luckily, your husband is always willing to lend a helping hand

Warnings: Fluff, a little smut, reader is heavily preggo, established relationship, Bucky is down bad, Bucky shaves his girl’s cooch and boot, crack fic, embarrassing stories about each other, implied smut at the end, banter, Bucky calls reader Petal and she calls him Duckie

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: A little something something to hold you guys over while I’m working on part 2 of Change My Ways For You. Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

You hear the clashing of pans in the kitchen followed by your husband’s curse. It brings a smile to your lips, knowing that he is trying to make you breakfast in bed, even though he is probably the worst cook you have ever met. When you first started dating, he made the joke that he was the only person that could start a fire with water. 

You didn’t believe him until he actually did start a fire while boiling water at his first and only attempt to make pasta for the two of you to eat. You still have no idea how he managed to do that, but ever since then it’s either you cook, he ‘helps’ you in the kitchen, which is you giving him the easiest thing to do and hope that he doesn’t blow you up, or you order out.

But ever since you got pregnant, doing everyday tasks has gotten harder. You get out of breath from just standing up. Don’t even start with trying to pick something up off the floor. If it hits the ground, it’s going to stay there until Bucky picks it up if you can’t grip it with your toes. Cooking has become a near impossible task for you. Who knew that carrying a super soldier baby would be so hard? 

Your belly was larger than the average woman’s stomach for how far along you are. It wasn’t just that your belly was big though. It caused so much back pain that it was easier to just lay on your side all day, and your feet ached and pulsed from the shortest walk. 

You felt like a bad wife, not able to help take care of the house, or yourself for that matter. But Bucky was a saint, he doted on you every second of the day. He took his leave of absence as soon as you started grunting while moving around. Bucky loved every minute of it though, albeit he hated seeing you in pain, but every change to your body was incredible to him. He was obsessed with how round you were, how full your breasts are, and the cute little pout that is always on your lips.

So you appreciated Bucky for trying to make you something to eat; although you knew it was going to be disgusting, possibly inedible, you would take it with a smile on your face because he tried and that was something you were grateful for.

You decided to get out of bed, not to take over making breakfast in the fear of burning down your house, of course not, but to watch your man in action. When you shifted, however, it became painfully obvious that you were overdue for a shave. The prickly hairs on your pussy were uncomfortable, making putting your legs together almost painful.

You have no idea when the last time you shaved was. All you knew was that it was when you could still see your feet, and that was a loooonnng time ago. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your body hair. He would still eat you out until you had to roll over from the weight of your belly making it hard to breathe. He never once complained about your public hair and you honestly forgot that you hadn’t shaved in so long, until this moment.

Throwing on Bucky’s henley, grateful that he was so fucking beefy so you could still fit into his shirt, although tight around the belly, and wobbled out to the kitchen. Bucky heard you, your feet heavy on the wood floors. “Petal, you’re going to love this! I made you grilled cheese and guess what?” He spins around, bright smile on his face, a grilled cheese plated in his hands. 

“I have officially made something edible without us having to evacuate the house, AND it’s only slightly burnt.” The early morning sun casts a soft glow on his naked chest. He looked like a Greek god, corded muscles topped with a bit of softness, the result of your cooking and less time with the Avengers. 

“Good job, Duckie. Good thing too because I’m starving. Bug isn’t going to stop kicking my bladder until she gets something to eat.” Crow’s feet bloom around Bucky’s eyes. He falls in love with you harder every day, seeing you carry his baby into the world, keeping her safe in your belly.

Bucky sets the singular grilled cheese at your spot on the table, pulling out the chair for you to sit, strong hands grabbing your waist, making sure you don’t strain yourself too hard. He spins around and gets you a cup of your favorite morning drink and places it in front of you, quickly sitting down opposite you, eagerly waiting for you to take a bite.

“Duckie, aren’t you going to have one, too?” His sweet Petal was too good to him.

“Well, Petal, only one turned out.” He gives you a sheepish smile and you can only giggle at him.

“Do you want half of mine then? I don’t mind sharing.” You were starving your ass off, but you wanted to reward Bucky with something for being so good to you.

He vehemently shakes his head. “Uh, uh, Petal, you and Bug need to eat. I can find something else. Now hurry up and tell me if I meet up to your standards.”

Before you take a bite you reach over the table to grab his right hand, running your fingers over the wedding band there. He couldn’t wear it on his left hand, but you wanted everyone to know that he was yours. “You always exceed my standards, Duck.”

Bucky blushes and gestures for you to have a taste. Your eyes widen as the cheesy snack hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is actually good!” Bucky leans back in his chair and does a small victory dance, proud of himself for feeding his wife.

His celebration is cut short when he sees you shift in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Petal, what’s wrong? Is Bug kicking?” Bucky is by your side in seconds cupping your belly, only to find that Bug isn’t causing a raucous.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You look down, away from his prying eyes.

“We have been together for 8 years, Petal. I stood watch while you took a shit on the side of the highway, it can’t be that bad.”

You whip your head around. “Duckie! We don’t talk about that. I told you not to bring that up again. It was one time!” Bucky only laughs and turns his head away.

“Petal, we both know that it was twice and we had to stop by Mcdonalds so you could wash yourself after you wiped with poison ivy.” Bucky was barely containing his laughter, while you were dying of embarrassment. “You know, that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you?”

You scoffed. “When we were stuck on the highway while I popped a squat? That cannot be when you knew you were going to marry me. That is not what you said at the wedding.” 

“Didn’t think that you would appreciate that story being told to all of our friends and family. But your secret is safe with me.”

“Since we are bringing up the past, remember the time you were training with Sam and he hit you in the balls and you pissed yourself. You called me to bring you a new pair of underwear and I made sure no one knew.” You turned your chin up.

“C’mon, Petal, it wasn’t even that much. It was just a dot. And it wasn’t my fault I had a full bladder. Don’t make me bring what happened the other week when you-”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him close to you. “Don’t. You. Dare. We never mention that again, we forget it ever happened, yeah?”

Bucky moans at your dominance, it never failed to get his cock hard. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but you have to tell me what’s got you wobbling in your seat. And I know it’s not because my cooking turned you on.”

You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?” 

“I can’t promise that, Petal, but I won’t judge you.” Of course, Bucky and you always laughed at each other. Never when it was something serious. But you were able to joke around when the other did something embarrassing, but he would never joke about it if you were uncomfortable.

“My pussy hurts.” You squint your eyes, the grumpiest look on your face, and cross your arms.

“Petal, that’s all you had to say. I’m an expert on taking care of my sweet girl. If I lick her bud would that make it better?” You feel your cunt pulse at his words, but the scratching is too annoying to let you get turned on.

“No, Duckie! I mean my fucking hair is too long and it’s poking me and it fucking hurts and I can’t reach to shave because of this huge belly, and it makes me feel like a sasquatch and I just want to feel pretty.” You almost burst into tears, not knowing that you had so many emotions bubbling under the surface, but then again you were pregnant and couldn’t control them.

“Oh, Petal, you are the most gorgeous woman on this planet, shaven or not. And you don’t need to worry about doing anything for yourself, you hear me? If you wanted me to, I would wipe your ass for you.” You sucked your teeth and slapped his chest.

“I’m being serious!”

“And so am I.” 

Without another word, Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and heads to your bedroom and sets you down on the soft covers. “Duckie, what are you doing?” He still doesn’t say anything as he walks into the bathroom to get a towel and your conditioner and sets them on the bed. He leaves the room only to come back a minute later with a bowl of water and his razor. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, Petal, deathly.” He flicks the towel out and lays it on the edge of the bed and sets you there, your feet planted on either side of you and you’re forced to lay back with your belly.

You don’t see what he is up to, but you feel his hot breath fan across your folds and he groans. “Petal, is this making you wet? Your husband between your legs about to service you?” He chuckles as the twitch of your clit. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Makes my cock so fucking hard, could cum in my pants just from eating her.”

“Duckie, don’t lie. I know it doesn’t look pretty. Probably could fucking braid it.” You fight the urge to close your legs. You haven’t had sex in almost three weeks, mainly because your body is so exhausted all the time and you know you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

“Petal, when have I ever lied to you? You think I would lie straight to my pretty girl’s face? How could I lie right in front of Heaven?” He leans in closer and you hear the deep inhale he takes. “And about that braid comment, I learned how to braid hair in Wakanda so that isn’t a problem for me.”

He gets a giggle out of you. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re such a dork.” Rather than hear his chuckle, you feel it, his mouth pressed against your cunt, lapping your juices. “Fuck, oh shit, don’t stop.”

“Mmh, so fucking good. Don’t even need to eat breakfast when I have this meal on a fucking platter.” He dives back in, arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place. With his hands occupied with your thighs, you were able to grind against his mouth, urging him to focus on your clit. Bucky was in his own world, the hairs pressing against his face not deterring him in the slightest.

His groan is deep and sends shockwaves up your spine, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. All at once, Bucky lets go of your thighs and turns away to sneeze. With great difficulty, you sit up and stare at him, perplexed. “Duckie, you better not fucking tell me that my pubes make you sneeze or so help me.”

Bucky falls onto his back, clutching his stomach as his laughter rings out in the room. The obvious tent is his pants still there. “I’m sorry, Petal, just tickled my nose is all.” His entire face is red, each word coming out in a wheeze. 

“Duckie, it’s not funny.” Even at your protests, you feel yourself unable to control your laughter. 

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing, Petal?” Bucky is finally able to control himself enough to sit up and rest his head on your thigh.

“Because you were laughing. Don’t you dare try and eat me out right now.” You push his forehead away, much to his dismay. “Are you going to shave me or not?” Your pout has him pressing his lips together to stop the giggle from leaving his lips.

“Of course, my hedge.”

“DUCKIE!”

“I’m only joking.” 

You lay back and prop your feet up again, jolting slightly as Bucky runs his hands, dipped in water, over your folds and mound. While slightly more prepared for the conditioner, it still feels foreign to have his hands touching you like this.

“Fuck, Petal, just one more taste.”

“Duckie.”

“Fine.”

He starts with your lips, using one hand to hold them tight, taking extra care not to knick your sensitive skin. “Hey, Duckie?” The only view you have is of the ceiling so you don’t see the absolute concentration on Bucky’s face, tongue poking out, and eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, Petal?”

“Do you think it’s normal that I’m getting turned on by this?” Bucky loved that you were comfortable enough in your relationship to casually talk about random things, knowing that he wouldn’t judge you for them, most of the time he was on the same page as you anyway.

“Probably not, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m solid as a rock right now.” You giggle at his casual tone, almost as if he was asking you how your day was. “Don’t move, I’m performing a delicate operation here.” It only makes you giggle more and Bucky has to pull away, leaning over to the side so you could see his face.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just lay here then.” It was Bucky’s turn to suck his teeth in but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Duckie?” Bucky sighs and begrudgingly answers. “Is that my slick running down my ass or water? I need to know how embarrassed I should be.”

“I could give it a taste and answer you.”

“Ew, no. I probably have little bits of hair everywhere.”

With each stroke of the razor you feel yourself relax more and more. The constant presence of his hands soothing you. Bucky taps your leg to signal that you’re done and picks you up, bending you over the bed. “Duckie, we are not having sex right now.”

“Petal, you know that I am very thorough in everything that I do, and I still have your perfect ass to shave” You groan and bury your face into the covers.

“C’mon, Duck, this is worse than before. I feel so exposed.” Bucky rubs his hand down your spine, his other hand reaching under you to support your belly.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, and I’m going to make my girl feel pretty.” He lands a light slap to your right asscheek and grinds his hips against your cunt once before pulling away.

He works just the same, using one hand to spread you open while carefully removing all your hair. When he’s done he pulls back, one hand cupping each cheek. You huff when he jiggles your ass to his heart’s content, letting him have his reward for taking care of you.

“Duckie! Did you just bite my fucking ass?” 

“Couldn’t help it, Petal, so fucking sexy.” 

You contemplate if you should kick him or kiss him. Your decision is cut short when he rolls you over again, now looking at your face. “Petal, we still have two legs to do and they both lead to my favorite petals.”

Fuck, you were in for it.

[oraclekleins]

hello, can you write Joost Klein x musician!reader where Joost and reader met at a mutual friend's party and they hit it off? And they start to develop feelings after a while of being friends!!!

thank you for the request, anon!

Good Luck, Babe!

Joost Klein/Musician!Reader

Fluff, Crushes, 1983 era Joost :-) + Reader is BFFs with Appie!

In the warm summer air, you embrace the night; sprawling out your fingers to trace the stars. The soft glow of string lights from above illuminate the beer you’re nursing in your hands, a dull chill spreading through your palms. You listen to the sound of your own breath in the silence, aside from the soft hum of fire from the pit in front of you, slow and a little raspy. The door to Apson’s house swings open and then closes. It was nice of Appie to invite you in the first place - you never could thank him enough for trying to involve you in his friend group. Usually, you’d politely decline the invitation, not quite having made it past the step of hyping yourself up in the mirror, promising it’d be a good night.

You remind yourself that this was practice for the stage. How were you supposed to perform if you couldn’t even manage to go to one of your best friend’s parties? Grimacing at the thought, you roll your shoulders, a sigh passing from your lips. Apson was the first one to have given your music a chance, having been sat on your bed as you wrote your lyrics, pushing your journal towards him after each edit. He would hum any sort of tune to catch your words, give you some sort of inspiration. It’s easy to be around him, it just feels right ; which happens to make the fear of making a good impression around his friends much worse.

A hand finds your shoulder, heavy and welcoming. You can smell his cologne before he speaks, saccharine and earthy. “Need to go get another case of beer, you coming with?” Apson grins, already tugging you along.

“Of course, yeah,” you’re starting to reply, nearly tripping down the porch steps, your arm catching another body in its stagger for balance. 

His face is a bit mousey, grin curious and friendly. “Careful!” He teases, trailing after Apson. He glances back to you - like he’s making sure you’re following, a bit hesitant. You’re well aware of who he is, having seen hundreds of pictures of him and Appie together, flicking through their stories in a muted envy. Joost .

Appie releases you from his grip once you’re tugging at the passenger side door, Joost trailing after you. “Long time no see,” he says, sugary and faint, dying out into a giggle. 

You climb into the car. He’s fumbling between buckling his seatbelt and throwing Appie’s collection of mess from the backseat into the trunk. 

“You were at Appie’s birthday party, right?” You reply, fidgeting with your hands, beer long abandoned on the side of Apson’s porch. 

Joost looks towards you. “Yeaahh,” he drags out the ah , dramatically. You can tell that he’s doing it to make you laugh, searching for your smile after. “I remember you. The singer!” The singer. You can't help but wonder how much you told him, 6 shots deep and in desperation to look like a good, talented friend. The label makes you a little sick, but you nod.

“You as well? I think I saw your album on Instagram - it was good, really good,” the fabric of your shirt is sticking to your chest, cotton-stiff and uncomfortable. You turn to roll down the window, the still heat wavering in the backseat. 

“Appie! AC?” You whine a bit, tapping at the driver’s seat.

Apson pauses from sticking his keys into the ignition, glaring at you through the mirror. "Roll down the window! I gotta start the car, man."

You sigh, giving up as your back hits the carseat.

Joost glances over again, fiddling with his phone case. "Really cool you saw my stuff. Now I gotta hear yours, okay?" He offers you an earbud, wire already stuck into his phone.

You feel a little nauseous.

ᯓ★

It hadn't taken long for you and Joost to connect after the party. Embarrassingly enough, when you had gotten his follow request, days passed before you finally accepted it and sent a message. It became a lot easier to speak with him, bonding over being independent artists.

Of course, every glimpse of him on your feed had snuck into your dreams, slipping through them like the moonlight in your window. You're startled awake, chest heaving from the thought of his face. Fingers threading through his blonde strands, tangling them and curling them around your knuckle. The thought feels like praying, knelt at the altar, eager for your next glimpse.

You wondered if he knew.

"You're an up and coming, for serious," he would blurt out after every sneak of music you showed him. The endless praise for your work cycled into daily conversation, asking to see what you were working on- or if he could help with anything.

You couldn't help but wonder how long this dance between you two would go, when every touch became an apology for being too shy. When you could lace your fingers with his, joking about the size of your hands, yet too nervous to nestle your face into the crook of his neck.

You feel homesick when his arm isn't wrapped around your shoulder, peeking over your phone to see what you're doing rather than talking to him. He always knows how to make you look up, smile, giddy just to get a reaction.

When he confesses his 'silly', unripe feelings - it feels like the sky itself had opened up and sang for you.

[sapphossparenoterbook]

Hiiii! You said you're writing for AAA, so like a moth drawn to the light I came. 😆 Can you write Lilia x Reader? Reader being the vampire Carmila who inspired the book of the same name and even the Dracula book. 🥰

Crimson Secrets

Lilia Calderu x Vampire!Reader

(This book looks so so cool, I am definitely putting it onto my reading list!)

You’d done this thousands of times before… it was getting old, honestly, but alas, the appeal of sinking your teeth into young maiden’s necks won’t ever be truly boring. It’s just the process leading up to it that makes you suffer with bouts of ennui. 

Walking down a dirt track, you feel your body weaken. You hadn’t drank any human blood in around a week, and the rodents and livestock you find while stumbling along the Romanian country roads. 

Hopefully, no one here has heard the stories of the vampire in Austria that claimed to be in a carriage accident, mainly because you’re about to try that main trick again. One would say that the repetitiveness of your manipulation schemes was getting dangerous, but a vampire lacking their horde often gets desperate to survive. It’s easier to manipulate rather than overpower when you’re alone. 

A bolt of lightning in the distance illuminates the skyline ahead for a few seconds, making the dark bricks of a large looming tower visible to the eye. A tower that high means a castle, and a castle means food, company, and a good night's rest. Annoyingly, the lightning was a late warning for buckets and buckets of rain, but at least now you know where your next meal is. 

It doesn’t take you long to arrive at the castle, your metamorphosis into a bat proving useful once again. Except for the occasional rain drop hitting your wing too hard and knocking you off of your course and into the mud. 

Adds to the appeal of damsel in distress when you knock at the large front door, and a servant–or a butler?-answers the phone and stares at you with an indignant look on his face. Poor guy looked like he was fast asleep right before you knocked, but then again, he wouldn’t have answered as fast as he did if he was asleep…

“Hello… Could I… come in, only until morning–please sir, I promise not to bother anyone–” You say, hoping the damsel in distress act works just as well as it always does. 

“Why are you this far from the village at this hour? These roads are dangerous. Ridiculous girl.” The server-or-maybe-a-butler tells you, god, I hate when they’re grumpy. 

“I apologise, sir, I think there has been a misunderstanding… I was travelling, and I guess the horse was stressed? The thunder struck and he just– collapsed!” You say, feeling tears well up in your eyes before spilling down your face. 

Who was it that taught you how to do this? Irrelevant now, really… they’ve probably burned alive or choked on garlic for all I know…

The butler hands you his handkerchief and you wipe your eyes, pretending not to notice his grimace as the splashes of mud on your face smudge into the white fabric. Yeah, that stain isn’t coming out… 

Just then, a young woman and her mother walk out into the hall, watching as you cry and then rushing forwards to let you in. These are definitely the ladies of the house. 

The woman is dressed in a nightgown, with her grey hair tied into a bun. Her tense pursed lip slightly relaxes as she frets over you. 

Meanwhile the younger woman is still dressed in her full outfit. A large, orange dress, ordained with yellow embroidery, and her brunette hair in a plaited bun, similar to her mothers but with much more time put into it.And her smell–oh god, her smell… It's like rose petals and blood, gorgeous. The sound of her heart beat reaches your ears, and you can’t stop yourself from shivering as she grabs at your arm. 

“Oh, god–you’re shivering, mamma, she’s shivering! Come in, come on… come to the fire…” She says, and tightens her grip on your arm to drag you into the lounge of the great big castle. 

You’re here for days, then weeks… the girl, Lilia Calderu, has bonded to you very quickly. So much that they moved you from the empty maids bedroom next to the kitchen into the grand guest room next to hers. Which makes it much easier for you to slip into her room at night and bite into her pretty little neck, the pale, pure expanse of skin is warm to the touch, and the taste of the crimson liquid that spills into your mouth while she sleeps has quickly become addicting. She’s the best you’ve ever tasted. 

She’s getting sick, most likely from the frequent loss of blood,  so some nights you just spend waking her up and talking to her instead of biting into her sweet flesh, and tasting that lovely blood. This is one of those nights, before this, you’d thought she was just like any other of your victims. 

“Stop biting me!” She yells as she turns to face the other wall, freezing up for a split second. But how would she know? And why would she only react now, when you most definitely were not biting her? 

“Lilia? Are you okay?” You say as she turns back around, she’d grabbed an old book from her shelf that she was previously talking about, and carried on as if nothing had happened. 

“What? I’m fine… why?” She said, and as you look into your eyes you see no ounce of year, and no sign of any deception. Strange, you’d seen people phase out like that before, but only ever divination witches, and they had a much better control over when they’d predict something happening. 

You grin, this is a good, but also bad sign… you could keep seducing Lilia, run away with her if she ever gets caught… sex while drinking blood is always really, really lovely and all. Or, it could always backfire like crazy and she might have a divine intervention about you halfway through dinner with her parents tonight, or something dramatic like that. 

“Nothing, Lilia.” You say with a smile and pat the space on her bed she was occupying earlier. “Come back to bed, read me the book” Your smile widens as she blushes, and gets back into the bed next to you, and you pretend not to react as you rest your head on her chin, oh so close to her neck. 

There’s the telltale sign of lust when she hears Lilia’s heartbeat increase, and she starts to read that book. You chuckle, and kiss her shoulder, slightly dragging your teeth across the skin and hearing the girl stutter. 

Scratch what you’d said before, the lead up to drinking blood from cute young maiden’s necks was definitely not getting old, especially when they act all sweet like this.

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k Pt. 1 | AO3 A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You rub your lower back as you enter the bakery. You focus on the simple task; just a loaf of bread. You have a weak spot for the sourdough there. Just thinking about it, you could salivate.

You wait behind another customer. You think she works at the bank but you’ve never been very good with faces, even in a small town like Hammer Ford. Others don’t seem to have that issue as your name easily rolls off their tongues. The whispers are getting louder now that you can’t hide as easily.

The bank clerk sidles along the counter and glances over her shoulder as you shuffle forward. She sends you a judgmental look but you reserve any of the same. Everyone knows she’s sneaking around with the manager down at her branch.

You tug your shirt down as it threatens to ride further up your stomach. Everything’s too tight these days. Everything’s uncomfortable. Your fingers linger on the hem, touching the taught flesh beneath. Four months now.

“Hi,” you greet the woman behind the till, “can I get a loaf of the sourdough. I’ll take the day old for the discount if you got it.”

She smiles brightly and repeats your order, asking if there’s anything else. You say no. You budgeted for the bread, even a tea would put you too close to the line. She grabs you a loaf and she keys in the day-old discount.

You pay as she slips the wrapped loaf into a paper bag. Before you can turn away, she stops you, “have a cookie,” she points to the plate of shortbread beside the small specials sign. “They’re not moving.”

“I can’t,” you argue.

“You’re doing me a favour. I don’t like to throw them away,” she insists.

You smile sheepishly and take a cookie, hugging the bag above your stomach as you turn and nibble on the cookie. You cross to the door, juggling your armload as you open it, and leaving without a look back. You hear your name again before the door closes.

Who’s the father…

That’s the big question. You’re not married, not dating, so who could it be? The same question got you kicked out of your mother’s house. The pharmacy let you the dingy bachelor above as you spend your days working a till at the front.

You won’t say it, even to dispel the murmurs. You know it wouldn’t solve anything, only add fuel to the fire. ‘She should’ve known better. The golden prince of Hammer Ford is a known playboy. Why wouldn’t she be safe? Why wouldn’t she be responsible?’ They wouldn’t ask the same of him.

As you turn onto the street, your arm hits someone else and you drop the cookie. It cracks on the pavement and you look down, leaning forward to see the ruins. You deflate. Oh well, it was free, after all.

“Sorry,” a voice draws your attention from the spoiled shortbread. You look up at the man. You know him, you think. Again, you’re no good with faces.

He runs his hand over his shaved head then drags it around his beard, “I’ll get you another.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you wave him off, “I should go…”

“Miss, it’s the right thing to do,” he insists.

“Really, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“Me too,” he agrees. 

You tilt your head and push a shoulder up, “well, have a good one.”

You turn to cross the road, looking both ways. As you step down from the curb, the man does the same. Why can’t you remember his name? You swear you ran into him before. Down at The Horn with… him.

He walks parallel to you as you cross the street. You stop and look at him, confused.

“Just seeing you across, miss.”

“Uh, thanks, that’s very nice but you don’t have to do that,” you chuckle nervously.

“I know. Just what I’m trained to do.”

You remember, he’s a soldier. Yeah, Thor mentioned that. Just thinking his name stings.

“Right, well, thanks, I appreciate that,” you put your hand on your stomach and haul the bag higher, turning toward the pharmacy just a shop down.

You hear him follow you again. It makes you nervous. Is he going to the pharmacy? It could be a coincidence, it’s a small town. Still, it’s very odd.

You go to the door just past the store entrance and take out your key. He comes right up and watches you, looming strangely at your shoulder. You hold onto your key and face him.

“You’re pregnant,” he says as if you don’t know.

“Uh, yeah,” you nearly laugh, “I am.”

“Shouldn’t be carrying all that,” he says.

“Just bread,” you answer.

“That father should be getting you bread,” he argues.

You’re put off by his demeanour. He speaks as if he’s giving orders to the world around him. You guess that’s just his nature.

“He won’t be doing that,” you shake your head. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t remember me,” he adds, “I remember you. You were dancing and drinking.” He looks again at your stomach. You put your hand over it defensively.

“I wasn’t like this then.”

“You weren’t,” he frowns then points to your finger, “no ring?”

This is awkward. Where everyone else in Hammer Ford is happy to whisper behind their hands, he’s interrogating you in the street. You shake your head and look down.

“Must not be a real man who did that,” he comments, “I’m Sy, just to remind you.”

“Sy,” you sniff, “right, I–”

He says your name first, “I remember.” He taps his temple, “I won’t forget.”

You swallow and the bag crinkles against your chest, “I’m… gonna go, uh, Sy, my feet hurt.”

“Be safe,” he commands.

“Thanks,” you utter awkwardly and stick your key in the slot. He stands staunchly as he is and as you pull the door open, he reaches to open it all the way and holds it, “got it.”

You keep the fragile smile on your lips and bow inside. He lets it close slowly and you pause to make sure he’s on the other side. You twist the lock into place and recoil. That was very weird.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, attempted murder, burns, needles, injuries, one dirty joke, etc.

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

Running, the wind whips past your face with the force of a hurricane. 

The screams echoed over the abandoned neighborhood, leaking and rising as the illumination of a burning body sent slashing shadows along the remnants of houses. Flailing arms and sizzling flesh. It followed you as your feet slapped the concrete, satchel still at your side and your breath echoing in your ears. 

You don’t know where Duncan is—and you dare not look behind you as you dart into someone’s lawn, bee-lining away from Kurt’s now-silent inferno of burnt hair and cooking meat. Grass that grows up to your knees is shoved aside, broken down to the earth as your panting breath is too loud in your ears. It’s all you can hear now, which may be the worst part.

“Holy fuck,” your hiss under your breath, sweat dripping down your neck. Your hands were skinned in your little fall off the steps, but the sting as you slap your palm to the side of one of the houses is lost to you—pain doesn’t matter when adrenaline takes over. “Holy fuck.”

Your fingers drip crimson along the siding, but you’re gone again with ragged inhales, snapping eyes wide. You need to try and circle back for the car, you tell yourself. Patting your pockets for the hard pressure of your keys, you dash past a trash can and sigh when you feel them still there. 

And then you hear the whistling. 

It’s over the air, and in a skid of shoes, you halt and listen intently—a bird in the eyes of a fox. Lungs heaving, your head jerks around as a tune wafts up and pierces your ears. The sound echoes over the houses, flying across fallen roofs and peeling paint. You’re frozen, night corralling you in. 

“Who does this dude think he is?” You ask, a deep fear in your heart and an eerie feeling up your spine. 

It was getting closer. 

Heart stuttering, your legs take you up the back steps of a house to your left, hand snapping to the rusted handle and shoulder ramming into it. It gives way on the second shove, slamming into the far wall before you hit the ground and push on once more, the air gone from your body.

If Duncan can murder his own cousin in the way he had…what could he do to you?

Feet shuffling, your head moves quickly, taking in the decaying living room and joint kitchen—falling stairs that you instantly choose to run up, hands burning. 

Your only hope was the car; you needed to get to a vantage point, find out where Duncan was, and try to avoid him. It wasn’t any different than what you’d seen on TV…right? 

The wooden floor creaks like brittle bones, and you move across it while the scent of fire is still in your nose—gasoline and dead eyes. Your eyes go from one open door to another, beds covered with moth-eaten sheets. From outside of a broken window, you see shadows along the street; whistling. 

You choose a room at random and slink inside, hands already jerking into your satchel and pushing aside the active recorder—reaching for your phone. 

Looking between the window and the device, your dripping fingers slash through contacts until you can find the only one you think to call immediately. 

Smashing down on the green button, your phone is right at your ear as your heartbeat pulses like a drum. As it sits there, you gaze outside, panting with blood smearing along your flesh. You can’t stop thinking about Kurt—how you’d seen a man get burnt alive in front of you as if it were nothing. You’d heard and witnessed a lot of things and had been in more courtrooms than you can count…but nothing would ever top seeing the whites of a man’s eyes as his body erupted into flames. 

“Okay, okay,” the phone quivers, clothes ruffled. You hiss softly, not willing to make more noise than you have to. “C’mon, MacTavish.”

A long shadow looms in the streetlight and you drop to the floor swiftly, knees slamming the wood, just as the click on the line pushes through.

“Dearie,” the Scot’s teasing voice is a godsend. “Didn’t expect you to call so soon. Not that I—”

“I fucked up,” you breathe, and the fireman’s audible snapping of his mouth would have been comedic in any other situation. “I really fucked up, and I think I need a little intervention here before I literally go up in the flames of my ambition.”

You’re talking so fast you doubt he can even understand you, but you continue as your forehead peaks above the window frame. 

Duncan is at the house next to where you’re hiding. Standing out front with a gas can in his hand and a matchbox in the other. You watch with horrified eyes as he walks to the front porch, pours the accelerant, and steps back to light a match. 

“Oh,” you growl through a hurried gasp. “So now he decides to change M.O.”

The neighbor's home alights. 

He’s trying to corner you.

Johnny’s panicked voice wafts through. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen,” you watch the fire spread, hands spasming. “I was going to wait for you, alright. J-just then I decided to not do that and I—”

“What the fuck!” There’s fast movement on the other side of the line, seemingly paper and pencils hitting the floor as fast feet slam the ground. 

“It’s not my fault I’m a stubborn bitch!” You snap, moving your free hand to the back of your neck and rubbing along the sweat there, smearing crimson. “I can’t get back to the car right now and Duncan is lighting the entire neighborhood on fire to try and catch me. I have all of it on the recorder, and I can’t lose the evidence for the inevitable court case.”

Johnny’s voice is so serious and hard, you know you’ve never seen a side like this from him before. It’s nearly a growl. “I don’t give a shit about fucking evidence. Where are you?”

You rattle off Kurt’s address from memory, face streaked with light from the fire. It was going to spread to this house. The wood is like free food just waiting for it willingly; you have to move before it catches. With the condition of the home, it would only be kindling for a larger blaze ready to overtake the street. 

Johnny’s voice is heavy. “Stay where you are and—”

Your laugh is grim, and you move out of the room rapidly as the boom of falling wood makes the ground shake. Breath nothing more than a shaky jump in your nose, you push out, “Not an option.”

“What do you mean ‘not an option’ what the hell is going on over there?! I swear, I told you not to go without me!” 

“Bring the fire trucks! All of them!” You shout and hang up swiftly as Johnny’s loud call of your name is silenced. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the back door you’d previously busted through creaks on its hinges. 

Above fire, above the pattering of your pulse, your eyes are stuck-still. Stationary. Stiff. 

Duncan stares at you—and you stare at him. 

It’s like time utterly stops, hit in the face by a metal pipe before its teeth get knocked to the ground in a clatter of white enamel. Shell-shocked. 

Your phone rings again—Johnny, no doubt, but when it does, Duncan pounces.

He tosses the gas canister to the ground, followed by a quick match as you curse and race back upstairs. The whoosh of flames bursts into existence as hard boots follow after you, hot on your heels. 

“Shit!” You yell, calling out a firm and fearful, “Duncan!” 

A hand swipes at your shirt collar before you duck and pivot, shifting to brace your feet and ram your shoulder backward. The man takes the force right to the chest and shouts, tilting on the steps with a flailing arm, fingers that card through the air. 

But you’re not quick enough in the rabid getaway. 

A hand latches onto your wrist, and then you’re being yanked down with him into the awaiting arms of the burning fire.

—

Johnny’s whole heart is more active than when he and you were stuck in the sheets together—arousal is nothing compared to the fear he feels. 

The man’s legs carry him quickly into the engine room, grabbing gear and sending out the alarm. Already calls were coming in from dispatch, worried civilians who had said they’d seen what appeared to be twin fires off into the more abandoned parts of the left-to-rot suburbs. 

His panic extends to the next country it’s so far-reaching. Your call—your voice—the things you’d told him and, worse, what you hadn’t. 

Why did you have to be so stubborn?

He needs to get to you, and he can’t breathe properly until he does.

It doesn’t take the firemen long to get into the trucks—the red demons rocketing out of the station with every blaring alarm at their disposal, and at every bump, Johnny’s stiff eyes glare openly at his lap. The others dare not say anything to him; they all know that look.

A man on the edge of a fraying line. Stuck on the knife—waiting for the final twist. 

With all of the gear, MacTavish could be compared to someone heading straight into war, and with the following wail of police sirens, maybe war was where he was always meant to be. Johnny fidgets, his fingers clenching and unclenching above the meat of his thighs, helmet on his head nothing but a weight of reminder. He was there to stop fires—he was there to put them out. 

But even God knew that the second his boots hit the ground, and the rest of the firemen were grabbing the hoses, he would be running into that inferno without a second glance backward. 

Johnny was born and bred from fire, and at the very end of it, the flames would take him back.  

Not yet, he’d say. Not until she’s safe. 

The Scot grabs the face-piece at his feet, fixes it over his visage, and listens to his own rabid breath echo back to him. It was louder than any other sound he’d ever heard.

The shaking of his fingers is a traitorous beast.

—

Dragging an arm over the ground, the first thing you do is cough through black smoke. 

Mind delirious, you blink rapidly, stinging eyes unwilling to stay open for long simply due to the spike of irritation—instinctual tears blurring the few moments of clarity to be offered.

You choke on nothing and burn through all of it.��

Flopping, you force your body up onto its hands and knees, the world tilting even then as palms drag and fingers dig. The second your tears slap your knuckles, a leg to your ribs is kicking you back down. 

Yelling in pain, you sprawl to your spine, body bouncing as the sound of fire eating away drywall and dead wood sizzle in your eardrums. Your skin is sweltering, and you can’t stop the flood of sweat dripping off your flesh—it nearly hurts.

Head shaking, wet hands grasp at your wrists forcing them back. 

“You could have left,” Duncan hisses above the waves of spreading fire. If you wanted to live, you had to get out now. The very bones of this house are threatening to buckle like the spine of an old man—visible rafters beginning to cave. Splintering wood. Creaking. “You could have stayed out of it!”

You yell, legs kicking out with the strength you can muster above the carbon monoxide coursing through your blood. Your muscles need oxygen. You need to breathe.

Your lungs are too tight.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cursing, your body lashes, Duncan and yourself battling along the burning ground as the roof across the room caves in, sending ashes and a large tsunami of orange rolling ever upwards and a shockwave that gives a sliver of an opportunity. 

The both of you hiss, arms moving up to protect your faces. 

Your clothes are ruined—ripped; torn. You don’t even care about any of it. There’s a ferality to you now, a bleeding fear that far drowns even the blood of your skinned hands. As you’re trying to stand again, Duncan tries to barrel into you. 

“I warned you to stop looking into it!” He rages. “Look what you made me do! I killed Kurt because of you!”

You grapple for your satchel, his shadow nearly on top of you before your arms flex and spring like the trigger of a pistol. Swinging the bag back, you send it in an arch with your hands gripping the tough material. The heavy thump and grunt resonates quickly as you hack again, sirens just beginning in the distance totally lost to you. 

“Maybe,” you speak on smoke-tight airways—a heavy wheeze as the fire licks your arms. You shout, almost dropping your bag. “You shouldn't fucking kill people!” 

Your hands grasp the satchel once more, lifting and striking down as Duncan yowls, finally grabbing it and tearing it out of your hands. He wraps his arms around your waist and sends you both directly into the heart of the blaze with an animalistic shove.

Crashing, the immediate flush of fire is so hot that it’s cold—like you’re plunged into ice, even as you feel your skin sizzle. Yet, the resounding scream is nothing compared to the roar of rage as an axe is taken to the last standing wall of the house. 

You fight with Duncan all the while the heat overtakes you, clawing and yelling; nothing more than a banshee of snapping teeth and hatred. The man forces you down, the warmth cooking the skin of your back one patch of flesh and fabric at a time. 

Fingers curl your throat as you dig your thumbs into your aggressor's eyes, choking; wheezing. Black begins to settle in front of your hazy vision, seconds leaning into longer glimpses of moving shadows and growing pain—a pain that adrenaline can only do so much against. And then, just before Duncan’s blood can drip down to your face, his eyes leaking and red, he’s ripped off in a flurry of fast hands and muffled calls. 

An oxygen mask flashes across your dying field of view, and a helmet—a fireproof jacket. Wide, panicked cobalt eyes. And yelling…so much yelling. All of it is stuck behind material that makes it sound like there are voices hidden underwater. 

Hands skimming your shoulders, dragging you out quickly as your bloody fingers grasp in dying panic—fading senses. There are others too, three inside of this house all frantically moving. Ducan is being restrained as well as he’s able to be, dragged back with two sets of hands—one on his shoulders the other on his legs like a child. 

You, on the contrary, get taken up in a fast set of arms more bulky than they are not, shoving you into a heavy chest until your face is hidden into a neck protected by a high collar. 

“Pencils!” Your body burns, and your face contorts as your focus can finally bleed into it. 

Shaking—quivering, your ears are ringing and the rushing feet below you jostle your form. 

Finally making it outside, it’s not a moment later that the entire house falls into itself, a tomb of fire and near death—lost to all but ash. Sirens are suddenly louder; shrill voices. 

Johnny’s hurried voice, and the sound of a mask being ripped off of his face. “Medic!” 

You pant, mouth opening but no words coming out beyond a sharp gasp for fresh air. Something is fitted over your face before you’re lying down on a cot, and your fingers reach but meet air. Head craning up, you blink just in time to see it as the EMTs begin jogging over to their ambulance. Johnny moves and grabs his helmet and throws it to the ground, barking something so loud that you’re broken mind can pick it up.

“Give the fucker to me!” The accent makes it all the more violent, and as your oxygen mask is strapped to your head, you stare owlishly, visage awash with blood and tears. You don’t even want to look down at yourself, and in this haze, you’re not even sure you’d be able to. 

But you can see the rabid events unfolding like your very own TV show. 

Firemen try to grapple Johnny back, but it’s useless to try and stop a brick wall. The Scot shoves one away before his gloved fingers snatch a restrained Duncan, and throws him up on his charred legs.

Senselessly, the arsonist smiles—it’s a distant, psychotic thing. 

“You know the journalist—” A fist is sent hurtling into his face.

Falling back, Duncan cries out as his nose breaks in multiple places; shattering like glass under the force of a steel hammer. 

“Get over ‘ere.” Johnny’s voice is raspy; guttural. You cough and the EMTs connect an IV to your arm, quickly nearing the ambulance as they try to coax you to lay back down. “Bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Bending above Duncan’s body, MacTavish gets in two more sharp blows before he’s torn away with yells and orders—shoved with appeasing pats to his arms and desperate pleas to hold out. 

The police rush over, restraining Duncan and forcing his unconscious body to the side. Blood stains the ground, and the fires continue to blaze—others in the background trying to push it back. 

Chest heaving, your throat is raw, but even so, as the EMTs can’t stop you from weakly peeling back the oxygen mask, you call hoarsely, “Johnny!”

You’re loaded into the ambulance just as his eyes snap over, his chest rising and flailing through all of that gear still visible. Calming words find your ears as the medics move the oxygen back over your nose and mouth, holding it so you can’t take it off again. 

The back door is about to be slammed shut before the familiar square face bullies itself in. 

“Sir, you can’t—!”

“Drive,” the fireman shuffles into the seat directly across from you as large, damp, rags are set over your flesh in quick succession as you hiss, eyes flinching shut. Johnny grunts at the EMT who blinks quickly before he twitches at the sound of your pain; jaw clenching. “...Before I get into that seat myself.” 

The engine rumbles to life, and Johnny’s the one who takes your hand into his and drops his tone—moving closer. It takes a moment for his worry to be shoved behind a lens of surety, not for himself, but for you. 

The uncertainty in your eyes made him want to storm backward and show Duncan what fists can do when that’s all you have to rely on instead of cowardice. Fire was a tool of a weakling, and no man was weaker than one who tried to murder someone like you and your bright intellect. But there was no use thinking about it now.

“Oh, Hen,” Johnny’s voice cracks, eyes glancing you up and down quickly as the EMTs do their work. You wouldn’t be awake much longer—if you managed to fight the pain, they’d put you to sleep for your own safety. 

The burns were…they weren’t good.

“Hey, now,” the fireman eases, forcing a small smile and capturing your ash-smeared cheek. He doesn’t care about the state of his gear—the heavy oxygen tank on his back—all he needs is to hold you; even as little as this. “You just let those boys do their jobs, yeah? They’ll have you back up in no time at all, Pencils. Breathe for me, Dearie.” 

Your fast breaths stutter and the scrape of your vocal cords makes Johnny flinch, his eyelids pulling in as a grimace shifts the lines of his face. 

The man fights with himself to snap at the others and make them tell the driver to push the gas harder. He knows they’re going as fast as they’re able.

You try to speak, but Johnny shuts it down with a firm shake of his head. Seeing the packages of sterile bandages being unpacked with rapid hands, knowing the sting that will follow as they’re placed on leaking skin, the Scot moves closer and lightly shields your vision of it.

“No, c’mon now, don’t speak.” An unsteady smirk. “I know I take your breath away, but let's just wait until you’re at the hospital for all of that, eh?”

At the jerky glare coming off of you, a sliver of his panic leaves him.

Johnny tries a weak chuckle before it falls flat. 

Your eyes pick up on the agony before the black at the sides of your vision sweeps in—taking you away as the first press of wrappings along your back make themselves known. His hand stays firm at your cheek; thumb moving over the skin until that’s all you can focus on anymore. 

His touch. Not the fire’s—not Duncan’s. His. The same man that held you close and watched your back. Who had run into a burning house for your safety even if that was his job to do so. 

Johnny seems to be thinking the same because before your head goes limp against the cot, the familiar drawl sings you to sleep.

“…I would have searched that house for you until it fucking took me with it.”

—

The voice recordings from your charred satchel were in police custody, just as Duncan was. 

Along with the thick bindings that had taken home along your back and the upper part of your shoulders, there were others. Your voice was still a crackling mess—as if the fire had left behind a remnant of itself there, an ever-bending and shifting shard directly in your throat. Not even water could get rid of the itch, but you’d been told it would get better. 

All things considered, it could have been worse. 

There was a shit load to do—to explain. Duncan's involvement as well as the deceased Kurts, whose face still haunts you even now; it probably always will. 

Johnny’s shadow flashes in front of yours and you blink quickly, clearing your head. A pause emanates, and the man’s brows tighten. 

“What?” You try to clear your throat and grimace, the hospital bed uncomfortable for you. You’d much rather prefer Johnny’s. 

“I asked you if you’d want any more blankets, Bonnie,” the Scot’s head tilts. He hums. “More medicine? Feeling alright?” 

“So doting,” you huff, fingers rubbing at your neck before Soap sighs and stands from the side chair he’d been in. “No, I’m…fine.”

“My job.” Johnny grunts and his hand pushes away your own, fingers finding the spot that itches internally and carefully massaging until you’re like putty in his hands. In fact, you nearly purr before you sag into him, eyelids drooping. There’s a smug glance tossed your way. “And I don’t mean to brag, but I think I’m doin’ pretty good.”

Your lips pull, vision slipping upward. “Careful, people will think I got married over the span of three days.”

Johnny blinks, “Didn’t we?”

Your face burns. “No, MacTavish we did not. Hot-head. All the fumes go straight to your head, I swear.” All the talking was only aggravating your voice, but for the life of you, you can’t stop. 

Johnny rolls his eyes, skull tilting. A bead of serious talk leeks in as his fingers shift from your throat to your head, tips stimulating your scalp which you hum approvingly to. “What’s the plan?”

You think for a moment, letting the man come and lay a firm kiss on your temple. Your heart knows he intends to stay with you through all of this—already he’d been out on paid leave about the whole ‘attacking a restrained man’ fiasco. The bastard deserved it, Johnny had growled to you yesterday as he helped you drink water. You had to agree. 

“Sleep,” your answer is soft and simple. There was no use fretting about the whims of a far-off tomorrow. The future is a fickle creature, ever changing shape to fit the image it wants to play with like a doll at the nearest moment—there was never a pen in your pocket that was trying to jot down its profile; to understand it. Johnny was here, the bed was warm, and his hands were kind. 

That was all you needed.

Cobalt eyes stare for a moment at your response, before the Scot chuckles. “...Well, I can’t fight you there.”

Your hand lightly snares his wrist, and you pull him to you, letting his body melt back onto the bed until you can rest your temple on his shoulder and sigh out your tension. Johnny’s arm curls carefully to rest on your lower back, as delicate as glass. 

It’s a while before he speaks again. 

“You really did worry me,” he whispers, staring into the ceiling and trying to make images out of the shadows on the ceiling. “If I hadn’t gotten there…”

“You did,” you utter, eyes half-closed and fingers rubbing at his stomach. He shivers. “One-way road, Johnny. Stop that.”

“Doesn't make me feel any better when you’re stuck in here for two more weeks.” A smile pulls your face and he glances down, feeling it against his shirt. “...What are you smiling about?”

You hide it into his chest and he shakes his head in exasperation, scoffing.

“I swear, I’m the only one who cares about your safety and then I get mocked for it.”

“M’not mocking you,” your muffled voice grumbles out. “You’re just pouting.”

Johnny grunts, rolling his eyes. “Course.”

“Proving my point.”

“Next time I leave,” Soap’s lips are atop your head, muttering. “I’ll be tying you to the bed and watching you through the camera.”

A thin trail of jumpy laughter echoes out into the halls of the hospital, and your response is just as quick as it always is—as it always would be through Hell and high water. This wasn’t an ideal situation, and there would be more trials to come both literally and metaphorically, but Johnny made for a good rock through all of it. 

He certainly was a better informant than you intended him to be. 

“Ooo, Mr. MacTavish,” a loud groan, laced with a fond, almost worshiped, adoration. “I didn’t know you could be so risqué.” 

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[steddielations]

Flight of Icarus lore dump part 2:

Part 1 | Character List

- Wayne has a green thumb. He reads Gardener’s Weekly magazine. It doesn’t say what he grows, but it says he buys vegetables from the store so I’m going to say that gruff old man Wayne has the prettiest petunias in the whole trailer park.

- Eddie sneaks into the Hawk with his best friend Ronnie to watch action movies and thinks Snake Plissken, Han Solo and Conan the Barbarian are cool.

- Eddie talks for hours about the intricacies of Elven politics in Tolkien.

- Eddie read comics as a kid and hid them all over the house "like a little squirrel" under the bed, behind the nightstand, under the rug. Wayne found his Uncanny X-Men in the freezer between stacks of tv dinners. Also, "Hellfire Club" comes from these X-Men comics.

- Floor time! There's a part where Eddie is literally just lying on his back on his bedroom floor counting down from a million. When Wayne comes home, Eddie army crawls on his belly to the doorway to see him.

- Eddie reads Gormenghast paperbacks, gothic fantasy novels. It mentions that Wayne saved them from the house fire along with Eddie’s guitar. It never says how/when Eddie originally got his guitar.

- Eddie says lots of cc’s original songs have D&D references. It's implied that he writes them. One is called “Fire Shroud” after a spell

- Eddie is called Freak King at school and Munson Junior or just Junior around town and he hates all of it

- Eddie talks about having anxiety a lot and it's implied he has had panic attacks in the past

- Eddie is the lead singer and guitarist of cc. He started the band with Ronnie specifically because it was required to participate in the school talent show.

- Neither Wayne or Al graduated high school. When Eddie (temporarily) drops out, Al celebrates.

- Eddie doesn't cook. He doesn't even own a spatula. The smell of cooking in their house actually shocks him and gives him a deep longing for family meals, which Al uses to manipulate him

- Eddie jokes about being into Saturday Night Fever and strikes the pose a couple times.

- Eddie knows how to hotwire and how to pick locks. Al taught him this at the age of ten. Eddie is "disgusted" with himself any time he does either of those things.

- Eddie "drives like a monster" when he's upset about something.

- Eddie smokes cigarettes occasionally. Weed is mentioned a lot in the book but it never says anything about Eddie smoking it or doing any drugs. He either doesn't smoke much or he hasn't tried anything yet in the book. Also, he’s just now meeting Rick. But It’s pretty clear after everything he went through why he would start

- There's lots of mentions of PBR and Bud Light. Though Eddie says he doesn't like to drink after his shifts at the Hideout (where he's a barback). He mostly drinks off-brand Big Buy soda in the book (he calls it "pop")

- Eddie's parents were married on March 12th, 1966. The date is inscribed on the bottle of their wedding wine. Eddie asks what kind it is and Al says they only had 'red or white' kind of money

- Al breaks out the wedding wine (to manipulate Eddie, you guessed it) it's red wine and Eddie really, really likes it

- Eddie went to War Zone with his dad for supplies for the truck heist (spike strips, coveralls, etc)

- Eddie's band played Exciter by Judas Priest at the talent show. The song was only approved because they emphasized the "priest"

- There was another (?) talent show in Winter of 1981 where Eddie's band played "Prowler" and they were kicked off stage halfway through because the song was considered Satanic, and the PTA visited all their parents for trying to convert everyone to Satanism.

- Eddie imagines hitting his dad twice. Once with a glass bottle and once with a metal wrench. (He should've- oops who said that)

- The only hug Eddie gets in the book is when his dad first comes back, Eddie knows it's the first step in his cycle of showing up, using Eddie and leaving, but Eddie still accepts the hug and feels guilty for enjoying it.

- It's implied Eddie gets close to tears a couple times in the book, but the only time they actually spring up is when his mom's favorite song (from Muddy Waters) comes on in the truck radio while Eddie is doing the heist with his dad and feeling awful about it. Eddie has several flashbacks of dancing with her to this song, it seems like his happiest memory that he always returns to.

- Whenever Eddie is doing what his dad wants (hotwiring, charming a person into their plans) he puts on what he calls his "best Al Munson smile" and he's terrified that it will eventually take over his whole face. There's a part at the end where Eddie is sitting in a jail cell and says "All I want to do is tear my face off. If a new one grows in it's place, maybe it'll make me a different person. Someone who isn't such a complete fuckup."

[bisexualiteaa]

Sugar, Oh Honey Honey

AN: OKAY HEAR ME OUT! HEAR ME OUT! I was scrolling through here and stumbled this wonderful gif posted by @the-casual-cat of Barry Sloane and it got me and @expirednukacola thinking…what if that scene, but with Cooper or Hancock? 👀 I started with Hancock, but if y’all would like, I will absolutely do a version with Cooper next! Hope y’all enjoy!

CW: FLUFF! Slight OOC Hancock, established relationship, slight deviation from the game, cursing, kissing, make out, slight suggestive theme, implied seggs, briefly proofread, possible spelling/grammar errors.

The gif in question 😮‍💨🥵🤤

You and Hancock were off exploring the commonwealth, out to gather some supplies for your next trip and maybe some goods to sell in trade for ammo and chems. It was a rather successful trip, didn’t stumble across anything too crazy, but you gathered enough food, stimpacks, ammo, and other useful items to bring with you to keep you stocked when the time came that you would both hit the road again. As the sun began to set along the wastes, you looked to the sky, feeling the damp humidity hang within the air as dark clouds started to accumulate in the sky. A radstorm was coming, and coming quick with the way the wind started to pick up. Unfortunately that meant your return to Goodneighbor for the night would likely be too dangerous. So instead, you both set on the look out for a place with a good roof, or as good as they get anymore anyway, and not holed up by any raiders. You both did the best you could to try and find something as fast as you could, but unfortunately you couldn’t quite beat the rain before it began to drizzle. Hancock offered you his signature tri-corn hat to keep your head and your hair protected from the harsh, radiated rain water. You smiled, accepting his offer and placing it on your head, thanking him for it as you both continued your search.

“Ya look pretty cute like that, sunshine. Might just have to let you steal it from me more often” he complimented, almost unable to take his eyes off of you, making you giggle softly. It had been a while since the last time he really got to spend any quality time with you, so he couldn’t help himself in the way he drank you in like the tallest glass of water this side of the desert. He was snapped from his thoughts when you stopped in place, finally stumbling across a house that looked like it would be sturdy enough to hold out in as the storm passed. One that had a nice roof that wasn’t too terribly beat up compared to the rest, had no fire or light of any kind coming from it to indicate anyone was using it for shelter. It was perfect, just what you both had been looking for. You grabbed his hand before quickly leading him inside the house.

There was a routine you both had when you scavenge places for supplies and find somewhere to hole up for the night out in the commonwealth. You would both split up, one person inspecting one half of the house, and one person taking the other. Inspecting every room, behind every door, every nook and cranny you could think of to ensure there were no traps, and no people here that would be angry to find unknowing trespassers. Once the house was thoroughly swept to ensure there was no threat, you made your way into the kitchen. A taller, yellow box resting on the counter caught your eye. You gasped excitedly, finding it to be a well intact box of your favorite cereal from before the bombs fell. Sugar Bombs, ironically enough. “Holy shit! I didn’t know there were any of these that were still around!” You said in shock, picking up the box to inspect it. You knew it was well past its sell by date by now, but in that moment the state of the actual contents inside didn’t matter to you, seeing the box was enough to bring you back to that nostalgic place of a time before the war. Hancock was still off in another room, collecting what things he could manage to find before he heard you, wondering what it was you were going on about. “What’d you find that’s got you so excited, sunshine?” Hancock asked, genuinely curious as he came back into the kitchen, seeing a box clutched in your hands. “Only my favorite cereal of ALL time!” You said, smiling excitedly as you turned around to face him, holding out the box of cereal to show him what you had been so ecstatic about. He loved the way that some of the smallest things brought you joy, even in hard times like these. In the wasteland there wasn’t much to be happy about, between the awful creatures and people trying to kill and maim you around every corner, to the stifling heat and radiation ready to bake you the moment you stepped outside. Not much made people happy to be alive anymore. It was nice to see you find happiness in something, and he had to admit, the fact that it was over something as simple and small as a box of your once favorite cereal, was even cuter. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched to his thin, irradiated lips as you looked so overjoyed.

“Sugar Bombs! 100% of your daily value of sugar” you quoted the slogan everyone knew, from the box and the commercials they used to advertise on TV about them. “These things were the shit back then. Best way to get a shit ton of sugar in your diet to start the morning off right” you said through a laugh, recalling some good memories of spending weekends and mornings before school on the couch enjoying a bowl as you watched whatever was on the TV at the time. How you would happily kick your feet with every bite. “Did you ever try them, John?” You asked him, genuinely curious but he was far too entertained by the way that the box was still clutched in your hand like you’d found a long lost treasure. “Yeah, I tried ‘em once. I remember them being stale but it was the only thing around I could get my hands on” he said with a chuckle. “I used to eat the fuck out of these as a kid. Good and stale. Not sure I’d do the same now but it’s at least cool to see and reminisce on” you said. He loved learning new things about you, especially about your past. He always felt like he talked too much about himself and his own past, so it was nice to get bits and pieces of yours now and again. It’s why he loved moments like this where it was just the two of you, it felt almost intimate in a way. “Yeah, they’re good and all but…I’m already lookin’ at 100% of my daily value of sugar right here” Hancock said with a sly grin, making a bashful blush rise to your cheeks before you smiled. “Speaking of, that reminds me…” he spoke, slipping his arms around your waist to pull you close to him as you still held onto the box of cereal in one hand. You smiled up at him dreamily, charmed by his smooth moves and charming words as he looked down at you, absolutely love struck. He adored the sight of you in his hat, he really did need to lend it to you more often, but more so than that, he adored being here with you. “I haven’t had my daily value of sugar from you yet. What’dya say we fix that?” He asked, his low, gravelly tone dipping even lower at the prospect of his question.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, a soft giggle escaping you before looping your arms around his neck. His free hand came to rest on your cheek gently as he leaned in, pulling you to him and into a sweet kiss. You smiled and hummed into it in delight, always loving the feel of his rough skin against your own, the way just a kiss from him could ignite a fire in your core. Your body acted on pure instinct and need, as your free hand moved to rest just beneath his jaw, both of you doing all you could to keep the other close. When you had time alone like this, distance was the last thing you wanted between you. Soon your once soft and innocent kiss took a more intimate turn. Your hand slid down from his jaw, gently cascading down the front of his frilly white undershirt before looping around his waist, pulling him against you to effectively rid of any space standing between you. If there was one thing he loved about you that made you different from most, was that you were a woman who made it known what she wanted. He was honored to know that in this moment, and in all other moments down the road, that he was what you wanted. That out of all the people who populate the surface, it was him you chose. He’ll never truly understand why or what you see, but it made him happy and he considered himself a lucky ghoul nonetheless. You felt his larger hands begin to do the same to you, one resting on your back, keeping you to him, and the other trailing down your side before pulling you against him by the fabric of your shirt. There was need laced in the kiss, evident by the way your hands roamed each other’s bodies. It was heated, passionate, and something you normally didn’t get to share outside of the safety of his room at the old state house. Out here, there was a sort of thrill to it. You both smiled into your deepened kiss as you dropped the box of cereal to the ground, in favor of allowing your hands to properly roam underneath the fabric of his red coat. Hancock tapped the back of your thigh, a signal that he wanted to pick you up. As he did, his hands rested on your ass, holding you up before placing you down on the kitchen counter behind you without breaking the kiss. It was skillful almost, and you were always surprised by his strength, how he lifted you so effortlessly as if you weighed nothing in his hands. The position you were now in made it quite evident where the night was going to be leading, but you certainly didn’t mind. A night of passion with Hancock was always wonderful, and he couldn’t be happier that it was with the woman he loved most in this wasteland existence.

[sarathrwizard]

7 Day Camp Stay. Day: 2

day 2 is now here!

This day went better. Except the small worry in an unfamiliar place.

(Reminder, Donnie is me.)

Hope you enjoy day 2! under the cut!

7 Day Camp Stay

Day: 2

Donnie woke up in a panic. For a moment he thought his brothers had left him. He looked outside the tent and found them all getting ready for the day. Donnie sighed with a bit of relief. Guess it was just a dream. The wind was still going strong. When he sat up he was greeted with a tent fwapping his head. He crawled out of the tent and went over to the picnic table. He found some peanut butter and jelly and made himself a quick sandwich.

Now that Donnie had some energy. He decided to do some of the dishes that were left over from the other night. He filled a bucket with water and soap and started scrubbing away. Mikey came over and helped rins and dry the dishes. They sung together, singing musical numbers. Donnie tried his best to remember the lyrics so that Mikey could easily sing along. But he found it more difficult without the melody in the background.

Once he was done with the dishes, it was already lunch time. Turkey sandwiches, again. Did Mikey really not plan for any other lunch meals?

The day was rather slow. Nothing was really planned. No hike, no fishing, no playing around with a ball, nothing. Everyone seamed to be doing their own thing. Donnie hid back in his tent and dug out a book to read. It was called 'The Wingfeather Saga'. He didn't get very far though. He got about one or two chapters in till he was too annoyed by the constant wind nocking the tent over. He laid down and his head hit something rather hard compared to a pillow. He turned to find out what it was.

It was a sketch book and a pen with a purple ribbon around it. A gift? But it wasn't his birthday, or anywhere near it! He looked over and saw that there was another present with a blue ribbon on Leo's pillow. Donnie untide the purple ribbon. When he opened the sketchbook a note fell out.

'To Donnie. I got you guys some sketch books and pens! I was thinking you could use them to journal about your camping week! (Or anything else.) Love, Mikey.'

Donnie took a look at the front cover and it had a pink flamingo on it with a sloth riding on top. It made him chuckle. He spent some time fiddling around with the pen and sketch book for a while.

Soon, dinner was being made. Donnie ran off to the bathroom again. When he came back out from the restrooms, it was already getting dark. The trees shook in the breeze, making a flickering sound in waves. The wild dogs started barking again. He felt like it would be silly to run back to the camp. He knew those dogs where miles away! But he didn't want to walk either. That took so long! Man if only he had a scooter or something, that would work!

But soon enough, he came around the bend as the campsite came into view. It looked like Mikey got the fire burning good! Donnie was always surprised how easy it was for Mikey to start a fire. He heard Mikey singing something and clapping his hands to the beat.

"Go tell it on the mountain! Over the hills and everywhere! Go tell it on the mountain, that Jesus Christ is born!"

"I never thought of that one being a campfire song."

Donnie said as he approached the triplet.

"It's got a good rithem to it! I don't see why not!"

Mikey cheerfully smiled. He leaned over and stirred the chicken in the large pot. He then added some corn and beans. Pouring in some broth instantly made it a soup! They each sat around the fire and ate a bowl of it. All except Leo.

"Leo, why aren't you eating?"

"I'm not hunger yet, that's all!"

Leo got up from his chair.

"I think I'll take a quick shower at the shower house!"

Leo said as he grabbed his bag of clothes. Donnie watched as Leo started his very short hike of 2 blocks down the road. Which felt so much longer to Donnie when the sun had set. After they were done with their food, they set the dishes aside. Everyone else was getting ready for bed. Donnie threw a few sticks into the fire to keep the food warm.

Time had passed from 9:00 to 10:15. Leo still had not returned. Donnie couldn't help but worry a bit. He had heard the wild dogs barking very loudly about an hour ago. Donnie checked the soup to find all the water had boiled out. He sat back down and threw a few more sticks on the fire. He tapped his foot, waiting for Leo to come back.

Suddenly, a rustling sound was heard coming down the turn. Donnie assumed it was Leo, but part of him thought otherwise. He tensed up slightly, waiting to see what would come around the bend. And to his assumption, it was Leo. Coming down the road with a towel around his neck. Donnie let his shoulders loosen. Leo had on a pair of black shorts and a blue long sleeve shirt with the brightest yellow crocks you'v ever seen! Donnie wasn't sure about Leo's fashion sense, but he let it slide.

"Hey, Tello! What are you still doing up?"

"Waiting for you."

"... You didn't have to. You could have gone to bed already."

"I was keeping your food warm."

Donnie lifted the lid to show the evaporated soup. Leo cringed a little. What once was soup, was now as dry as a desert in comparison. Donnie started scooping it out into a bowl but he didn't hand it to Leo that way. He walked over to the picnic table and added a little water to it.

"Here, it has become soup again."

Donnie said as he held it out towards Leo.

Leo took the bowl and peaked inside. That looked better, more like soup with liquid and all that jaz.

"Thanks for keeping it warm."

Leo smiled. Donnie nodded in return. Leo took a few sips of the soup, then drew his eyes onto Donnie.

"Is your stomach feeling better from yesterday?"

"...How did you know about that?"

"My stomach wasn't feeling so great either. I was also sure it wasn't my stomach I was feeling."

Donnie blinked a couple times. "Twin-stinct" is what Leo called it. It was a ridiculous idea, that they could feel each other's pain or whatever. But if that wasn't true, then how did Leo know that he felt sick the other night? Donnie just sighed and drew his attention onto the fire.

"Yeah, it's better now."

"Good."

Leo finished his soup and ran off into the tent. Donnie had gone to the bathrooms one more time to brush his teeth. When he came back, Leo was already asleep. Donnie narrowed his eyes. Leo had his legs flopped all over Donnie's side of the tent. He picked Leo's legs up and shoved them over. Leo mumbled something that sounded like, "dfelbubelbludfedmbedfold-" Actually, never mind, It sounded like nothing. Donnie got into his sleeping bag and zipped it up over his head.

'5 more nights to go.'

Donnie thought to himself. He put his phone on silent and went to sleep.

________

Yay! That was day 2! It was a good day by my standers.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Lord bless you! ❤️

Last x Next

[lewkwoodnco]

i have an imagine request!

Lockwood has a particularly bad panic attack during an investigation and reader helps him to get through it.

panic attack - anthony lockwood x reader

“Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. Quick,” she said, shoving her hand in his face, “how many fingers?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled her fingers out of the way. She tried not to focus on how gently he wrapped his hand around hers.

“I thought you liked my ugly mug. No, wait - you like my coat. And how it flaps behind me when I run. You think it’s cool.”

“No, you think it’s cool.”

He creased his forehead comically. “No, no, I distinctly remember us discussing my coat and how cool it was. I got us coffee right after, remember?”

“Delusional. Add that to your list of symptoms.”

a/n: I know, I know, what a creative title. I really have outdone myself haven’t I (/s) this can be read as a stand-alone fic but I wrote it as a sequel (ish?) to my you are in love fic, so there's some references back to that one! sorry this took so long and enjoyyyy

tropes/warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, self-loathing, angst, only a little bit of fluff at the end

wc: 1.9k!

you are in love fic | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Winkman was glaring at her, clearly saying something she couldn’t hear over the blood roaring in her ears. She had no idea what she was doing. Dousing them in gasoline had been a split-second decision, and now that she had done it, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Surely she couldn’t actually want to set them on fire, could she? They had a child, for crying out loud. A very creepy, undoubtedly messed-up child, but he was still just a kid. Was she really going to orphan him?

He took a step towards Lockwood, and her survival instincts kicked in. She flicked the lighter on, looking more sure of herself than he felt.

“Don’t you dare.” She stepped closer. She needed Winkman like a rat in a corner. “Touch him, and I’ll burn your decrepit little house of horrors to the ground with you, your wife and your freak of a son.”

He watched the flame, weighing his choices before he retreated reluctantly. She felt giddy with power. She clumsily crept over to Lockwood’s chair and started fiddling with the leather straps. Her hand brushed against his - cold as ice. Once the straps were undone, she waited, but Lockwood remained seated, seemingly transfixed on Winkman.

“Lockwood,” she hissed in his ear, one eye still on Winkman. “Come on. Forget Winkman, let’s go.”

Winkman’s mouth curled into an unpleasant, thin-lipped smile.

“You know I’m right, boy.”

“You shut up.” She waved the lighter menacingly in his direction and he scowled. Her palms were suddenly feeling clammy. What did Winkman mean? She hadn’t been paying attention. What was he supposedly right about, and why did Lockwood look like he believed him?

Once Lockwood was out of his chair, she wrapped a hand around his wrist, gently pulling him along as they backed out of the warehouse. Luckily, whatever spell he had been under seemed to have broken. From what she could tell from the few glances she dared to pull her eyes away from Winkman, save for a few scratches and cuts, Lockwood was mostly undamaged.

“- this is the last time I go along with any of your ridiculous schemes, Lockwood. For God’s sake, we could have d- Lockwood?”

Only Lockwood wasn’t beside her anymore. Once they had exited the warehouse, they had taken off running into the dead of the night. She spun around to see him slumped against a wall a few feet behind her, clawing at his throat.

“Lockwood?” She walked over, warily eyeing his every twitch and death-rattle gasp of air. “What’s - you alright?”

He didn’t seem to have heard her. One of his hands dropped to his chest, directly above his heart, while he dragged the other down the brick wall roughly enough to make her wince. She stepped closer, watching every fibre of his being flicker with nervous energy.

“Can’t - breathe,” he finally choked out.

“Did Winkman give you something?”

With some difficulty, Lockwood shook his head. Everything seemed to take a second or two for him to process through whatever fog was in his head. His flinching was oddly reminiscent of something, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Then wha…” Oh. Oh. A panic attack. As his fingers scrabbled uselessly at the knot of his tie, it became more and more clear. She was watching Anthony Lockwood have a panic attack.

“Lockwood…listen to me. The world isn’t ending. Just breathe.”

“I’m trying!” He coughed a little as he forced the words out.

“For the love of -“ she yanked him closer and smacked him across the face. The rambling stopped, and so did the restless wandering, and the look in his eyes told her he could actually recognise her now.

“Hey! Enough! Snap out of it.” She distractedly brushed a hand over her eyes. Tears. “This is all in your head.”

“No. You heard him. Don’t you see, Y/N? It doesn’t matter what I do, or how hard I try. I’m always going to be a burden and I’m always going to weigh you down.”

She thought she felt her heart break a little. It was all she could do to keep herself from breaking down too. “Lockwood, that’s not true.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” That last outburst seemed to sap away what little of his energy was left. He slid down the wall as he struggled to catch his breath, head between his knees.

“Why didn’t you let him kill me?”

Because I wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Because I would be stupidly empty without you. Because you keep this god-awful picture in your desk of me fighting a broken nose and I’m too much of a coward to accept the only possible explanation. Because I love you.

“Think of it this way. You wouldn’t have let him kill me no matter how much I begged, right?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

He pulled his head out of his knees and gave a humourless laugh. She didn’t see anything all that funny herself.

“Why not? You…you’re like the sun.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly. It was the adrenaline, she told herself. Plus the panic attack. He didn’t know what he was saying.

“You’re my best friend, Lockwood. Do you really think I’d appreciate someone killing my best friend? Huh?”

He managed a small flicker of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was getting late. She turned and walked down the road until she found a cab to flag down, before running back.

“Come on,” she said as she breathlessly dragged Lockwood up. She stumbled under his weight as she steered them both towards the waiting cab, already trying to forget what she had just seen. The cabby took in their gear and Lockwood’s wan face, and shot her a sympathetic look. She looked away.

The whole drive home, Lockwood either dozed or stared into space with this vacant look in his eyes. She had never seen him look this lost.

It made her want to cry.

Back at Portland Row, she sat him down at the kitchen table and pulled out their first aid kit. George was passed out on the couch in the living room, and he looked so exhausted it seemed cruel to wake him. Bit by bit, she tenderly dressed Lockwood’s scrapes.

“I just -“ Lockwood started, then grimaced. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“Well, you head an agency that makes the world a safer place, one Visitor at a time. As far as life purposes go, it’s not half-bad.”

“Do you think,” Lockwood asked in a quiet, somewhat strangled voice, “do you think he really knew my parents?”

She scoffed half-heartedly, trying to ignore the troubled look in his eyes. “Of course not. He was just trying to get under your skin.” Lockwood winced as she pressed a damp cloth to a nasty scrape on his forehead. “Don’t tell me it’s working.”

“I’m not asking why he said it. I’m asking if you believe him.”

The denial sat ready at the top of her tongue, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to follow through with it. She wanted to wave away his worries, roll her eyes at the very thought of any of it being remotely true, but she couldn’t lie to him. Not when it was just the two of them and there was no dancing around the fact that he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at her, and he never whispered a word of the secrets he shared with her in confidence. His eyes flicked from the hesitation in her eyes to where her lips were pressed thin.

“You heard the way he said it, Y/N,” he murmured, like he was coaxing an admission out of her. “He wasn’t lying. And he was bloody proud of it.”

She swallowed hard, her throat feeling inexplicably constricted as her eyes dropped to the rough grain of the kitchen table. If he wanted to, Lockwood could hold the piercing sort of gaze that felt as though he was peering right into your soul. She dug the heels of his palms into her eyes. Oh, why did he have to read her like an open book?

“So?” She dropped her hands. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I'm right.”

“Maybe he did know your parents. But he doesn’t know you.”

Lockwood’s gaze darted around the room moodily as he stubbornly refused to look at her face or the scrape on his palm she was disinfecting. “Maybe he doesn’t need to.”

She pulled her hand away and scoffed. “Oh my god, do you hear yourself? You’re really going to take the word of some bitter, violent washed-up relic man over mine?”

His brooding faltered. “Of course not.”

“It’s like I’ve never waded in questionable waters to fish out Sources you were too excitable and butter-fingered to handle properly.”

Lockwood had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. “That was one time, and I thanked you like a billion times for the rest of the week. I gave you three whole biscuits too.”

“Or maybe I just dreamt up all those times you had me fib about your whereabouts, like for that TV interview - brilliant plan, by the way.  Took George all of two seconds to switch on the telly and see your ugly mug plastered all over it.”

“How was I supposed to know which channel he’d pick?”

“You were on national television.” Two months on and it still hadn’t seemed to sink in. “And I guess that beehive that you were too scared to get close to in the Smiths’ case just never existed.”

“Hang on, now -“

“No, no, it’s too late. Next time I’ll just let you fall seven stories and break your neck.”

“Alright, I get it.“

She finally let herself laugh as he pulled her down into the chair next to his, her legs an undignified heap of limbs from where they were tangled with his. She tilted her head as she considered him from up close, the sheepish ghost of a smile playing at his lips and the familiar embarrassed tinge of pink to the tips of his ears.

“I’m sorry, I promise. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. Quick,” she said, shoving her hand in his face, “how many fingers?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled her fingers out of the way. She tried not to focus on how gently he wrapped his hand around hers.

“I thought you liked my ugly mug. No, wait - you like my coat. And how it flaps behind me when I run. You think it’s cool.”

“No, you think it’s cool.”

He creased his forehead comically. “No, no, I distinctly remember us discussing my coat and how cool it was. I got us coffee right after, remember?”

“Delusional. Add that to your list of symptoms.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Lockwood hadn’t released her fingers from his grip. She wasn’t about to remind him either. He lazily stroked his thumb over her knuckles, and the movement was soothing enough to put her to sleep.

“Thank you.”

She peeled her eyes open. He was staring at their hands clasped together in her lap. He pressed a featherlight kiss to her knuckles and she felt herself flush.

“Erm, time for bed?”

“Bed.”

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @how-to-stuff-and-things @cielooci @mohinithoughts @that-choir-girl @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @houseoftwistedspirits @mischivana @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Need

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, little bit of Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you go out on a hunt, but it doesn’t go as planned.

“I can help!”

“No, you can stay here.”

“It’s just a spirit, Dean! It won’t be that dangerous.”

“It might be good for her to get some practice,” Sam put in hesitantly.

“Oh, you too?” Dean groaned.

“I’m just saying, it’s a simple salt and burn, it’s low-level enough that she won’t be in danger.”

Dean glanced between your determined expression and Sam’s gentle pleading.

“Fine,” he turned to you. “But you’re right next to me the whole time, understand?”

You grinned.

“I understand.”

…

“Get down!”

Ok, so it turned out to be more than one spirit. Actually, it was about a dozen, and none were too happy about the Winchesters trying to burn their bones.

You tried to keep it together as best as you could, but this being your first hunt, you were quickly overwhelmed.

“Dean!” You fired again and again, but the spirits kept teleporting before your salt rounds could hit them. “Dean, help!”

Dean was by your side in an instant, firing round after round, hitting his mark every time.

“Come on,” he ordered, grabbing your upper arm and leading you towards the door. “We’ll take care of the spirits, you need to-“

Just as Dean pulled the front door open, it slammed shut again.

“Stay behind me!” Dean yelled as he once again toted his shotgun, but when he went to fire…

“Jammed,” he grumbled, reaching out a hand towards you. “Let me have yours.”

You gave up your gun without argument, but as soon as it was out of your hands you realized how helpless you were. And worse than that, you were useless. Even with the gun, you hadn’t succeeded in doing anything but distracting Dean.

You stayed behind him and out of his way while he blasted through the spirits, distracting them while Sam went to burn the bodies.

“Dean!” You tugged on his arm when a spirit appeared behind him, coming at you fast.

He whirled around, and you hadn’t realized how close you were standing to him, because when he turned around the barrel of the gun smacked the side of your head. You dropped like a rock, your ears ringing, and you felt Dean’s strong grip on your upper arm, pulling you back up.

“C’mon, we gotta keep moving,” he grunted, dragging you along down a hallway.

“Dean, I’m-“

“Not now, just go,” he was leading you to a safer part of the house when-

“Dean!”

You both froze.

“That was Sam,” your voice quavered as you looked up at your big brother. “Dean, you have to go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here without a working gun.”

You snatched up a poker from next to the fireplace.

“I’ve got this. Dean, go! I’m just gonna slow you down, Sam needs help. I’ll be fine, they’re too worried about Sam burning them to come after me, now go!”

You’d never seen Dean look so torn before, but he finally took off back down the hallway, shotgun in hand.

You backed yourself into a corner of the room, that way a spirit couldn’t sneak up behind you. You gripped the poker tightly in your hands, only just now noticing how much they were shaking.

You heard gunshots in the distance, and after a minute or two of silence, a spirit appeared in front of you. You swung desperately with the poker, somehow managing to disperse the spirit. After it was gone, the panic settled in.

Why hadn’t the boys burned the bodies yet? They’d had plenty of time. Unless something was wrong.

You suddenly realized that you’d never felt more disgusted with yourself. What were you doing? Sitting here, hiding, while your brothers were killing ghosts? They could be in danger. If all you were going to do was hide, you never should’ve come on the hunt!

“No more,” no one was there to hear you, but it felt important to say out loud. “I’m coming Sam and Dean.”

…

You should’ve stayed in hiding.

“Look out!”

All the breath left your body when Dean tackled you to the ground. He crawled over your body just as a spirit wielding an ax struck for a fatal blow-

“Dean no!”

Whoosh!

The spirit vanished in a fiery flash as Sam stood over its burning bones.

The weight on your body lifted as Dean got to his feet, Sam coming to stand beside him.

“That was the last one,” Sam announced as he helped you up.

“Thanks,” you muttered, and you felt your hands begin to shake again when you saw Dean’s glare out of the corner of your eye.

“What were you thinking?” He demanded, coming to stand in front of you. “I put you in that room for a reason, it was the safest place for-“

“I didn’t come here to be safe!” You insisted. “I came here to help.”

Dean scoffed, “Right, and what a good job you did with that.”

You felt like someone had just dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt. Dean instantly noticed the change on your face, and he straightened.

“Sam, can you take the weapons to the car?”

Sam looked reluctant to leave this conversation, but ultimately decided that his siblings needed a moment alone.

“Alright, see you out there.”

As soon as the door shut behind Sam, you found yourself unable to look anywhere but at your shoes.

“Look at me.”

Dean’s voice was full of authority, and with a moment of great effort, you obeyed him, hoping desperately that you didn’t look like you were going to cry, which was how you felt.

“I’m sorry,” your voice came out squeaky when you managed to push it past the lump in your throat. “I know I screwed it all up.”

“Hey, we’re all ok, and the job is done. That’s what matters,” Dean placed his hand on your shoulder. “I’m not mad at you for not doing more out there, I’m mad at you for taking a stupid risk. You could’ve gotten killed just then.”

“I thought you were in danger,” you looked up at Dean’s eyes and were relieved to see the anger mostly gone.

“I can take care of myself,” Dean assured you.

“But I came to help, and I just got in the way.”

Dean shook his head, lifting a hand to rub his temple.

“No. No, you shouldn’t have even been out there in the first place.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“But that’s not the kind of help we need from you,” Dean finally got down on one knee so he could look right into your eyes, which had once again lowered to the ground. “To be honest, I didn’t want you to do good out there today.”

“What?” You met your brother’s eyes.

“I don’t ever want to have to rely on you on a hunt. I don’t ever want to need you out there, because being needed as a hunter is the most dangerous thing you can be.”

“But…” those tears you had tried so desperately to hold back were winning the battle. “But I want to be needed. If I’m not needed…then why am I even here?”

“Baby,” alarm lit up Dean’s features. “That’s not what I meant. I do need you, really need you, and that’s why I didn’t want you out there.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean shook his head.

“Your use to me and Sammy goes far beyond hunting, kid. I may not need you out there fighting monsters, but I sure as heck need you in my life. You’re my constant, sweetheart. Even when dad would go off to hunt demons, even when Sam went off to college, you’ve been the one thing in my life that’s never changed.” Dean cleared his throat and reached up, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “And I need that way more than I’d ever need another hunting partner.”

“So…” your voice shook, but you continued anyway. “So even if I don’t hunt, I’m n-not just extra weight?”

“What?” Dean’s arms immediately came up and encircled you, and you felt yourself being lifted off the ground in his arms as he stood. “Baby no. You have never been that, not ever. I need you here, and so does Sammy, just…just not to hunt. But in every other way.”

You felt yourself smile for the first time that night.

“Ok…then I’m here.”

[xoxo-sarah]

Brother's Best Friend

Part 2

↝a/n: idk how to feel about this one. Feedback is appreciated! :)

↝pairing: robin buckley x Harrington!reader

↝Warning: arguing, a school fight, homophobic douchebag who says gross stuff, party, alcohol, pinning, kissing, not proofread

↝⎙ 6.15.23

She hated you. She hated how you dressed, how you acted, how you talked, how you smiled, how you laughed, how you walked, how you fixed your hair. How you applied lip gloss on your plump, kissable lips. Most importantly, she hated how you were Steve's sister. You and Steve were complete opposites, always having something small to argue about no matter who's around. But having each other's backs when needed.

She could recall a day where you wore a pink skirt along with a scowl on your face as a girl from school had been talking crap about your brother. The other girl hadn't been popular, but a shit talking bitch nonetheless, just listening to everything and gossiping when given the chance.

Robin had been at her locker when she heard everything, the caos and people talking about a fight as they ran down the hall. She followed the two younger highschoolers, coming around a corner to see you, ears a fire-y red and knuckles a ghost white as your nails dug into your palms. The other girl kept blabbering about the next bimbo to be in your brothers bed, which set you off. A small, humorless laugh had the cocky grin fall smooth off her face. Robin wasn't close enough to hear what you said before the girl had swung, hitting you but hurting herself more with how she had her fist, most likely jamming her thumb. A gasp echoed in Robin's head, watching as you only swung once, enough to say it was self defense- when in reality it just felt good to shut the girl up for a little bit.

She had just watched as the principal walked both of you down the hall, scolding you.

She hated how you made her promise not to tell Steve that you got suspended. "You can't tell Steve."

"And why not? You punched her!"

"For good reason!" You had countered, pleading her with your eyes. "Please, Robin." That might have been the first time you have been nice to her. There was always some snippy comments being spat at her when she was around, making Steve take up for his friend. "I'll do anything; He can't know."

So she kept your secret. You kept getting ready for school in the mornings, leaving with a small something for breakfast, and bidding Steve goodbye. She didn't know where you went after you left, or where you could spend 7 hours where Steve wouldn't catch you. But her mouth stayed shut. She honestly surprised herself, keeping a secret- especially from her best friend.

On a random Friday you had worn a blue skirt, accidentally matching Robin's blue shirt. Steve had pointed it out, laughing it off as you got a snack. Robin noticed the small smirk on your face ever since you came out of your room. She also noticed how it grew as you asked Robin to walk with you to school, since you were both going, of course.

"You're not going to murder her, right?" Steve joked, although seeming a little concerned. A little out of the ordinary.

Rolling your eyes, you slapped him upside the head. "I can't walk with a friend?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think Robin was a friend..."

"We're friends- right, Robin?" With a scoff, you turned to her, waiting for her to reply.

Slowly nodding, she couldn't help but notice the difference lip gloss you wore. Had you been wearing that one all week and she hadn't noticed? She had been over every morning to talk to Steve before school. No, she would have noticed. Why was she so worried about it?!

She stood up ubruptly, bidding goodbye to Steve before hauling herself through the house. She heard you running behind her. "Wait up!" Even now, she hated how she could smell your perfume when you finally caught up, walking beside her. "Thanks for not telling him."

Opting not to respond, she continued to walk, finding her shoes interesting.

"Sorry I've been rude to you in the past, I've just never been able to talk to people and the first time I met you I thought you were just one of his flings but then you stayed and I didn't really know how to feel and you were just so-"

For once it wasn't Robin rambling, she finally understood what her mother was talking about when she'd ramble on for what felt like hours. "Hey, Breathe."

"Sorry."

"I was so what?" Robin stopped walking, turning to you.

She noticed the small blush on your cheeks and ears, yet another pretty pink shade on you.

"What?"

"You said I 'was so'...what were you going to say?"

"Pretty. You were- are so pretty. Sorry." Any sign of the Harrington smirk and confidence was gone. You looked like a whole different person in front of her. Robin couldn't believe it.

"How can you go from a spoiled brat to a shy little thing?" She didn't notice how her voice darkened, usually not talking to you like this. But you had.

"What?" Your eyes widened, jaw droppimg before you glanced around.

Robin felt like she hadn't been in control of her body when those words slipped out. Sure, she had thought them but she didn't want to actually say them! "I didn't- that wasn't supposed to be said outloud. I didn't- I don't." Turning back around, she started walking again. "How about I accept your apology for being mean to me before and you forget about what I just said, deal?"

She could see your stupid grin from beside her, "deal."

"Give it back!" She hated how you would take things and run away with them, giggling as you did so. Like now, you took her sandwich and ran away through Family Video, giggling like a maniac. "C'mon, that was the last of the bread!"

"I'll give it back for a kiss." She hated how your words made her cheeks flush. You've joked about kissing her before, along with all your friends. But it was different for her. She didn't even know if you know about her being lesbian. Steve wasn't one to go around telling everyone her business so she doubted it. When she didn't reply, you slowly made your way back, handing her the sandwich back. "I was kidding."

"Yeah, yeah." She reached for her sandwich, putting it back in the ziplock, not feeling hungry anymore.

You noticed, of course you did. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"No." Your hand was suddenly on her arm, stopping her from moving. Your touch was like fire to her skin, despite how soft your skin was and how you've been whining about how cold it was recently. "What is going on with you lately?"

She opened her mouth to squash whatever you were thinking was wrong with her, but Steve came back from the back room, done with the new stock. "Y/n? I thought you were busy today."

When it hit you, Robin saw it in your face. Your hand fell from her arm, in search of your purse. "Oh shit! I gotta go-" Her eyes never left you as you stepped towards the door. "Robin, we gotta hang out sometime." Her eyebrows were practically over her head, like a surprised cartoon. Her brain felt as if she had forgotten how to talk, or even what word were.

She couldn't do that. She would not be in a room by yourselves ever again. "Date?" It slipped past Robin's lips before her brain fully went back from the frizzy state.

Steve gave a glance to his friend, not quite sure what had changed between you two- going from hating each other to wanting to hang out. He didn't question it. Not having to hear you take jabs at each other was heaven. "Maybe."

Robin heard your voice as soon as she entered the room, causing her feet to turn and try to quickly get out of the room and maybe even the country. "Buckley!"

Shit. Robin cursed herself, shutting her eyes as you giggled, making your way to her. She knew the party was a bad idea. She had been bored all day, with Steve having work and it being her off day, plus a Saturday. When she had heard some kids from school talking about a party, she didn't really think about who would be there. She now regretted that.

"Robin." She turned, seeing your smiling face, noticing your eyes creasing from how big you were grinning.

"Y/n." She acknowledged you. Your face fell a little when her face was straight, not sign of any emotion.

"I wouldn't expect to see you here."

Not knowing why that hit a nerve, she couldn't help to feel hurt. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Uh," your smile fully fell, looking away from her. "Wanna come meet my friends?"

She had followed you through the house, weed and alcohol reeking through the room. Her eyes were set on your back, how the shirt tucked into the back of a pretty little white skirt. She wondered if that was all you had in your closet- it's not like she was complaining. More laughter echoed the little corner where a few people Robin had seen you hang around were sitting.

She stayed by your side most of the night, watching people around and you. She was never one for drinking, you however, wanted the buzz. You were even more giggly. Robin didn't know if she could handle it much longer.

"She just hasn't had this guy yet- I can't turn her back straight." Her eyes shot up to one of the guys who had interrupted your introduction to introduce himself. She could tell he had had way too much to drink, alcohol practically replaced the blood in his veins.

Her eyes followed where he and a few other people were looking and laughing. A girl who was openly lesbian was talking with her friends, laughing and enjoying the party, unknown of the cruel words being said.

The laughing pissed Robin off. Who did he think he was to say that? She couldn't believe you were friends with this guy. She half expecting you to laugh too, any second now. But as she turned slightly to look at you, you looked almost uncomfortable. "Mark, don't say stuff like that." The guy stopped laughing, his eyes traveling your body.

"What, Harrington?" He sat up, dragging his hand down his front to land on his crotch. Robin's nose crinkled in disgust. "You know what I can do to a woman." Your whole face broke out in disgust, almost as if all the alcohol would come up any second. "I'd have her straight as a board in no time."

As you stood up ubruptly, Robin's hands went out to catch you as you wobbled. "You're disgusting." You slurred, turning to walk away.

Robin was up and following you in a second, feeling as if getting away from that group was a breath of fresh air.

When the real fresh air hit her, she noticed you leaning against a tree in the front yard. She was quick to walk over. "Hey- you alright?"

"Yeah. He just makes me feel sick to my stomach."

"That might be the 10 gallons of alcohol you consumed." She joked, chuckling at herself, trying to lighten the situation.

"We should just leave." You got off the tree, wobbling on the sidewalk, towards your house. You didn't expect to feel her following you, thinking she would walk the other way, towards her own house. "What are you doing?"

"Walking you home." Her hands were in her pockets, the wind blowing her hair behind her.

"You don't have to."

"You shouldn't be walking home alone and drunk in the dark."

You didn't reply all the way back to your house. She walked you into the house, grabbing you a glass of water. The door opened with a push of her shoulder against it. "Here." She looked up, eyes growing wide with the lack of clothing you have. Her head shot to your door, closing it incase Steve came out of his room. Her eyes stayed on the ground as she quickly walked over to your dresser, almost slamming the glass down.

"Robin?" She hated how sweet your voice was. It almost didn't sound like you.

No one should ever sound that sweet, it's dangerous. "Ye-yeah?"

"Can you help me?" Her eyes looked up, going straight to your own, not daring to even look at your exposed collar bone.

"What?" Surely you didn't need help just throwing some clothes on.

Yet, you shamelessly stood in your underwear and bra, looking at her. "I can't undo my bra." You turned, your back exposed to her. She felt the air get stuck in her throat.

"Can't you just get in bed?"

"It pokes me." You whined, your hands trying to reach back but failing to fully find the clasp. Robin stepped forward, her hands becoming sweating as they met the cloth, slowly unclasping the three little metel pieces. Even after she was done, she couldn't help how soft your skin looked; how she wanted to lean forward and kiss until her lips felt numb.

"Thank you." She didn't moved as your turned, a tired smile on your face- her eyes stayed looking straight into your own.

The space between you was little, neither of you moving, for different reasons though, Robin had realized. She stepped back, letting you climb into your bed.

"You shouldn't go to bed with makeup on." Her voice was a little over a whisper. She had heard your complaint about how bad it was for your skin and your sheet and pillowcase.

You groaned, throwing your hand over the covers. Before you could voice your distaste for anything but sleep, she was walking towards your vanity, getting the makeup remover and walking over to the bed. You looked up at her as she kneeled beside the bed, bringing the cotton to your face, gently rubbing the makeup off. Your eyes raked over her face as if you haven't seen it before.

"There." She closed the bottle, throwing the cotton into your trash bin, going to stand up. Your hands stopped her movement, making her look at you in question.

She hated how soft your eyes looked up at her. "Thank you, Robin." Your fingers grazed her arm back and forth, an unknown pattern being made. "You're the best."

"I know."

"You can't go home."

"Why?"

"Because you shouldn't be out this late, all by yourself." She sighed, enjoying the patterns being drawn on her skin.

"I'll be fine."

"No." She looked at you with question in her eyes at how stern you were. "You can stay here." You patted the spot beside you on the bed. She felt the air get caught in her throat again, and her ear turn pink. As if on cue, rain hit your window, running down the glass as if it was taunting Robin and her emotions.

You don't lay in the same bed with people you hate. But she couldn't help it. It was late, cold, and raining. And your voice and face were so soft in emotion. She couldn't help herself.

Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, listening to the rain outside and your breathing beside her.

After a few minutes of silence in the dark room, she felt movement in the bed, and heard the blanket wrinkle with your movement. Suddenly, she felt your eyes on her, causing her to turn her head.

You were on your side, still having the same look in your eyes, as if she was the first person you had ever laid your eyes on. "You're pretty."

"You need to go to sleep, y/n." She dismissed you, seeing the sleep take over, noticing under your eyes and how your eyes were glossed over in sleep.

"Can I have a goodnight kiss?" She stared at you, not seeing the normal joking smirk, yet she nervously chuckled. She stopped when you sat up, a frown on your face. "I'm serious."

"You're drunk."

"Not enough." She followed your movement, sitting up and ignoring how the sheet fell from your exposed chest. "When I say I want to kiss you, I mean it."

"What?" You rolled your eyes, your hand going to grab hers.

"I like you. A lot, actually."

"It's just the alcohol talking- lay back down."

"No!" She flinched at your outburst. "I like you. I actually do. I have for a while. That's why I was mean to you when Steve brought you over. He's always managed to bring such beautiful girls over and you were way out of his league, truly. I was jealous, I guess." You were almost shy under her gaze, fiddling with your own hands now, letting her have her own back. "I kept being mean so I didn't have to ignore you completely - god, that would've killed me, Robin. I wasn't sure what to do- I certainly couldn't just go up to you and tell you I liked you. I wasn't sure, ya know? But when I saw the way you used to look at Vicky- I knew. I think I also brought my jealously out on you for that- sorry about that. She's a beautiful girl, I get it. But you're my 'Vicky'. I adore you more then I could ever physically express. And I probably wouldn't have even said anything if it weren't for the liquid courage, honestly. But I'm still thinking like I normally do. I know this isn't a mistake, no matter what happens between us next. And I am now realizing I'm blabbering. Sorry."

When you looked up, you were surprised to see her grinning.

"You're adorable." It was your turn to blush. "Can I kiss you?" Her quiet, raspy voice would have you doing anything she could ever ask.

"Of course. It's not like I've asked you 200 times-" her lips met yours, softly moving against each other and not coming up for air until your lungs screamed. She pulled back, her hand grazing the side of your neck.

You could feel her breath fan against your face, her forehead against your own. She whispered against your lips before going back into a kiss, not getting enough of you. "You talk too much."

Maybe she doesn't hate you.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

[uluvjay]

list 3, prompt 1 with jack pls! maybe at the lake house or something

[ SIT ]  for one muse to finger the other who sits in their lap fully clothed,  keeping an arm around their waist to make them stay still. 

Jack Hughes x Fem!reader

Warnings?; SMUT, fingering, semi public, pet names, dirty talk, cursing, kissing, out door

“Jack!” She scolded as she felt him slip a hand into the waistband of her shorts

The couple was relaxing on the hammock that rested between two large trees on the lake house property. It had been a day full of lingering looks and touches so she wasn’t surprised that her boyfriend wasn’t keeping his hands to himself.

“Relax baby nobody can see up” he whispered in her ear placing kisses behind it

“Fine bu-“ she began but a moan cut her off as he began moving his fingers on her clit.

“Gotta be quiet” he giggled in her ear

“Shu-ohh - shut up” she quietly moaned

He just laughed before he slipped a finger inside her warm and welcoming core, moving at a slow pace.

He kept up his pace for a moment before she started thrusting her hips up into his hand trying to create friction.

“For someone that was scared of getting caught you sure are moving a lot” Jack teased and placed his free arm around her waist.

“Then go faster!” She wined still trying to move her hips despite his strong hold.

“Whatever you say princess” he smirked adding another finger and going at a fast pace.

“Shit” she squeaked at his unforgiving pace

He held a smirk on his face as he listened to her small whimpers escape her mouth and watched her body fall apart under the use of two simple fingers.

“That feel good baby?” He asked as she let a loud moan to escape

“Mhm, hi-hit my g spot” she told him not even caring if she just inflated his ego even more then it already was.

He couldn’t hold back the cocky smirk that spread upon his face as he slowed down his fingers earning a cry of annoyance from his girlfriend.

She was getting to the edge right before he slowed his movements, she could feel the the fire igniting in her lower belly and pussy clenching at the feeling of Jacks hard cock pressed against her back.

“Baby I was getting so close” she whined

“Aww I’m sorry honey” he replied in a mocking tone

But his slow pace didn’t last long as she felt his fingers speeding up shortly after her complaint.

And it wasn’t long before she felt that fire bursting in her lower belly, thighs trembling and eyes clenched shut as her orgasm was hitting.

“J! I’m cumming!” She cried louder then she would have liked

“Come for me pretty girl, let me feel you” He encouraged fingers still moving inside her to help her through her orgasm.

When she finally came down from her high Jack pulled his fingers out from between her thighs and popped them into his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her cunt.

“Thank you” she giggled out breathlessly

“Don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything to taste that sweet cunt” he teased in her ear

“Jack” she whined as she felt her core throb at his words

He just laughed before turning her head up to his and placing a sloppy kiss on her lips.

They continued to sit there till she could feel her legs again and once she could she didn’t hesitate to get up and pull her boyfriend with her.

“Where are we going?” He questioned

“To your room”

“Why?”

“So I can take care of you” she smirked pulling him along

-

[sunraies]

Happy and High

Warnings- 18+, drug use, underage drinking, driving under the influence, swears.

Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

Chilling at the boneyard, at the end of the party. Happy and high, talking with your friends about a conspiracy theory Kelce heard while wrapped in your boyfriend's arms.

Poorly written Rafe fluff. Established relationship. Not canon at all.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The waves crashed gently, stars shone brightly as the fire burned low, having burned down from a big bonfire that lit up most of the beach to a small campfire in which the group huddled around. 

The party had slowly come to an end, people going home for their curfews or finding places away from the main party to hook up. 

Solo cups were scattered along the beach with empty kegs laying toppled over. It was surprisingly clean for a boneyard party. No blood stained the sand. 

For once the Kooks and Pogues had a decent night, enjoying the boneyard how it was meant to be. A place to party away from any form of authority, somewhere to be young, wild and free. 

For the youth of Outerbanks, this was paradise on earth. Music played loudly with booze and drugs in endless supply under fire lit hidden haven. 

You sat on the sand snuggled in your boyfriend's hoodie, engulfed in his smell and cologne. Your back was warmed by his t-shirt covered torso. His arms wrapped around you while you played with his ringed finger, with his chin resting gently on your shoulder.

"Warm enough, babe?" Rafe whispered in your ear as he squeezed you affectionately. 

You nodded, resting your head back to his shoulder, earning a kiss on the cheek. He smelt of beer, weed, and a smell that was distinctly Rafe under the expensive cologne he always wore. 

Although it was the middle of summer and the air was warm, Rafe always worried about you being cold with the evening ocean breeze. Not that you ever complained, any chance to be bundled in him, you took. 

"I'm telling you, man. Microchips!" Kelce pointed at Topper, solo cup in hand and joint hanging out of his lips as he spoke. 

"The government isn't going to suddenly bug our brains" Topper replied as his arm layed over Sarah's shoulders. 

"No, no. Listen, listen, listen" Kelce held up his hands, gaining the whole group's attention "Not bugging or washing. Nah, none of that shit- "

"Hey, Kel. 3 Ps" You cut him off holding your hand out for the joint, having watched Kelce already waste some. He knew the rules of Puff Puff Pass. 

He just grunted and passed it over before continuing his rant. 

"Anyway, none of that. We buy Microchips with any shit we want on it. Like downloading Google!" He pointed to his temple "to our brains!" 

Kelce leant back like he had blown everyone's mind before laughter followed. 

Rafe took a drag as you held it up to his lips before taking a hit yourself. A comfortable silence fell before Topper spoke up.

"So we would be like robots?" He frowned looking down from his star grazing, having been deep in thought. 

"Yeah, yeah like robots, fucking A.Is" Kelce grinned, coming out of his grump of being laughed at. 

"Don't encourage him, man" Rafe groaned, burying his face in your neck. His best friends were dumbasses.

All he wanted to do, even before the night began was take you back to his empty house, eat pizza and fuck you with no one around. 

His dad and Rose were away at the summer house for the weekend, Wheeze was at a sleepover and Sarah would hopefully piss off to Topper's. It was a perfect weekend for just being with you.

But you had wanted to go to the boneyard as soon as Sarah said about Chase (a guy with good music taste) being on the aux and with Chase as DJ, the boneyard was always popping. 

You wanted a night of dancing, getting drunk and high and what Rafe's girl wanted, his girl got. 

"So like you'd immediately know how to do anything uploaded?" You asked as Rafe groaned again. You hit his arm gently and gained a kiss on the neck. 

"Yes, Yes! Exactly!" Kelce's grin widened "I knew I liked your brain!" 

"Alright, so if you could know anything right away," Sarah joined in as she cuddled into Topper's side more "What would the first thing you learn be?"

"Languages," Rafe sat up straighter "I'd totally bagsy languages" 

"Like all languages?" 

"Of course. Understand and speak to anyone in the world! No brainer. It be tight" 

"You already know French and Spanish" 

"Right but with the chip, I'd know them all" 

Sarah shrugged in response as Rafe grumbled in your ear about being questioned. 

"It's ok, baby. Languages are sexy" you whispered which brought a smile to his face and French being whispered in your ear 

"I want to fuck you" 

"Smooth, love, real smooth" you laughed, sitting up more as you rolled your eyes at him. 

"I'd want parkour skills" You announced earning a few raised eyebrows "Who wouldn't want parkour. Imagine running and jumping to anywhere you liked! Get to places so quickly" 

"Parkour isn't a superpower, baby," Rafe laughed. "You wouldn't gain super speed to run places" 

Everyone nodded and laughed while you slumped back into him "Shut up, language boy" you grumbled light heartedly. 

"Nice come back" 

"Nice come back"  

"Real mature. Don't be like that" 

"Real mature. Don't be like that" 

He scoffed at you mimicking and you copied. 

After a moment of mocking each other, Rafe shut it down with a heated kiss. The others ignored it with it being a regular occurrence. 

"Medical" Topper said, nodding his head like it was the best idea in the world. 

"Medical?" 

"Yeah? Knowing everything medical" 

"Like a brain surgeon?"

"Totally, being as smart as a brain surgeon would be lit" 

"Seems like a lot of pressure. Everyone would come to you" 

"Oh, shit….nah….I'd want Mega shot skill!" 

"Top, what the fuck is mega shot skill?!" 

"You know, like, always being able to score a goal! Never missing a shot" 

"So the ultimate sports player. Calculating accuracy shit?" 

Topper pointed at Kelce and nodded "right, right!" 

"But the chip doesn't give you superpowers" you reminded them as Rafe chuckled. 

"You'd have this while still in your body. Mate that's shit, it would only work if you were already a pro. Not some stick playing beach soccer or volleyball" 

Everyone again laughed at a poor dishearten Topper before Kelce said cooking which no one could find fault with. After picking at Rafe's language choice for being boring and hearing yours and Top's ideas, no one could discredit Kelce's. 

After a while your eyes began to droop as Rafe played with your hair. Topper and Kelce shared the last joint when Sarah finally said her idea.

"Photographer memory" 

She got the response of a bunch of frowns followed by groans.

"Shit, you win"

"How did none of us think of that?" 

"You'd know everything just by looking at how to" 

"How long did that take you to think of?" 

Sarah shrugged with a smug look, she'd won the game, that wasn't a game in the first place but being high and happy, you all let her have her victory. 

"Can we have pizza now?" You said softly to Rafe, curled into him more having been in your own world for a little while. 

"Of course, pretty girl" He smiled down at you "Let's get you home" 

He kissed your forehead before standing up and helping you, brushing the sand off your butt and cheekily pinching it. You squealed and laughed as he pulled you into his side. 

"Pizza?" Kelce asked "I'd be up for pizza" He'd been laying on his back but was clearly still with it enough to hear you. 

Rafe groaned "No, fuck off" 

Kelce pouted "I want pizza too"

"Actually pizza sounds real good right now" Sarah smiled and Topper nodded happily 

Rafe ran his hand down his face "Go to fucking Top's and get pizza then"

He was honestly losing patience, his hopes of the weekend he had planned were back when you asked for pizza. It's all he wanted now. To be rid of these losers and just have you. 

"It's my house too," Sarah protested, folding her arms. Rafe looked up to the sky.

"Kick them out after pizza" you suggested, not wanting this night to end in a Cameron sibling agrument. It'd been nice have your closet friend and boyfriend in the same space, not fighting for once.

Rafe took a few more minutes before looking down at you and nodding "fine" He sighed "Alright! Fine!" 

That's how you all ended up in Rafe's truck, you and Sarah blaring music and singing along. Topper laughing at Kelce as he hung out the window. While Rafe raised his hand on your leg as he drove, praying that pizza wouldn't make everyone stay the night.