#crown handle bar

[rowarn]

SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

john "soap" mactavish / reader – 9.3k sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, developing relationship, virginity for sale trope, protective!soap, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader, mean!soap? or maybe just intense!soap, soap is NOT beginner-friendly

cw: loss of virginity, soap's filthy mouth, fingering, multiple orgasms, wet&messy, sloppy blowjob, cum facial, squirting, crying during sex?/dacryphilia, consent check bc johnny is a GOOD MAN, intense heated sex to sex with feelings, cunnilingus, corruption kink if u squint, multiple rounds, sloppy sex tbh

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It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom.

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

or.

After continuously getting in the way of your attempts to sell your virginity, you finally let yourself fall into bed with him instead.

You couldn’t believe you wound up here. You always thought it would happen in some sweet way. A long-time boyfriend or girlfriend, happy and in love. You’d snuggle up afterwards and be told how good you were.

But no, instead you became swamped in debt and ended up on the verge of eviction even though you were living in the cheapest apartment you could find that wasn’t in an area that would get you stabbed for stepping outside. You needed money fast and you had one thing that plenty of perverts would pay for; your virginity. It’s not your most crowning moment in life but as they say, you gotta do what you gotta do. 

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself so you don’t crumble under the shame of it all. 

When the chair across from you suddenly gets yanked out, feet scraping obnoxiously across the floor, making you nearly jump out of your skin. The man who sits down looks nothing like the picture he sent and you internally groan. He looks much older than you, no doubt in his mid 40’s, balding, and graying hair. You wouldn’t mind an older man if he were a little more…attractive. Sure, maybe that’s a bit shallow of you but fuck, it’s your virginity you’re giving away. You should be allowed to be picky with the man you choose! Under normal circumstances you would be so why not now?

Then again, this isn’t exactly normal circumstances was it?

You pick up the glass of the strongest drink you could handle that you ordered at the bar while waiting and downed it in one deep gulp. You gave the man a very fake smile and he grinned back, the sleazy sight making your stomach turn. 

You were going to need a lot more alcohol. 

The evening turned into night and you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol. Your ‘date’ doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as you drink, if anything he seems elated. That thought makes you curl your lip in disgust. 

“So,” he starts when you finally lean back in your chair, having had your fill of alcohol for the night, “Shall we move this along? My place or yours?”

“You got the money you promised?” you ask, raising a brow, unsure if you sounded as drunk to him as you did to yourself.

“In my car,” he responds, grin sitting irritatingly lopsided on his ugly face, “Got it all ready for you. After services are rendered, of course.”

Anxiety coils in your stomach at the mention of what you have to do to get the money. It’s a lot of money and that makes your palms sweaty – you need it. You feel like there’s eyes on you from behind, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. When you turn to look around, there’s no one paying any attention to you. Everyone in the bar was having a nice time. You wish you were one of them. 

“Let’s get out here,” the man grins, “I am just achin’ to get my hands on you.”

He stands up but you find yourself rooted to your seat. Your entire body feels tense, you can’t find it in yourself to stand up. You don’t want to go with the guy, you decide. Your fight or flight activates with terrifying speed, alerting you of the danger you’re in. Though you’re not exactly sure what danger that is just yet.

“I think…” you start and the guy heaves a big sigh.

“Don’t tell me you’re backin’ out?” he grumbles, not bothering to mask his irritation, “After I came all this way? That’s awfully rude of you.”

“I just don’t think I want to–” he groans, embarrassingly loud.

You feel the eyes of nearby patrons on you and your cheeks burn under the scrutiny. Shame bubbles up inside you at the thought of them finding out what exactly was going on between the two of you. 

“Let’s go,” he snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he rounds the table and grabs hold of your arm.

You don’t bother fighting back as he yanks you to your feet, instead leveling him with a fierce glare. You don’t want to make a scene in front of all these people so you plan to let him drag out outside where you can really give him a piece of your mind before hopefully coming back inside and peacefully getting drunk alone.

But a sudden, growling voice has both of you freezing in place, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes fall upon a man, standing tall and confidently. He has a mohawk, brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. Upon first glance, you could immediately tell he was in the military based on his posture alone. He was intimidating, broad and well-built.

“Hey, dude, why don't you mind your own fuckin’ business,” your ‘date’ snarled, yanking you harshly towards him.

You felt your eye twitch in irritation but your drunken brain was too slow to react properly. You were still hung up on the appearance of this rather good looking man. 

“This is my business,” the stranger said, Scottish accent thick as he took two big strides over to the both of you, “Why don't you just leave quietly so things don't have to get ugly?” 

Your ‘date’ stares the strange man down for a few seconds, taking a glance at you before kissing his teeth and ripping his hand off of you. 

“You ain't worth this shit,” he huffed, stomping off into the crowd. You could hear the bell over the door ring, announcing his final departure from the scene.

“Well, he was just a dandy fellow,” your rescuer jokes, a crooked grin settling on his face. His shoulders relaxed and he held his hand out, “Name’s Soap. How about I walk you home?” 

“That'd be great,” you responded, feeling your stomach starting to roll as the alcohol settled. You knew you were going to be stuck with your head over the toilet bowl soon and you'd rather be in the comfort of your apartment for that. 

“Let’s get a move on then,” he waved forward for you to lead the way. 

The crisp outside air had you sighing happily. You hadn't realized how hot you were in there but now that the light breeze brushed against your skin, you noticed how you had begun to sweat. 

“So you’re military, huh?” you ask, leading him in the direction of your apartments “Soap.” 

He chuckles, “You caught me.” 

You smile, “It's kind of hard to miss, no offense.” 

“None taken,” he assures, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “What were you doin’ with a piece of shite like that? Was he your boyfriend?” 

You sputter, “No! Nothing like that. I just…had a deal with him, that's all. I called it off and he got pissed. I'm sorta pissed at myself. Just missed out on a fuck ton of money.” 

Soap’s brows raise, “What kind of deal?” 

Your drunken brain forgets all about the fact such a deal should be kept quiet. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself, “My virginity for his money. But I’m not like a prostitute or anything!” 

He holds his hands up as surrender when you get defensive at the shocked look on his face, “You need money that bad?”

“You have no idea,” you sign, pinching the bridge of your nose at the mere thought of your money troubles, “I never do this. You know? I-I mean obviously…with the virginity and all. But-!”

“I’m not judgin’ you,” he assures, “Hard times. But you should be careful. Lot’s of dangerous characters out there.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders as you come to a stop, “This is my place.”

“Right,” he mutters, “Let me give you my number.”

“For what?” you sputter, watching him pull out his wallet.

“Just in case,” he smiles, “I doubt anyone really knows what you’re dealin’ with right? I do. So if you’re ever in any trouble,” he hands you a business card, “Give me a call.”

You take the card and look it over. It’s got his name and military rank but not much else. You raise a brow, “Why do you have a business card on you?”

He chuckles, waving his hand flippantly, “Just ‘cause. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you smile, stowing the card away in your pocket, “Thanks for walking me home, Soap.”

He stands outside of your place, waiting until you’re safely inside and shutting the door. When you peek out the window, you see him walking off in the direction that you had come from. You smile and go about getting ready for bed, grateful that you’re not feeling that awful nauseous pit in your stomach you had earlier.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still dressed in your clothes and you have no recollection of having laid down the night before. You groan, your head throbbing in your skull as you sit up. 

You stumble your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of yourself in the mirror. You take the time to start the shower and strip yourself, determined to scrub the grime from last night off of your body. 

By the time you step out, you’re feeling like a brand new person. You stretch your arms over your head and work on drying yourself off. Wrapping your towel around your body, gather your clothes in your arms, and trudge back into your bedroom. 

You look through the pockets of your jeans from yesterday, pulling out various coins and candy wrappers that you remember snacking on in the car to ease your nerves. You finally pull out the last thing – the business card Soap had given you last night. 

It all floods back to you, and you find yourself pulling your phone out, opening it to make a new contact under the name Soap.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, still wrapped in your towel, you shoot him a text.

“Hi Soap, remember me? You walked me home last night! I was just wondering if I could take this as a business inquiry?”

You aren’t sure where the burst of confidence came from. Last night, you would have never even thought to ask him such a thing. But the fact your plans fell through last night with that pig of a man, you kind of had no other choice at this point. 

And luckily for you, Soap texted back almost immediately.

“Sure, darlin’. We can consider it a business inquiry.”

Jackpot, you think. Not only is he very good looking and nice – if he has the money, then you can’t think of anyone better to sell your ‘goods’ to. 

He’s perfect.

Turns out, Soap is more than ready to meet up. Not at a bar, you’re thrilled, but at an actual restaurant. It almost feels like a real date!

You have the opportunity to dress yourself up and feel pretty. It feels so much better than meeting up with that guy at the dingy bar. Your nerves are almost non-existent. 

You still have that jittery feeling everyone gets when they’re going to be going out with someone new. 

But this isn’t actually a date, you have to tell yourself, as you get into your car to drive to the restaurant. It’s a meeting.

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the heavenly smell of food and what you can only deduce as something akin to mint. It’s a lovely restaurant, tablecloths and wine glasses everywhere. 

You look around the room before you spot him, sitting at a table in the far back nursing a glass of water. You make your way there, coming to a slow stop in front of the table. He looks up, blue eyes widening at the sight of you before he jumps to his feet. 

“You made it,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

He rounds the table and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Thank you,” you say as he pushes you in a bit before returning to his own seat. 

Soap situates his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands as he gazes across at you. You feel your cheeks burn underneath his intense gaze, not able to gain the courage to look directly at him.

A waiter comes by, depositing a basket of fresh, buttered bread on your table, letting you know he’ll be around in a moment to collect your orders. You offer him a polite smile as he vanishes, acutely aware that Soap is still staring right at you. 

“Why are you…” you clear your throat, finally looking at him. 

“You look lovely,” he says, a smile growing on his face when you become more bashful, “You’re truly breathtaking, has anyone ever told you that before?”

You can feel how hot your cheeks are and you resist the urge to reach up and pat them in an attempt to cool them down. You’re at a loss for words, no clue what to say in response to that. You hadn’t been told anything like that before, actually. Nor has anyone ever looked at you with such infatuated intensity like he is right now. 

Thankfully, the waiter arrives to relieve you of this immense pressure. Pulled from his devoted admiration, Soap orders first before you put your own order in. 

Left alone once again, you and Soap fall into an easy conversation. You’re surprised by how nice it is to talk to him, he’s open and funny. He tells you about his buddies in the military and about how he goes out to drink every weekend with some guy named Kyle and that he thinks his buddy Ghost’s jokes are just the worst abomination on Earth. 

You get so lost in talking to him, you don’t even realize how much time has passed. Your food arrives and the table finally falls quiet. 

You both get lost in eating your meals. Soap finishes his glass of wine and leans back in his seat with a content sigh. When you finish your own plate, you do the same. The chair creaks underneath the shift of weight and your eyes meet his. 

You wait to see if he’ll say something. But he just continues to stare at you, drifting from your eyes and down the rest of your body that’s not hidden by the table. 

“So, should we get out of here?” you finally find yourself asking, burying any embarrassment deep down, “Your place or mine?”

Soap seems to falter suddenly, crooked smile slipping off of his face, “Listen, darlin’...I-I don’t actually want to…you know…”

Your cheeks burn a little and you shrink in on yourself where you sit, “Oh! Well, that’s fine. I-It’s just that you said it was an inquiry so…I assumed.”

Soap shakes his head, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours, “I know. I told you that just so I could see you. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”

“You want to talk me out of it,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat again, “I appreciate your concern, Soap. But I’m really at the end of my rope here. This is my very last resort, you understand?”

“But you shouldn’t have to-!” you pull your hand out from underneath his and stand.

“I know,” you shrug, “I’m only doing what I can with my circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time to see me and let me know you’re worried. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You leave him behind at the table and make your way back to your car. As you sit, engine idling, the disappointment bubbles up within you. Soap is probably the absolute best you could have gotten in a situation like this. But, it’s clear now that you’re going to have to find a new guy. 

You just hope you don’t walk right into the clawed talons of some unknown serial killer or something. 

The thought sends shivers down your spine as you make your way back home.

So begins the process of finding a new person to get the money from. 

It’s not like it’s hard to find someone to sell your virginity to, men come out of the woodwork offering you the money. It’s no problem at all to set up a little meeting and get to know them before you’re whisked away to a bedroom. 

At least, that’s how it should be. 

The problem was there seemingly was always something that got in the way. Or rather…someone.

Soap, in fact. 

Around every turn, he was there to intercept the meeting you had with a man. 

A terribly boring man named Charles; Soap showed up at the bar you met at. The surprisingly young guy you weren’t even sure had enough money for his own monthly rent, Brandon; Soap was there. Justin, the doctor that lowkey gave you the creeps; Soap was there too. 

Every single time, the Scot would sit himself at the table and run the guy off, leaving you no choice but to go home alone and moneyless. 

You’re getting angrier with every passing day and before you know it, you’re calling him up and asking him to meet you. 

The second you lay your eyes on him, you’re marching right up to him.

“What the hell is your problem, Soap?!” you cry, practically nose to nose with him as you glare.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t know what I did to get you so wound up but-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done!” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“That’s a mean thing to say to someone,” he responds lightheartedly. 

But then your glare wipes the smile off of his face and he sighs, running a hand through his mohawk. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking anxiously back and forth on his heels as he seems to think over his next words carefully.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, darlin’,” he assures, “This…isn't safe, what you’re doin’. You could get into somethin’ real serious. I just…want to make sure you’re safe.”

You deflate and sigh, “I already told you, Soap. I appreciate your concern but…”

Suddenly, he surges forward, big, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls your lips to his. You gasp, hands resting against his chest as you allow yourself to melt into the kiss. 

When he pulls back, he seems almost nervous, “I wanted to kiss you really badly the first night I saw you.”

“So you like me?” you ask softly, not taking your hands off of his chest.

He reaches up, wrapping one of his hands around yours, “I’m afraid so.”

“Soap…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Johnny,” he says, “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you correct yourself, feeling your cheeks burn at the positively giddy look on his face, “I don’t know if…this…” you gesture between the two of you, “Is a good idea…with what I’m dealing with.”

His brows furrowed and a frown lines his lips. You find yourself wishing you could wipe the solemn look right off his face – it doesn’t suit him, “Just give me a chance, yeah? That’s all I ask of you.”

You sigh, “Okay, Johnny.”

You’re not sure why you gave in so easily to him. But the bright look returns to his eyes again and you find yourself feeling lighter. 

He steps back, slipping his fingers in between yours. He tugs you in his direction to follow him and you do, heart skipping in your chest as you look at your hand wrapped up in his. 

You haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time so this giddy feeling wasn’t one that you got to feel very often. 

Sooner than you’d like, he’s slipping his hand from yours to open the door to an apartment complex for you. You step inside and make your way down the hallway, tailing close behind him up to a door on the first floor – apartment 108. 

“It’s not much,” he gives you that charming, crooked smile as he opens the door.

“It’s better than my place,” you joke as you toe your shoes off.

“Have you had anything to eat?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket before hanging it on the rack by the door. You shake your head and he nods, “I’ll order us somethin’. Go ahead and make yourself at home.”

You watch him disappear into the kitchen as you look around his flat. It’s a modest apartment, a bit bare but there’s little bits of Johnny scattered around the place. There were picture frames on the walls and on different surfaces. The couch was navy blue and looked well loved. 

“Here’s some water,” he says, startling you as he comes back into the living room, “I ordered us some food, wasn’t sure what you liked so I guessed.”

You chuckle, taking a seat on the couch, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not really,” he chuckles, sounding nervous, “Good at this.”

“Well,” you sink into the cushions, “I can’t say I am either.”

He laughs, a sweet, melodic sound that makes your cheeks flush, “Well, in that case. We can just…go with the flow.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Go with the flow.”

By the time the food arrives, you and Soap are invested in watching a random season of The Bachelorette. Neither of you could decide so you looked online to find a wheel to spin to decide your fate for you. 

“Ugh,” Soap groans, “Can’t believe she’s goin’ on about how dreamy this bastard is. He’s a total tool!”

You giggle, holding one of his throw pillows against your chest as you sit. You’re about to add your own two cents when the doorbell rings. 

Soap jumps to his feet, “Fuckin’ hell, I could eat a cow.”

You admire the view of him from behind when he opens the door. His tight green t-shirt hugs the dip of his waist, riding up just a bit to show a sliver of tanned skin. His shoulders look impossibly wide as he stands in the doorway to take the food, muscles rippling beneath the fabric. His jeans sit low on his hips, belt tied tightly around them. 

Fuck, he’s good looking.

He turns, grinning and holding up the bags as if to show you his spoils. He raises one dark brow curiously, as if he knows what you’d been thinking.

“So,” he coos, saddling up next to you, placing the food on the coffee table, “Did you enjoy the view?”

You squeak, “I don’t think it’s polite to call out someone for looking…”

He cocks his head to the side and chuckles, leaning down to grip your chin, “Mind if I kiss you?”

“Now you’re asking?” you respond, breathless as you look at his lips coming closer and closer to yours.

“Aye,” he breathes. 

You nod and his lips are against yours in an instant. He supports his weight by placing his hands on the back of the couch. You have to crane your neck back to be able to kiss him but having him over top of you like this is exhilarating. 

You know you should stop before you get too carried away but you can’t seem to bring yourself to break away from him. Your attraction to this man is palpable and all consuming. 

Against your better judgment, you let him push you down, back against the cushions so he can crawl onto the couch. One knee on one side of you, he keeps one foot on the floor to straddle you without crushing you under his weight. But you wish that he would, fuck. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers slipping through the short hairs of his mohawk. He sighs against your lips, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, just pinning you down so he can deepen the kiss. 

You find yourself tugging at his shirt, edging it up and up until he’s forced to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he asks, blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils when he meets your gaze. 

You nod, “Want you, Johnny.”

“I’ll give you all of me,” he promises, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. 

It feels like the air evaporates from your lungs at the sight of him. He’s built, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fat – a man who is built for pure strength. His tanned skin is littered with tattoos here and there and hair speckles over his chest and stomach, a thick happy trail disappearing under his jeans. Which are tented with how his hardened cock presses against the fabric, desperate to be released. 

Your hand slips down the planes of his chest and down his tummy, cupping his erection. It twitches and kicks beneath your touch and pulls a groan from him. 

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips where he places a kiss upon your palm. 

“Strip yourself, baby,” he orders, “Wanna see that pretty body.”

He sits back on his heels, watching your every movement as you slip your shirt off and shimmy your pants down your hips. 

When you stop, he realizes you're not going to take your panties off so he quickly does it for you. His thumbs hook into the band and yanks them down, making you squeal as the force jostles you. 

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hands eagerly cup your breasts. You sigh at the contact, arching your back to press more into his touch. 

His kisses all over your chest, leaving no spot untouched, until he can pop one of your nipples in his mouth. You whimper, fingers sliding appreciatively through his mohawk while his other hand slips between your thighs. 

You easily part them, nearly panting by the time his fingers slip between your folds. You're already wet and sticky, drooling all over yourself with slick he uses to circle your clit. 

Your hips twitch as the first feeling of his rough fingers on the little bud. You cry out, tugging on his hair as he switches his mouth to give your other nipple proper attention. 

You arch your hips, his fingers sneaking down to prod at your entrance. With a glance at your face to make sure you're okay with it, he slides one in. 

There's a loud squelch when it sinks in to the last knuckle and you whine in embarrassment. 

He can't resist commenting, “So wet.” 

You whimper, lightly slapping his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckles, leaning up to press his lips against yours as he carefully works you open on that one finger. He presses and prods against your walls, waiting for you to relax so he can slip another one inside you — really prepare you for his cock. 

He presses against your g-spot and it rips a heavenly sound from your lips that only encourages him to do it again. You get wetter and wetter, throbbing and clenching around his middle finger. 

When he decides you're ready, he introduces a second finger. His ring finger easily fits in right alongside his middle. 

“There you go,” he praises, unable to resist looking down to see where his fingers are buried inside you, “That's it, baby, look at you go.” 

You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head when he adjusts his hand. His palm cups over your clit, the angle letting him really grind the tips of those digits right against that gooey little spot inside you. 

He watches the way you cream his fingers, milky colored slick dripping down his knuckles. It makes his mouth water. 

The movements rub his palm over your clit, stimulating the tender little bud and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cry out, moaning and wailing the tighter that cord winds in your tummy. 

You clench and pulse against his fingers, a signal that you're going to cum for him. He works even harder, diligently worshiping your precious cunt until you toss your head back and sob. 

Your body trembles, thighs twitching in time to your walls squeezing around him. He moans with you, watching your pretty body in the throes of pleasure. 

When it becomes too much, you weakly reach down and bat his hand away. He slips his fingers out, watching you clamp your thighs shut. 

As you lay there panting and collecting yourself, he pops his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste, slipping his tongue between them to catch every single drop of sweet cum he can get. 

By the time he finishes off the delicacy, you're watching him with lidded eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

“More?” he asks, a crooked grin on his face. You nod and he chuckles, “That looked like a good fuckin’ orgasm. Sure you can handle more?”

“If I can't,” you whisper, sitting up to tug at his belt, “You can make me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to help you open his pants, “Want me to make you take it, baby? Make you cum on my cock until you can't even think?”

“Please, Johnny,” you whimper, not tearing your eyes off the sight of him stripping himself bare. 

His cock was fat and heavy, a thick patch of hair scattering the base with thick, full balls to match. You felt your mouth fill with saliva at the sight of his hand wrapped around his big cock, stroking himself languidly until enough precum had dripped out to slick himself up. 

“Let me hear it again, doll,” his eyes are heavy lidded as he looks at you laid out beneath him, breathless and sweating from the orgasm he’d worked out of you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper, needily reaching your hands out towards him. 

“Shit,” he grunts, “Alright.” 

He scoots closer to you, spreading your legs open for him. Your sticky folds part, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit and clenching hole that’s still drooling your creamy release. 

He slips the tip of his cock through the gooey mess, tapping it meanly against your little bud. Your knees flinch at the stimulation and your jaw drops open when he starts to push inside. 

It burns and you arch your hips away instinctively from the pain. He slips out and curses.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles, hoisting your hips into his lap with an iron grip. 

“Can’t,” you pitifully whimper. 

Soap clicks his tongue, purses his lips and lewdly spits on your clit. You whine, hands covering your face when he uses his cockhead to smear it all over. 

When he starts to push in again, the burn starts but a rough thumb finds your clit. 

“Shh,” Soap soothes you, watching as the furrow in your brows vanishes. 

He works your clit in tiny circles as he carefully saws his cock in and out of your tight hole, inching a little bit more in every time. Your body grows pliant and soft, slumping against the couch until he finally buries himself to the hilt. 

“Thaaaaat’s it,” he praises, still rolling your hard clit under his thumb, “Good fuckin’ job. Take your reward, sweetheart.” 

He remains completely stuffed inside you, grinding his hips up just a little until he prods at that gooey little spot inside you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he watches your eyes grow wide, a grin stretching across his face.

“C-Cummin’-!” you manage to gasp before you throw your head back. 

He groans, jaw falling open as he works you through the orgasm, rubbing your clit to ease you through every pleasurable wave. It’s only when you reach down, grabbing his wrist to stop him that he ceases. 

“Fuck,” you pant, pupils blown wide as he looks at you coming down. 

“Feels good cumming on cock, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, once again wearing that crooked grin on his face. 

You nod your head, still too fucked out from your orgasm to properly formulate words. He chuckles, carefully pulling back until only the thick head of him remains nestled inside. With a swift, experienced roll of his hips, he stuffs every single inch right back in. 

You wail, grappling haphazardly against his shoulders for stability as he starts to really fuck you. He punches so deep, makes you feel him in your tummy. The friction burns and feels incredible at the same time. 

It feels so fucking good that you can’t stop any of the sounds that are forced from your lungs with every mind-numbingly pleasurable thrust of his cock. You’re soaking him, dripping all creamy down his cock in a way he knows you’ve never done before. No way your own fingers could make you cream like this and he doubts you’ve ever sat this pretty cunt on any stupid toys. 

He groans, grinding against your clit every time he reaches as deep as he can, “Not gonna have shit to sell now, huh?”

You whimper, shaking your head as you stare at him wide eyed, drool dripping over your lips because you can’t close your mouth for even a second. There’s no way for you to quiet yourself, you’re loud, you wear every pleasurable experience on your face with no ability to hide or perform. Every reaction is real and authentic and he loves it. 

“Don’t think I can ever let you go after this, sweetheart,” he coos, slowing his thrusts so you can focus on looking at him, “That alright with you?”

You swallow thickly and shakily nod your head, “O-Only want you, J-Johnny.”

He snorts, sharp canines glinting at the predatory grin he gives you, “You only sayin’ that because you’re got your cunt stuffed full of my cock?”

You whimper at the punishing thrust he gives you, the pain of him battering your cervix making you tremble, “N-No! L-Liked you when I first saw y-you. I-I swear, Johnny. Please!”

“Alright, quit fuckin’ beggin’,” he snaps, leaning out of your reach, making you whine. 

He takes a mean grip of your hips, using just his strength to yank you onto his cock like a fleshlight. You wail, head tossed back against the couch as he really fucks you. Every thrust is too deep but gives you nothing but pleasure. He grinds against your clit every time he sinks in, making sure to also aim for the gooey little spot that gets you creaming around him. His fat, heavy balls slap against your ass every time he stuffs that cock into you. 

It’s all just too much. He should know better, really, treating a little virgin pussy so meanly. You’re too new to this, don’t know how to take such cruel, deep strokes. You’re squeezing tight, staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. He can’t stop the moan that tears from his throat at the sight of tears trickling down your cheeks – proof that this is all too much. 

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not when he feels how tight you’re squeezing around him, how much wetter you’re getting as you get closer and closer to what he knows is going to be the best damn orgasm of your life. 

“Cum,” he whispers, shocked at how fucked his voice is from pleasure, “Cum right fuckin’ now.”

“W-Wait, Johnny-!” you wail, feet kicking as you fight against his iron-tight hold on you, “I-It’s…It feels w-wrong!”

“Stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he snarls, easily pinning you to the couch. He folds you up, knees to your chest as he presses his body weight down on you. He can feel the air being forced out of your lungs under the weight, “I said cum.”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something. But you can’t get the words you, only whimpers and tears. He doesn’t care what you had to say, though. All he cares about is feeling your tight little cunt cum around him so he can have his own orgasm. 

You still try to fight him from how intense the build up is. You slap against his shoulders, squirm and try to kick him off but he easily holds you down. Even as you fight, you never once tell him to stop. 

After a few, long seconds, he feels it. 

Fuck, does he feel it. 

You gush. It splatters all over his cock and stomach. He curses, slamming into you over and over, every thrust forcing another squirt out of you. You’re sobbing, fat tears falling down your cheeks and you’re moaning the prettiest damn symphony that has ever blessed his ears. 

The orgasm is too much, it’s intense and all consuming. You can’t come down, every time he stuffs you full, your orgasm continues to wash through you. 

“J-Johnny-!” you sob, “N-No more!”

“Fuck!” he snarls, cutting his own orgasm off when he pulls out of you. 

He pushes himself off of you and you curl in on yourself, softly sniffling and shaking in a little ball. He licks his dry lips at the sight of you covered in your own squirt. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he coos, panting and breathy, hoisting you up and into his lap. 

He cradles you in his arms as you’re wracked with trembles and twitches, your nerves zapping through your body from the pleasure. He shushes you, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet from your tears, pupils blown out wide. He clicks his tongue and wipes his thumb underneath to swipe some away. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, “Just get some breaths. Got a little overwhelmed, huh?”

You nod, slumping against him with a sigh when you finally feel like you’re back in your body. Johnny is solid and sweaty beneath you, warm and comfortable as he cups the back of your head and strokes his hand over your body. 

“I-I’ve never um…” you clear your throat, cheeks burning hot.

“Knocked your damn socks off, huh?” he jokes, a crooked smile on his face. 

You giggle, endorphins still rushing through your body. You shift on his lap and catch the pinch in his brow before he can school his expression back into place. You look down, biting your lip at the sight of his cock still hard and twitching, smeared in a creamy mess of your cum.

“Ah, it’ll go down on its own, darlin’,” he assures, no irritation to be seen or heard from him. 

One look in his eyes shows you that he’s perfectly prepared to go without his well-earned orgasm – just for you. 

But you don’t want that, you realize. He had made you feel incredible, given you an orgasm that you’ve never been able to experience in your life. You doubt anyone else will ever be able to make you do it again. 

“I-I want to help, Johnny,” you whisper, trying to swallow down your nerves. 

His brows raise in interest, “What did you have in mind?”

You slide off of his lap and slowly sink to your knees. You place your shaky hands on his thighs to steady yourself, looking up at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. 

He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, a breathless, “steamin’ blood Jesus,” following. 

“I-I’ve never done this,” you confess, though he’s not surprised, “Is that okay?”

“Is that-” he laughs softly, “darlin’ any man who isn’t appreciative of you willin’ to swallow his cock is a man you kick in the balls, got that?”

You giggle, nerves dissipating as he wraps a hand around the base of him. You scoot a bit closer when he holds it out for you, waiting for you to do what you please with it. Your tongue falls from your mouth and Soap feels like he’s suspended in air as he watches you get closer and closer to the sensitive, leaky tip. 

The first contact feels better than he could have imagined. He’d gotten so fucking close earlier, buried in your cunt as you came around him, squealing for him and all. He knows it won’t take much to send him over the edge this time. 

Perfect practice for you, he thinks. You won’t have to be on your knees for too long or do any real work to get him to cum for you. 

You’re clumsy and it’s clear you’re unsure about the taste of his cock. It’s not just his precum, it’s your own cum mixed with it. He can’t blame you for being unsure.

He reaches down, a soft, gentle hand resting atop your head to encourage you. When you look up, he smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You suddenly feel like you’re the center of his world. Those baby blues never once waver from you as you sloppily lick and slurp on the tip of him. 

“Take a little more,” he whispers, lashes fluttering and chest rising as he takes a deep breath when you eagerly follow his directions. 

Your pretty lips stretch around the girth of him, taking just the head inside your hot little mouth. The flared glans are greeted by your curious tongue, making him whimper when you lick. Your mixed taste lingers on your tongue but you quickly grow accustomed to it. 

Feeling braver from Johnny’s unfiltered reactions, you take a little more into your mouth. Then more. And a little more until you suddenly choke, gagging around him. You pull your head off, sputtering and coughing a bit. 

Johnny coos at you, thumbing away some drool on your chin, “Not too deep, darlin’. You’re not ready for that.”

You hum, not at all discouraged from taking him back into your mouth again. You don’t take him as deep, accepting that you have your limit – for now, judging by Johnny’s subtle promise of more to come. 

“Just suck, watch your teeth,” he whispers, not caring about the way his voice cracks, “Move your head like this. Go at your own pace, alright?”

You lazily blink up at him, hoping he understands your agreement. You do as you’re told, folding your lips over your teeth to keep them away from his sensitive skin. Bobbing your head feels awkward and it makes your jaw ache but the sounds Johnny begins to make makes you temporarily forget about your own discomfort. 

His eyes are rolling back in his head and he starts to stroke the rest of his cock that your mouth can’t handle yet. You can’t tear your gaze away from the sight of those thick, veiny fingers wrapped around himself, getting covered in a slick mess of your cum that he had so generously fucked out of you earlier. Drooling all over him like this only gives him more of a mess to work with. It’s gross, frothy and dripping down your chin and neck, slicking up your tits.

It makes your cunt tingle selfishly. You think you could make yourself cum, slip your hand between your legs and stroke your clit until you find release. But you don’t – you focus on Johnny and his pleasure. He’d already given you so much that you don’t want to come across as greedy by making his moment about your own pleasure. 

Johnny’s free hand grip around the back of your neck, squeezing and caressing your skin as encouragement since his mouth is too busy moaning. You take his sounds as signals, sucking and moving at whatever pace makes him cry out the loudest. 

You had no idea men like him were willing to be as loud as he was. Usually, the masculine type of guys like him would be online whining about how moaning was ‘gay’ or some stupid shit.

Johnny didn’t seem to give a fuck. If he felt good, he was going to let you know. It made you feel more at ease, like you were doing a good job even though you knew you were still clumsy and it probably didn’t feel as good as head he’s surely gotten in the past. 

But it encouraged you to work harder to please him, to earn more of those beautiful, unfiltered moans that he was so willing to give you. They were your reward for the intense ache in your jaw.

“F-Fuck,” he groans, suddenly, eyes opening from when he had closed them at some point, “I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

His words are slurred, like his brain’s oozed down to his cock, too stupid to think of anything except how heavy and full his balls felt. 

“Shit, shit, shit-!” he whimpers, an honest to god whimper, “Off, pull off!”

You do as you’re told, releasing his cock from your mouth. Strings of frothy drool connect your lips to his tip and you don’t dare break it, the sight making you clench around nothing. 

Johnny strokes his cock, another loud moan erupting from his lips as he cums. It spurts out, splattering against your cheek, making you flinch in surprise. You can see the way his balls throb in time to each rope of cum that his fat cock spits out. More splatters on your cheeks and lips and across your nose until it tapers off to slow, thick oozes that dribble over his knuckles. 

When he lets himself go, he sags against the couch, staring dazedly at the ceiling as his erection flags and grows soft. 

When he finally looks at you, you can see his eyes widen almost in alarm. He leans forward, cupping your cheek, messily swiping some of his cum off of your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, still sounding breathless, “Didn’t think you were gonna get splashed with it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling his cum still lingering on your lips.

You can’t resist sticking your tongue out to taste it. His eyes darken at the sight of you licking up his cum. You don’t make a face of disgust like he expected, instead he catches the way your thighs clench together.

“Is that right?” he mumbles, cock twitching in interest, “Isn’t that an interesting development? You like to taste cum, sweetheart?”

You whimper when he swipes more up onto his thumb, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which you eagerly do. You suck his finger clean until he pulls it back out, pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes look black.

“You ever had that pretty cunt eaten before?” he asks, a predatory grin splitting across his face when you shake your head.

His hand wraps around your throat, ripping a moan out of your throat. He easily manhandles you onto your knees, tits pressed against the cushions of the couch with a nasty “stay.”

You never thought you’d enjoy being manhandled and ordered around like a dog but fuck if you’re not learning more about yourself tonight. 

Soap smacks your thighs apart, and slips his head between them. You take a glance down and nearly choke at the sight of him laying on his back, staring hungrily as you cunt drips gooey, sticky strings right onto his waiting tongue that he holds out for it. 

The sight is so fucking filthy. 

But it’s nothing compared to the sounds he makes when he gets that tongue on your cunt. He slurps between your folds, groaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. He swallows your clit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks. 

You’re already a moaning mess, crying out into the cushions which you claw desperately at. Your eyes roll up into your head when you feel him pop your clit out of his mouth, spit on it, and then slurp it right back up. 

He eats so fucking dirty, it’s disgusting and sloppy. But it makes you rut your hips against him. 

Soap chuckles, pulling back to watch you work your hips over nothing before you realize he stopped and whine.

“Fuck yourself on my tongue then,” he whispers, earning him a relenting whimper in response. 

You can feel the flat of his tongue, hot and thick, against your clit. The little bud’s so hard, swollen and pulsing against the muscle. 

With his order ringing in the back of your head, you clumsily hump his tongue. You drag your sensitive little clit back and forth along the surface of his tongue. It feels so fucking good that you actually sob. The sound tears from your chest and makes his cock twitch. 

You rut faster and faster, not caring about the way you’re messing up his face when you move too high or too low. You know there’s a mess on his chin, cheeks and nose but you don’t care. His tongue is there for you, for you to cum all over. He’s so good to you, holding it out just so you can use him as you please. 

As you grow closer and closer, your moans change in pitch and he suddenly reaches up, stilling you. You groan, an irritated sound that makes him laugh. You frown at that but it’s quickly wiped away when he grips your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can stuff his tongue into your creaming cunt. 

You shout, sitting straight up in surprise, your weight falling onto his face. He moans at that, rewarding you by pushing his tongue even deeper. It feels odd, different from his fingers and his cock. It’s soft and almost slimy, not long enough to quite reach any pleasurable place. 

But just the fact that he’s got his tongue buried in your pussy is enough to have you clenching on it. He watches you through heavy lids, waiting to see what your next move is. 

He’s enjoying your little show, he must admit. He likes seeing a sweet, clumsy virgin experience these things for the first time. He likes the fact he’s breaking you in, tearing your walls down and seeing you lost in mind-numbing pleasure. 

You surprise him by resuming the motion of your hips. You hump back and forth, riding his tongue like it’s a little toy just for you. And he supposes it is, he’d be a toy for you if you so wished. He’s addicted to this sweet, creamy little pussy and he’s not afraid to admit it. 

You reach down, swirling your fingers around your sticky clit. There’s lewd clicks that accompany the movements along with the sound of his tongue sliding in and out of your hole. 

You meet his gaze, he’s staring so intensely at you. It spurs you on, makes you fuck yourself on his face more confidently. 

You tap your fingers against your clit, slapping the little bud and pulling your fingers back to show Soap the sticky strings of slick that connect them to your cunt. He can’t stop himself from reaching down, wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off to the sight of you smacking your clit and fucking his tongue. 

You’re pulsing around it, dripping down his face and mixing with the drool that's pooling out of his mouth. His face is a mess, it drips down his cheeks and under his neck. He’s sure there’s a pool beneath his head that will need to be cleaned up and fuck, he’ll lick it from the floor if you let him. Just as long as he gets to taste you again. 

You gasp, tossing your head back. His cock fucking aches, harder than it was before and more sensitive now that he’s already had an orgasm. He knows he’s leaking, drooling sticky precum all over himself like the horny mutt he is. 

You cum spectacularly, twitching and trembling, rubbing your clit and clenching around his tongue. It’s like a reward, swallowing down your cum straight from the source. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and wraps his lips around your clit again. 

You wail, shaking and throwing yourself face down against the couch again. You try to wrench your hips away from his punishing mouth but he wraps his arms around your thighs and continues to slurp and slobber all over that tender little bud. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm tears through you, far too soon after the other. It almost hurts from how sensitive you are through it, not even able to make a sound as it washes over you. 

Only when you’re left twitching and trembling does he finally relent. There’s tears falling out of your eyes and drool dribbling down your chin. The picture of fucked out.

He laughs, folding himself over your back. 

“You still with me?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

You whimper, “Fuck, you’re so good, Johnny.”

He chuckles, “Think you can take more?”

You eagerly nod your head and he doesn’t waste any time. He sinks his cock into you in one deep thrust. You choke on a moan, arching your back so you can feel him even deeper. 

He doesn’t start slow like he did before. He knows your little cunt is fucked nice and open for him now. You’re still dazed, drunk on endorphins, any attempts to meet his thrusts are sloppy and clumsy. It’s cute so he doesn’t bother stopping you. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders you but doesn’t wait for you to do it. 

Instead, he meanly knocks them apart, opening you up even more. His balls slap against your clit and you wail, the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“There you go,” he laughs, “You liked slapping that little clit earlier. How’s this?”

“So good!” you cry, kicking your feet against the floor as pleasure washes through you. 

You feel like a live wire, every movement forcing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. Soap isn’t far behind you, too sensitive and worked up to draw it out for long. 

He clasps the back of your neck, pinning your face to the cushions as he fucks. He takes and takes, using your sticky, gooey cunt. He’s pounding into you, hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping your clit. 

You can’t even say anything as the orgasm washes over you. He only feels it, the rhythmic clenching of your walls and the gush as you squirt. You’re silent, completely still against the couch as he saws his fat cock in and out, squirt after squirt of cum splattering all over his thighs until he inevitably reaches his own end. 

This time, he fills you up. Seats himself as deeply inside of you as he can before he moans. His cock pathetically spits only a few strings of cum but the orgasm lasts far longer, encouraged along by the clenching of your cunt as you’re coming down. Or maybe you’re still cumming, he’s not sure. 

There’s a faraway look in your eyes, a wet spot of drool underneath your cheek on the cushion of the couch. You’re panting and glistening with sweat. When he pulls out of you, you drop to sit on the floor, the measly load he had given you drooling out of your cunt as it continues to clench and throb around nothing. 

Fuck, he’s never felt so proud to fuck someone brainless before. He knows you’re gonna need a good bath and cozy arms to sleep in. 

And his are the best around, if he does say so himself. 

He kisses up your spine, curling himself around you as you finally start to come back to yourself, pliant and soft. The both of you sit there, holding one another and sharing soft kisses until he decides it’s time to move. 

He’s in no rush, though. He’s wrapped around your finger now and you’re never getting rid of him. 

do not modify, translate, repost, or use for c.ai. reblogs OK!

[saisa-sound]

Wet Bar Home Bar Wet bar - mid-sized transitional galley medium tone wood floor wet bar idea with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, black cabinets and granite countertops

[mushies-stories]

Drinking- how TF141 handles a clingy drunk reader for the first time

PART ONE- Price and Soap

PART TWO- Ghost and Gaz

F!Reader

Warnings: drunk reader, little tiny bit suggestive... think that's it?

John Price

The first time he saw you drunk was when you had called him to pick you up from a night out with the girls. You had planned on just taking an Uber home but the more you drank the more you wanted John. so you called him and asked sweetly if he would come get you, telling you just needed to see him.

“Please John… i jus’really need to… to see you.” you whine over the phone.

John doesn’t mind in the slightest. Your slurred words and the pout in your tone made him rush to leave his flat. 

When he found you he couldn't help but mirror the grin that had blossomed on your own face when you saw him. He wastes no time in striding over to you, quick to place a hand around your hip and help support your body as you hug him. Your arms loose around his neck. 

“Missed you s’much.” you mumbled into his neck. 

He chuckles and pats your hair. “That so love? Well I missed ya too.” he tells you. “S’about time I bring ya home, yeah?” he strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head before leading you to his car. 

Back home you don't even have time to get your fingers on the door handle before John is there and swooping you off your feet, caringing you inside with no complaint for you, only drunkenly happy giggles and little kicks of your feet. 

The whole car ride you looked at him and talked about how much you just wanted to be in his arms. You can't wait to be laying in bed wrapped up and warm with your perfect man.

He brought you back to his flat and to his bed. Setting you down at the end gently and with another little kiss to the top of your head. “Just a moment, sweet girl.” he says and leaves the room. He comes back with a glass of water and instructs you to drink some. His hands rub your back and shoulders gently, soothing you and making you hum softly.

Picked out one of his shirts for you to sleep in and helped you change. chuckling when you almost fall back onto the bed when he slips your pants off. “Almost done love, don't fall asleep just yet.” he tells you with a loving smile. 

When he finally got you dressed and everything situated for bed you were grasping for him the moment his knees the mattress. He barely had time to turn the bedside lamp off before you were leaning into his side and gripping his shirt. 

“Alright sweet girl, c’mere.” John pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You sigh happily against him and let your body relax, sinking into his. “Love you s’much John.” you mumble before letting his warmth soothe you into unconsciousness. 

John fell asleep with a small smile. Your heartbeat eases him into sleep. “Love ya to dove, my lovely girl.” with one more kiss placed on your hair he lets sleep take him. 

John 'Soap' MacTavish

You had gone out with Johnny one night to a bar he liked. He wanted to teach you how to play pool and show off at darts. 

It was when Johnny says something about taking it slow after you stumble over your own foot. Blaming the alcohol and your little tolerance, Soap joked that you already had too much. 

Of course in retaliation, you wanted to prove him wrong by ‘out drinking him’. Needless to say, it did not go as planned and you certainly did not win your bet.

In no time you were a giggling mess, trying to play pool but missing every shot and when Johnny came up behind you to keep you balanced you couldn't help leaning into him.

“Johnnyyy, I love you so much.” you slur up at him with a cheeky, drunken smile. 

He chuckles at your drunken state. “That so? Well I love ye too Binnie.” he says and kisses the top of your head. “How’s’bout we get on home?” he offers, already steering you towards the exit. 

Johnny doesn’t live too far from the pub, meaning you had walked there but… Johnny has to carry your drunk ass back. 

He was being a stubborn tease at first, just helping you wobble along the sidewalk and shaky legs. After some whining and adorably drunk pouty faces, he gives in and lets you climb onto his back. 

While he teased you at first about being such a lightweight, he had to admit that you were rather adorable and really, clingy so that made up for your lack of drinking skills. 

The whole way home you kissed his neck, peppering little kisses and nips along the exposed skin. “Dove, keep doing that and I'll be hard all night.” he chuckles. The grip he has on your thighs tightens a little in warning. 

You giggle and lick a long strip up the side of his neck. “Maybe that's what I want Johnny, want you hard all ni-Ah!” you're cut off with a yelp when Johnny hoists you up with a little jump.

“Watch it shrimp, yer way too drunk to handle any of tha tonight.” he scolded softly. 

You pout like a wounded puppy but concede, it was never going to be a winning battle, you were very drunk after all. But that doesn't mean you can't nuzzle into his back and feel his huge muscles right? 

The rest of the walk was peaceful, you kept your hands to yourself, or rather his large arms. Back home he helped you get ready for bed, brushing your teeth, taking your makeup off and making sure you drank some water. 

He found you his softest t-shirt for you to sleep in. but wouldn't give you any shorts or pants, insisting you wouldn't need them since he was warm enough for the both of you.

You fell asleep with him holding you close, your back to his chest. He kissed your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck, to which you sigh happily about. “Night Johnny, love you.” your words are slow and in a blink your breathing steady and fast asleep. 

“Love ye too dove.” he smiles to himself, noting how you fell asleep so fast even though not even 30 minutes ago you were pawing at him.

[shibaraki]

OPEN ARMS, OPEN EYES ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au, meet-cute, gojo has a visual impairment (modern take on his six eyes), the divine dogs are service animals (seeing-eye dogs), original child character, reader is babysitting, fluff + flirting, (takes place in my foster dad au)

wc: 3k

Overhead, the bell rings a soft welcome. You quickly shuffle Kota out of the drizzle and into the warm embrace of the cafe. A full staccato can be heard over the soothing music as the wind begins to whip the rainfall against the windows. You sigh, having escaped the worst of it.

Kota squirms, his pink face scrunched into a glare as you bend to undo the buttons tucked beneath his chin and let down his raincoat hood. Free from the nylon confines he shakes out his hair and swipes at the strands stuck to his damp forehead with a whine.

“I know little man,” you murmur placatingly, reaching for the napkins on the nearby condiment bar. You pat his skin dry from his cheeks to his neck, and then under his cuffs around his wrists. His sniffling has allayed, to your relief. “Is that better?”

When he doesn’t answer you look up and find him entranced by something across the threshold. You follow his line of sight and feel the breath stolen from your lungs.

The stranger is imposing and beautiful in a way that is hard to look at; yet it’s the intense air of confidence and ease about him that makes it impossible for you to look away. Standing tall at the counter he’s all slender angles and fluid movements in his fitted white dress-shirt, rocking on his heels as he waits.

The shelves fixed to the wall behind the counters are littered with decorative trinkets doused in warm-gold light that crowns his white hair like a halo. Everyone’s focus has gravitated toward him, so much so that they don’t appear to notice the large black dog at his feet.

Kota, however, paid the man no attention. Instead his chubby fingers curled around your shirtsleeve to tug insistently at your arm, “Puppy!”

There’s a blue padded harness strapped to the dog’s torso, ‘assistance’ printed in bold reflective letters across the chest and along the adjustable handle. Their body language shows that they’re comfortable but alert, ears standing tall and twitching in Kota’s direction. Kota, who has managed to free himself from your grip.

And is tottering towards the service dog.

You rise to stand and amble after him, frantically whispering his name. “Kota—no. You can’t pet the dog,” your arm scoops around his belly to keep him from tripping as you grab the back of his coat and gather him to your front. The boy stomps his foot and whines, forcing his body pliant in protest and becoming deadweight.

Nervous about causing a disturbance you survey the surroundings. Nobody stirs. A woman and her two young children are seated nearby, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. You grimace, steadying Kota on his feet.

“But I wan’a pet the puppy,” Kota warbles, making grabbing motions toward the dog.

“You can’t sweetheart. Look,” you run a soothing hand down his back. Bringing him close you point at the blue harness. “See what they’re wearing? Can you read that word?”

Kota’s brow knits in concentration. “S’big word,” he says. You smile at his seriousness and suppress the urge to squeeze him.

“That word says ‘assistance’,” and he repeats it with imprecise intonation, thrice before he’s satisfied. “That’s right,” you praise him, sneaking a kiss to his temple. A frisson of happiness has him burying into the crook of your neck. “Do you know what it means when an animal is wearing a coat like that?”

Kota shakes his head.

“It means,” you cast a quick glance to the owner and almost swallow your tongue. His face is angled in your direction, as if listening in on your conversation, though his eyes are well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses. “It means that dog is working. They have a very important job to do, so we can’t interrupt them. It would be bad if they got distracted, right?”

Kota thinks long and hard about this. A litany of emotions wash over his expression. It ranges from confusion, to petulance and sadness, then finally, acceptance. “Yeah. Okay,” he nods, staring longingly at the fluffy tail sweeping back and forth across the tiles.

“Good. Now you’ve learned something new today. You can tell your parents all about it once I get you home,” you stand straight and brush down the front of your jeans. “How about we get some cream puffs to celebrate once it’s dry out, hm?”

“Yeah!”

The disruption thankfully hadn’t bothered the dog. You watch as the man drops his hand to his hip and they immediately nuzzle into the touch. “Good girl,” you hear him croon as his fingers crook behind her ear. Then he cocks his head and a pair of lustrous eyes are visible over his opaque, round-rimmed glasses.

Hair prickles on the nape of your neck. His stare settles just beyond your shoulder. The pigment in each iris is oddly dispersed and startlingly light, a clear blue with infinite depth, as if they were plucked right from a celestial body. “Thanks for keeping him on a leash,” he tells you with teasing cadence, mouth curled into a smile. Kota gives an affronted grumble and you laugh, combing your fingers through baby-soft hair.

The man inclines toward Kota, “Her name is Maya, by the way. You can’t pet her but you can say hello”.

Enthralled at this development Kota bends his knees in an bouncy little dance. “Maya-chan. Hi. My name is Kota,” he gurgles, hands covering his cheeks. Maya simply snuffled, a long tongue licking at her snout, and shifted on her front paws.

The attractive stranger nudges his dark glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He wets his lips. “And what’s your name?”

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realise he is asking you. Rattled by the prolonged silence you set your sights firmly on Kota and clear your throat to introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you”.

“Yeah? I don't get to hear that too often,” he replies, mouth thin as if fighting a broader smile. It’s a lovely shade of balmy pink. “I’m—”

“Gojo-san?”

The barista glances up from reading the name on the ticket, visibly flustered that he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Your drinks are ready,” he makes an aborted motion to hand the tray over and then seizes. “Ah—would you like me to take this to your table, Gojo-san?”

“That’d be great,” nothing about Gojo’s visage, nor his posture, changes. You feel pinned under his broad scrutiny. Anticipation swoops through your stomach as he angles his gaze in Maya’s direction, where Kota remains besotted. “Y’know, my other dog is here too. She’s actually retired now, so you can come and pet her if you want, Kota-kun”.

You balk. This guy.

“Yeah!” Kota effuses, crashing into your legs. He pats at your thighs. “Please. Can I, can I?”

You cast a lingering glance at the poor weather, a sheet of rain obscuring the view to the street, and ponder what Kota’s parents would want. As he’s an only child they’ve expressed their desire to get a pet in the near future. It could be a good lesson for him, and you have nothing to do until the shower calms.

“That's—kind of you. If it’s no trouble…?”

“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Gojo replies. You are at least reassured by the fact that he doesn’t sound all that put-out. More than anything he looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. He gestures toward the poor barista, waiting to the side with fingers flexing around the tray handles.

You nudge the little boy, “What do you say?”

Kota takes a deep breath, the air pushing out his cheeks. He bows, hair falling over his eyes, and gives an emphatic: “Thank you!”

Gojo’s runs a hand through his hair. It looks silky. A smooth glide, no tangles caught on his knuckles. Then he rolls his shoulders, expression schooled into something comically serious. “In that case I’m going to need you to do something, Kota-kun,” he says.

The tone has Kota’s spine ramrod straight. “This guy here is going to my table. Think you can walk behind him and lead the way for Maya?”

Kota’s eyes are wide and sparkling. He vibrates at the promise of responsibility. You observe the exchange with an odd fondness. Gojo is a stranger. Yet he has somehow has managed to win over the most stubborn kid you know.

“Maya,” he kisses his teeth. Maya rises to attention, locking onto her owner while he readjusts his grip on the harness handle. She tracks the movement of his free hand through the air as it comes to lightly tap Kota’s shoulder. “Follow,” he states.

Spurred into action as though commanded himself, the barista leaves to find Gojo’s table. Kota looks to you seeking permission. You nod and he wanders closely after the man on his little legs, glancing back every few seconds, brighter each time he notices Maya trotting onward at his heel.

Gojo’s gait is languid and purposefully slow. There's buoyancy to him as he navigates the space, trusting Maya completely to get to their destination. You walk a suitable distance from his side, inwardly dithering and unsure whether or not to push aside the few chairs obstructing the path. Maya doesn’t appear concerned. You’d hate to break her focus.

She takes Gojo deeper into the cafe with confidence. Tucked away in an alcove at the back of the room is a booth. In the booth is another dark haired boy, much older than Kota, around twelve or thirteen if you had to guess, and curled under the table is another large dog.

The boy is not impressed in the slightest. He frowns at the sight of you and Kota, disgruntled. Thoughts visibly pass over his face and whatever conclusion he comes to he glares up at Gojo for it.

As the barista sets down the tray of drinks the cups rattle against their respective saucers. He bows and slips away. Kota is beginning to squirm again. You can tell his patience is waning.

“I’m being glared at, aren’t I?” comes Gojo’s amused murmur. Though the boy’s ire isn’t directed at you it feels awkward to be in the line of fire.

“You are,” you reply, pinching the back of Kota’s hood to prevent him from diving under the table. “Are you sure this is fine? If your son isn’t—”

Gojo waves his hand as he strides forward, carefully resting it on the backrest of the cushions and he uses it to pivot himself into the booth. “Not my son. More like a nephew, or something. Right, Megumi?” the boy—presumably Megumi—flares his turned up nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Or something,” he says.

“Maya,” Gojo continues in a clear voice. “Down,” Maya is deliberate in where she rests, remaining within his reach. “Stay,” her paws cross one over the other, and she rests her chin atop her wrists. When she’s settled, he coos another, “Good girl”.

Maya’s tail swishes happily. Megumi grunts. “Don’t be like that, Megumi. The kid only wanted to meet Ren,” Gojo drawls. At the mention of her name Ren crawls out from under the table seeking attention. “Why don’t you show Kota-kun how to pet her?”

“Why me?”

“You’re older. Set an example,” Gojo rests his cheek in his palm, taking his glasses off to hook them on the end of his slender finger. Those startling eyes drag aimlessly over your form as he sighs, “Tsumiki would be so disappointed if she knew”.

At that Megumi’s arms drop in deference. He scoots out of his seat and coaxes Ren to sit. She’s a lovely dog, and big, with a luscious thick white coat and soulful eyes. He sticks his hand out, expression a complex mix of boredom and determination. Like he didn’t want to do it, but if he really had to, he wanted to do it well. “Kota-kun, right? Give me your hand,” he says.

Kota bounces on his toes and obediently drops his hand into the older boy’s. “You have to let animals smell you first. Let them decide if they want to be touched,” Megumi guides it toward Ren, proffered and upturned for her to scent. She nuzzles into Kota’s small palm and licks it for good measure, making him squeal.

Gojo melts into the booth cushion, entirely mellowed out. You stare at his profile, appreciating the soft line of his cheekbone right to the shell of his ear, just peeking out under fluffy white hair; lightly cow licked at the ends from the rain, curling right around the stud in his earlobe.

Feeling the weight of your gaze his eyes slide over and you quickly turn away. In the seconds you spent distracted Megumi has shown Kota where Ren likes to be scratched the most. Kota beams as he strokes down her flank, making her tongue loll out and her hind leg reflexively twitch.

You clear your throat. “She’s very pretty isn't she?” you muse, bending to Kota’s height and smiling gently at Megumi. Ren’s warm puffs of breath fan over your fingers as you let her smell them. “Is she the same breed as Maya-chan?”

“Yeah. They’re cousins,” Megumi answers stiffly. There’s a tinge of pink in Megumi’s cheeks now as he buries his hand in Ren’s fur, vying for reason not to look directly at you. “We’re letting them spend time together before we send Ren away”.

“Eh?” Kota’s bottom lip wobbles. His head whips around to Gojo, “Away?”

“Not like that,” you quietly reassured.

Gojo crossed his ankles under the table and reclined with his royal milk tea, wisps of steam curling over the rim. “Ren is too old to do her job now,” he smiles behind the cup, “She’s going to live with a good friend of mine and his two sons. Don’t worry”.

This comforts Kota a bit. “What, um,” he pats Ren’s face, and your heart aches, because he’s being so uncharacteristically gentle. “Maya-chan really has a job?”

“She really does”.

“But babies can’t work,” Kota beseeches. “Mama told me so”.

Megumi huffs, though you think it’s more of a laugh. “Maya isn’t a baby and she isn’t a puppy anymore either,” he says. The proud gleam in his gaze doesn’t escape you as he points at the younger dog. “She’s the best of her litter. I helped pick her”.

“Megumi has a good eye for that kinda thing,” Gojo sets down his cup and gestures to his uncovered eyes, framed by pale and unfairly long eyelashes. You are secretly grateful for the excuse to look at them again. “My eyes? Not so much. That’s what I have Maya for—and Ren before her. She helps me get around”.

Kota’s jaw slacks and he makes a long, drawn out sound of understanding. Ren bounces from paw to paw and you marvel at just how good she is with him. Calm, and attentive. Reacting whenever he reacts. Remnants of her training that she’d likely never lose.

“Go—go…”

“Gojo-san,” you prompt gently as Kota’s brow knits in that very familiar ‘I-don’t-want-to-cry’ manner.

“Gojo-san,” he tries again. “M’sorry your eyes don’t work good”.

Mortification washes over you. “Kota, sweetheart. You can’t just say that—”

Gojo barks a laugh loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. While he remains unaffected, growing evermore amused, you shy away from their curious stares with a grimace. “Don’t worry. He meant no harm,” he says. “And look, it’s not that I can’t see anything. Want to know something cool?”

Megumi sighs indolently and you suspect he’s heard this spiel before. Kota unfurls from his brief flinch and nods. Gojo tips his chin and bends forward. Kota stares right into his lucent eyes, mesmerised.

“I can see shapes. To me you’re just a weird smudge,” Kota giggles from behind his hands as Gojo pretends to wet his thumb and makes a rubbing motion, like he were wiping Kota from his vision. “But I have too much pressure inside of my eyes. So I don’t just see shapes,” Gojo leans closer and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “I see colours around things, like when you squeeze your eyes shut real tight”.

“Woah,” Kota breathes. His fingers clench and unclench where they’re clutched around his coat. “What colour am I?”

The older man decides to entertain the question and pauses to consider Kota with a ruminative hum. You find yourself waiting with bated breath, a shamefully scant portion of your brain focused on the vibration from your jacket pocket. Numbness is spreading up your feet to your calves, knelt on them for too long, but you don’t want to disturb the atmosphere.

“Red,” Gojo answers decisively.

Kota covers his mouth. He swivels on his heels to find you. “That’s my favourite colour!”

“It is,” you echo as you rub his shoulder, your tone gentle and indulgent. Your phone buzzes again and you slip it out from your pocket to check the screen. “Ah,” a brief glance toward the cafe window informs you that the rain has mostly stopped. Gold slats of sunlight are flooding the wet pavement. “It’s your parents, little man. They’ll be expecting us home soon so say your goodbyes”.

“No”.

“Kota”.

A stubborn beat passes. Sulking, Kota is deliberate and slow while he gives Ren a final stroke. “Bye bye, Ren, Maya-chan. Bye bye Megumi-nii. Bye bye Gojo-san”.

“Sure,” Megumi chokes somewhat at the honorific. “See you, Kota-kun”.

Gojo listens to the interaction with a smile. Close lipped and genuine. Though small the weight of it causes his eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever,” he suggests.

You hesitate, “Meaning…?”

“If we exchanged numbers then Kota-kun could keep in touch with Maya and Ren. I’ll send cute pictures”.

Megumi scoffs and it makes the blood prickle under your skin. Your face feels hot. “Right. For Kota,” you reply dryly, mouth trembling as you valiantly try to keep the smile out of your voice. He must sense it anyway, because his own widens and he holds his phone out to you.

Kota claps excitedly while you input your name and number. “And how do I know you’re not a bad guy?” you ask, saving the details before closing out the app and handing the phone back.

“I pinky promise?”

Shaking your head amusedly you fix Kota’s coat collar, refastening the buttons before petting Ren farewell. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” you tell him. “Thanks again, for letting Kota meet the dogs”.

“My pleasure,” Gojo returns.

“I’ll—we’ll be seeing you, then,” you wave at Megumi, directing Kota toward the front of the cafe. Gojo drapes his lithe body over the table surface and rests his chin to his hand, as if watching you go.

“I’ll text you,” he chimes after you. People lift their heads as you scurry through to the entrance.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[luvh4nji]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐗 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 + 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

warning: none really, reader is shorter than yeonjun and soobin, soobin's also refers to reader as a "girl"

yeonjun ; he's absolutely a flirty drunk. he's the type to be all over you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close into his side, leaning down to whisper little compliments in your ear and try to get you to come home with him, not really remembering that you are, in fact, already together and live together.

"you're so gorgeous." he'd mumble in your ear, words slurring a little, the hot breath against the shell of your ear making you giggle and look up at him. "so, so pretty. d'you have a boyfriend?" and you'd just laugh, wrapping an arm around his middle, helping keep him upright, telling him that yes, you do, which makes him so pouty for the rest of the night until you tell him that he's the boyfriend. then he gets so, so clingy, trying to ward off any man in the vicinity that gets near you with what he thinks is an intimidating look until you take him home.

soobin ; he seems like an emotional drunk. he's the type to sit close to you all night, wrapping you up in his big frame and tucking you into his chest, cooing over how cute you are and how he can't believe how lucky he is to have someone so pretty with him. and as the night goes on it only gets better worse; he's moved on to telling you how much he loves you, how much you help him when he feels bad and things get rough, how happy he is to have someone who he can take care of and who takes care of him.

"you're it for me, sweetheart, i'm so serious." he'd mumble, his words muffled from where his lips are pressed on the crown of your head. "i don't know what i'd do without you, you're my baby, my sweet girl." and he just keeps rambling and kissing on you until he's close to passing out and you take him home.

beomgyu ; he seems like the type to get quiet. not necessarily emotional, just quiet. he's the type to sit off to the side and observe, especially if you were in public, like at a bar. his cheeks are all rosy and his gaze a little dazed, and he gets so happy when you come over to sit with him, throwing you a bright smile that reaches his eyes. he's definitely the type to want to go home early too, grabbing your hand a dragging you out of the bar.

"it was too loud in there." he pouts, his grip on your hand tightening as he motions in the direction of your apartment. "jus' want it to be the two of us. no one else." and he's pulling you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, while you wrap an arm around his middle, trying to convince him to let you order an uber before he pulls you down the street.

taehyun ; honestly, he doesn't seem like the type to drink that much. he gets tipsy, at most, before he stops drinking for the night. he'd look after you when you drink, keeping a close eye on you throughout the night. and even when he does end up drinking a lot, he seems like the type to be able to handle his alcohol well. the only indication you'd get of him being drunk would be the flush on his cheeks.

"...and then my boss hands me the file back... after i'd spilled coffee on it and told him it was a new filing process for... for our documents... and told me he — he liked my idea." you tell him, finishing your story through hiccups and slurred words. and taehyun's just watching you with this lovestruck look on his face, giving you his full attention, with the softest, fondest look you've ever seen on him. "sounds like you got your work cut out for you, baby." he'd reply, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his touch soft and tender <3

hueningkai ; he gets so loud. especially if it was just you and him at your place. he's the type to pull you into his side, laughing loudly at whatever's in front of him, or whatever thought passes his mind. and when he turns to look at you, he gets this look in his eye, before tacking you to the ground, asking you to wrestle him just for the fun of it.

"c'mon, you gotta get stronger." he'd joke, his fingers finding your sides and digging in, laughing along with you in that loud way he does as you half-heartedly try to push him off of you. and he looks so cute, so happy with his reddened cheeks and hazy eyes, you can't help but lean up and press a kiss to his plush lips, smiling with him when he starts giggling.

[midnightarcheress]

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?” 

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system. 

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once. 

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future. 

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment. 

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house? 

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–” 

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips. 

“thank you, Ghost.”

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 18

Title: Cheat Day

Pairing: Personal Trainer! Bucky x Curvy!female reader

Tags/warnings: SMUT, semi-public sex, shower sex (slippery), self-consciousness, mentions of cellulite/stretch marks, a smidge of fluff bc I can't resist, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it!!), pet names (doll, baby), praise

Summary: You are a newbie to a gym and one of the regulars takes a liking to you and offers to help you on your gym journey. However, you notice that he's a lot more hands on than other trainers at the gym

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: maybe it should more aptly be gym buddy Bucky but alas... I had plans - I promise!! I might have to get my big fics out tomorrow rip me

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Warm Up

You hate, hate, hate HATE working out.

You hate the gym. You hate the way you look like a lost puppy and don't know which machine to use. You hate that you get so out of breath on a tread mill. You hate how your arms wobble when you lift weights.

And you hate that damn Stairmaster.

The only thing you love is perhaps how your deliciously thick thighs can support the heavy weights on the legs press like it's nothing. That would probably be it.

You take one of the last treadmills available, setting your bottle and towel down before fiddling with your earbuds. You're not really paying attention to the guy next to you; you're too focused on trying to get through your warm up.

You start at a walk. You're hair swishing as you lift it to your crown to tie with a hairband. The guy beside you picks up his pace and your eyes flicker over to him. And oh God. What a guy. He's tall and muscular, clearly a regular unlike yourself who makes every excuse under the sun to avoid the gym, with a mop of dark hair that's bouncing to his movements. He's barely sweating at a pace that would have you panting.

You don't realise you've been staring until he smiles at you, sticking his tongue out playfully, before going back to running.

You are red faced and almost trip over your feet. You need to focus. You turn your music up and eventually break into a light jog. After thirty minutes your gym buddy wipes down the machine and disappears to another section of the gym, flashing you a smirk and a wave has you watch him go.

His T-shirt has the logo of the gym of its back and for a split second you're wondering if you should book a session, before scolding your horny brain.

Workout. Focus on working out.

Arms

The next time you come to the gym, it's dark out. You'd spent the day in work and although you just wanted to go home and eat dinner, maybe have a glass (or three) of wine, you had made a promise to yourself to go and now you were here.

It was so much more peaceful at night. The blaring music was off and there was hardly anyone about. Suddenly, you loved your idea of coming here. You had little reason to be self-conscious with so few people around.

Today was arms and you were busy trying to hype yourself up using the bench press. Arms were the worst, just after cardio and you dreaded having to do this. Suddenly the thought of three glasses of wine didn't seem so bad.

Adjusting the weights either side of the bar, you slip under it, getting comfortable against the hard leather seat. You reach up and grasp the bar, straightening your arms and pushing the bar out of it's rest. Your arms wobble slightly, your arms bracing against the weight and you hadn't even managed one rep. Perhaps you'd done the weight wrong.

"Whoa doll!" A voice calls out and you strain your neck trying to look for the approaching footsteps. It's the guy from the other day. "You're gonna hurt yourself doing it like that."

"I - Uh-" you grip the handles, unsure if he wants you to let go or not, but you're palms are starting to sweat. "Okay."

He grins down at you, placing large, rough hands over yours and gently lifting the handles back to stationery position.

"Thanks." You sigh, rubbing your sweaty palms on your workout leggings. You glance up at him again, only to find you're eye level with his crotch and go beet red.

Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts.

The guy doesn't seem to notice. "I'm Bucky. I'm one of the trainers here."

"Y/N." You try and offer a smile but you're too focused on not thinking that his crotch his just right there.

"I've seen you round here once or twice before, um..." Bucky rakes a hand through his long hair. "You're new right? Have you thought about getting a personal trainer?"

You recalled almost tripping in front of him a week or so ago and flush red. Was it that obvious you weren't a regular? Unhelpful, mean thoughts fluttered through your head and you fought to push them away.

"That obvious, huh?" You smile sheepishly, finally sitting up on the bench.

"Very obvious." Bucky nods, still smiling at you. "You hadn't put the locks on the plates, they could have slipped and injured that pretty face."

Your eyes widen; you hadn't noticed the locks and were grateful Bucky was there to save you from injury... even if he was being a flirt about it.

Even if it made your heart flutter.

"Well, thankfully I have a hero to step in." You tell him playfully. "And about the personal trainer... to be quite honest, I don't think I could afford one right now."

You give him an apologetic shrug but he only smirks in response. "Good thing I'll help you for free. Consider it a free trial."

You eyebrows shoot up. Having someone around to motivate you and show you the ropes would be ideal, and especially if it was someone as handsome as Bucky, it may motivate you to come to the gym more often.

"Only if you're sure." You say cautiously, eyeing him. "I don't want you to lose out on work because you're helping me."

Bucky shrugs. "Hey, helping you is more important. I can just text you what days and times I'll be at the gym - if you're here the same time, then we can do some sets together."

You can't say no to that. His eyes brighten when you agree and exchange numbers before he runs you through how to correctly use the bench press, encouraging you and praising you even though you're red faced and drenched in sweat by the end of your set. But you feel fantastic.

If this was how your sessions with Bucky would be, maybe you'd have to consider saving up for more sessions.

Legs

Whichever the Bucky you saw the night he convinced you to take some sessions with him, didn't exist after that night.

The next few sessions with Bucky he'd been nothing but a hard ass, making your brows furrow with displeasure each time he taunted you. It spurred you to complete reps sure, but that wasn't the point. Quite frankly, you missed him being a little bit nicer and you missed the praise that came with it.

"It's false advertising," You huff mid-squat, shooting Bucky a glare. The more time you'd spent with him, the more confident you'd become at back talking him (even though you'd still complete all your reps). "If I'd have known you were going to be a drill sergeant, I wouldn't have agreed to this."

Bucky chuckles, eyeing your form as he stands with his big arms folded, sipping his water bottle. "And yet you finish every rep like a good little soldier." He teases back.

You scoff in response but your cheeks still grow warm. "Whatever."

After squats it was the leg curl machine. You're on your front, your quads under the foam cushions of the machines trying to push the bar against the curve of your ass but it's too heavy. Bucky is stood, as always, with folded arms watching you intently.

"Bucky, it's too heavy." You huff, letting your legs relax. "I need to put the weight down."

"No, you're doing it wrong." He chuckles. "May I?" He approaches, hands splayed.

You shrug, looking over at him with your chin in your palms. "Be my guest."

You still jump when you feel his strong hands on your thighs, moving them slightly wider. Your heart leaps into your throat and you could swear his fingers linger. His fingers are hot even through your gym wear and you're suddenly bashful when your head is filled with thoughts of another type of exercise you could be doing with Bucky. Again.

His hands trail to your knees slowly, bending them a little more before giving your calves a playful squeeze.

"Try now." He says quietly and you obey. The curl is a lot easier now, and the bar smacks your ass making it wobble.

"Oh, wow, OK." You chuckle bashfully. "Yeah OK you were right."

You catch Bucky smirking triumphantly but his eyes aren't on you; they're shamelessly glued to your legs and ass, watching you perform your reps.

Heat pools to your core and you quickly glance away. You have to be imagining it.

You have to.

Cardio

It had been about two weeks since you last saw Bucky and since you last visited the gym. You'd had a cold and then were so busy at work you couldn't find the time to drop by. You'd dropped Bucky a text to say you'd be out of commission but never explained why - and he'd not asked.

Sighing, you dumped your towel and water bottle next to the treadmill and began to walk. You'd come to the gym tonight for an escape. You hadn't wanted to text Bucky just in case he'd already be asleep but you itched to reach out.

The gym was a ghost town. Only the whirr of your treadmill echoed around the open space. You tried not to think about how you wished you'd bumped into Bucky or remember how he'd looked at you.

Maybe he's like that with all newbies...

That thought made your chest twist uncomfortably. You picked up your earbuds and shoved them in your ears, picking up your pace to a light jog.

So much for easing yourself back into it.

After an hour, you decide to call it quits.

It's 11pm and you just want to be back in your bed, hidden under the covers, away from the world.

You're on your way to the showers when you bump into a familiar face emerging from the men's changing room.

"Y/N?" Bucky

"Hey." You pause as he approaches, taking in the sight of his large biceps under the rolled up sleeves of his tee. "How've you been?

"Good. Long time no see. I thought I lost you."

You can't help yourself from smiling. "Oh no, can't keep me away from this place." You say sarcastically, making Bucky grin over at you.

"Really? Even miss me?" He teases softly.

"I don't miss you being a hard ass, if that's what you mean." You quip and Bucky scoffs. "But I have missed you."

Both of your gazes meet and the tension you'd been feeling over the last few weeks increases a hundred fold.

"So..." Bucky says slowly, barely breathing as he looks at you, not knowing which path to tread. "What are we doing tonight?"

"I've just finished," you say a little disheartened. "I was about to hit the shower."

"Can I join you?"

You both stare at one another. Bucky’s brain was expecting you to say your plan for your next set... not that you were going to shower. Mortified, redness bolts to his cheeks as he attempts to back track.

"I - I mean," he shutters and then coughs awkwardly. Your face is equally red but your eyes glimmer with want. "I thought - Uh- you were going to-"

"Sure," you say thickly.

Bucky's brain short circuits again and you give him that bashful smile that makes his heart stammer.

The women's showers are empty and after two minutes Bucky sneaks in behind you. As soon as the door closes, his strong arms pull you towards him, cupping your face before putting his lips on yours.

"Missed you too," he huffs, pulling his shirt off as you both fumble blindly for a shower booth. Bucky tugs at your gym clothes desperately as he kisses you, urging you to undress.

Your mind swims. He missed you too. He's kissing you senseless and you're sure that given the chance he'd rip your clothes from your body.

You peel away your clothes, pausing only to give Bucky more needy kisses in between layers. Bucky follows suit, discarding his sneakers, shorts and boxers into the pile next to your feet.

You feel a wave of self-consciousness as you take in Bucky's body; all muscle, toned and hard and utter perfection. Your eyes drop to your body; soft, squishable, with silvery zebra stripes running over your hips.

You hear Bucky suck in a short breath and you glance up through your eyelashes, smiling a little nervously. His blue eyes are transfixed on you as he closes the space between you. His fingers twitch as he reaches for you, desperate to feel your skin under his hands, but not knowing where he wants to touch first.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his hands ghosting over your hips, drawing you flush against him. His hands tighten their grip on your hips and you you gasp softly, feeling the hard heat of his cock brush against your thighs. One hand cups your face again, and Bucky’s head dips to kiss you slowly. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you open your mouth wider, letting Bucky kiss you with far more passion and severance than you'd anticipated.

You're lost in the kiss for what seems like an age; your fingers running through his hair as his hands explore your body, tracing each and every curve, groping at your breasts, hips and ass. You moan into his mouth, mimicking his actions, running your hands over his pecks and down his abs to his cock against your thigh. Bucky pants a curse as you pump him a few times, nipping along his jaw.

"Bucky," You whisper. "The shower."

"Right," he huffs. He pulls the shower door open and gestures for you to step inside first, following closely behind and pressing the on switch.

You gasp when cold water hits your back and Bucky chuckles, arms encircling your waist and moving in to latch onto your neck under the spray of now luke-warm water. Your arms attach themselves around his neck, half-hoisted as you spread your legs to allow Bucky to slot between them. You bite back a loud gasp when Bucky's hand slides between your legs, running along your slit finding your sweet bundle of nerves and drawing quick, tight circles.

"Bucky," you whimper into his neck, your your breathing hitching and hitching like the tightness in your core; rushing upward so fast you feel lightheaded.

"Cum for me doll, be a good girl and cum for me," Bucky sucks at your neck, groping at your tits with his free hand. You lean your head against the shower wall as you feel pussy clenches around nothing. Your fingers grip at Bucky's wet hair, gasping his name as you hang at the precipice of your orgasm. Without warning, Bucky plunges two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them inside you. Your orgasm crashes over you and you cum over his fingers with a wracked half sob.

Bucky's fingers are withdrawn as quickly as they're inserted, leaving you hollow and looking at Bucky pleadingly. He grins at you pecking your lips with a hasty kiss.

"'M sorry, doll. I promise to take my time next time but I need you so bad."

He lifts you with ease, pushing your back against the cool wall, wrapping his arms under your thighs and spreading them open. Wisps of steam rise from behind him as your eyes lock, his cock brushing against your slick folds only once before he slowly lowers you down onto him.

"Oh - oh - oh!" You moan as he breaches inch by inch, each time your walls contract around him, adjusting to his size. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs shake with pleasure and you're utterly at his mercy as he starts to fuck up into you.

"That's it, baby." Bucky praises, littering your face with kisses. "You feel amazing on my cock."

You moan his name and kiss his lips hungrily, pulling yourself closer to him as he brings you to ruin again. Your pussy's grip is like a vice, milking him as you press yourself flush against him glassy eyes meeting his and Bucky can't take it any longer.

Bucky pants curses rutting into you before pulling out entirely and cumming over your stomach and thighs with a short groan. His cock continues to twitch, his cum slowly being washed away by the water save for the white, thick line that connects to your thigh. Bucky slowly lowers you to your feet and you lean against him for support, relaxing in the post-orgasm bliss and the heat of the water.

"I've wanted to do that since the moment I laid on you," he confesses, tilting your head up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

"So have I," You admit with a soft chuckle. "Kinda wish we could have done that instead of you making me do squats."

"But you're ass looked good." Bucky teases, chuckling when you glare at him.

"So you were checking me out!" You smack at his bicep playfully and that earns you one of his boyish smiles.

"So? Besides, more importantly," His hands grasp your hips tightly, forcing you to be still. "Today's a cheat day and I wanna take you out."

"Take me out? At 11pm? What's even open?" You smile up at him and he only shrugs.

"Okay, fine, twist my arm. Breakfast it is." He kisses you again, this time lingering a moment before smirking deviously at you. "But first let's get you cleaned up."

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Dream gets absolutely fucked by a piece of metal

Notes: ~800 words

Warnings/Tags: None, have fun with this dumb fic, he doesn't get tetanus, queued post

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

“You humans are so attached to objects,” Dream commented when he comes into the mess that is your garage. 

You barely jump, having long since gotten used to his impromptu visits. You’re in your messy gym clothes from high school, the t-shirt full of holes, and the sandals that have walked through Hell and Earth with. In the garage, you’re surrounded by the things of your childhood and two large boxes simply labeled “Donate” and “Keep”

“It is trash, but it’s sentimental trash!” You defended as you held a broken Skip-It in your dirty hands. You throw the plastic toy into an unknown corner you have now labeled “Trash”

Dream is content with himself as he watches you dig around and sort your things. He watches as colorful toys of your childhood get stacked in the “donate” box. 

“Holy crap, I forgot about these,” You smile, holding the ziplock bag of endless amounts of Silly Bandz. 

You walk over to Dream, opening the bag, and ignoring the few strands that managed to escape. You pick out a few that you thought suited Dream: a red flower, a silver crown, a blue castle, and a black bird. 

“Gimme,” You ask while looking at his arm. 

Dream holds out his hand to which you stretch the rubber around his wrist before letting go and letting the bracelets snap to the shape of his wrist. 

“It’s useless,” He commented. 

You simply rolled your eyes as you tossed the rest of the bracelets into the “donate” box. “You had to be there to get it.” You blurbed out and began to dig around once again. 

“I was trapped during the time.” Dream stated. Still, he looks at the bracelets on his wrists, snapping at one of them against his skin. 

“Right… I forgot about that,” You turn around to him apologizing to which he merely brushed off. 

The day continues as you go down a nostalgic journey of toys from your childhood. Your parent’s house required a good cleaning, but who knew you would have your heartstrings tugged at as you held onto the American Girl Dolls that your mom still kept for you. 

They went into the “keep” box.

“They hold more significance than the others,” Dream comments as he notices you carefully brushing back the hairs on one of the dolls. 

“Yeah, I used to tell them about my day while I brushed their hair when I was little. I think they know more of my secrets than anyone else in the universe,” You confessed. 

“I see.”

You continued in your sorting, stopping once to place with a noise tub for a few minutes, and then stopped again as you brought forth a metal Razor scooter. 

“Oh… my God,” You squealed, holding onto the scooter as you walked out of the garage into the summer sun. 

You readjusted the length of the handle before you started pushing yourself around on the scooter, feeling the wind blow against your hair and clothes.

Noticing Dream watching you, you decided to show off. “Watch this,” You smiled as you jumped while skating around and with a flick of your wrist, the deck swung under and around the bar before you landed on it once again. 

You skated back over to Dream, who, if you squinted hard enough, had a small look of impression on his face. 

“You try it,” You giggled, handing him the scooter. “Bet you can’t.” 

Never one to back down from a challenge, he took to the scooter. The metal where your sweaty hands had gripped is still warm as he takes over. He mimicked what you did, skating to the middle of the driveway. He jumped, he flicked his wrist, and then…

You winced, covering your eyes with your hands. You watched between your fingers as the deck of the scooter hit him straight in the ankles. You feel his pain, having felt it many times back in the day. 

Morpheus writhes as the pain shoots through him. You’ve never seen him cuss before, but you think he’s on the brink of it as the pain starts to make him spasm. 

He goes from human to a flopping fish, to a cat, to a cabbage head, to a roaring sea-faring monster, and back to human again. Each time, the Silly Bandz still wrapped around some portion of him 

You’ve since run to his side. “Are you okay?” You asked, the laugh in the back of your throat was sorely hidden as you watched the Endless lay motionless in the middle of your driveway. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, fair enough. Let’s get you some ice,” You laughed. 

While you’re gone, Dream throws the scooter into the “Donate” box with a glare.

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

[ddejavvu]

I would love something with spencer protecting/defending reader! Maybe like the team goes out for drinks and a guy can’t take no for an answer? And like reader is totally capable of protecting herself but it just makes her so soft that spencer will stand up for her and keep her safe 🥲

You're nearing minute three of the sleazeball across the bar from you eyeing you up, and you suppose you're making it worse by checking if he's still looking. Because he is, every single time, and now you've made it look like you're interested.

"Oh, shit," You grumble as he pushes off of the wall behind him, heading your way, "Creep-o's coming over."

Creep-o fights through the crowd to land beside you, leaning obnoxiously close on the sticky table you're sitting at.

"Hey," He drawls, liquor hot on his breath, "Saw you starin' at me."

"I'm not interested," You lean away from him, into Spencer's side, "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea."

"Oh, hard to get," Creep-o infers, "I get it."

"No, you really don't. I'm taken, I wasn't trying to flirt with you."

"You sure? I think you just want me to chase you," The man smirks cockily at his false win, "'Cause you sure glanced back at me a lot."

"No," You start, but Spencer rings an arm around your waist and squeezes gently, calming your rising annoyance.

"Are you a fan of horror movies?" Spencer leans over to ask the man, who looks slightly confused at the interruption.

"I've seen my fair share."

"Okay. So, you know when the music gets suspenseful, and the character is walking into a dark room, and you know the chainsaw murderer is hiding behind the door?"

The man nods, once, still confused.

"But you watch anyways, and get scared? Some things are too repulsive to look away from."

"You son of a bitch," The man starts, but Spencer's slid off his stool in a second flat and Morgan is behind him. Spencer could do damage, you know he's fought unsubs before, but Morgan is even more visually intimidating, and this guy doesn't want to take his chances.

"Walk away." Spencer advises him, and it looks like it physically pains Creep-o to do so. But he does, in case one of the tall men squared up in front of him decide to lunge.

When it's safe, Spencer and Morgan reclaim their seats, the former bumping his shoulder into yours as he sits. You lean into him gratefully, murmuring forlornly, "It was my fault. I was looking at him."

"But you said no," Spencer hums, kissing the crown of your head and slipping his arm around your waist again, "I hope you don't mind that I stepped in. I know you could have handled him. He just made me mad."

"I don't mind," You muse, reaching to swipe away a bead of condensation that's on the table, "I liked it. A lot."

"Yeah?" Spencer cracks a grin against your hairline, "Horror movie metaphors are what do it for you?"

"That and your fists clenched," You reach out with your wet-tipped finger to ghost it along Spencer's thumb, "That was hot, Spence."

[ataleofcrowns]

hi!, i have a question, hope you can answer, what does low romance entails?, the thing is i adore watching drama and angst from afar, but i rather shoot myself before experiencing it lol, so if you could tell me what changes when you choose low romance instead of high i'd be grateful, i would ask about how it affects the endings but i guess that would be too spoilery

It differs per love interest what changes, since it depends also on the love interest's personal character arc and how it interacts with their dynamic with the Crown. Several scenes change especially in CH9 and beyond, and so far the biggest divergences in low/high romance routes is in CH11. Basically...

R Low romance: Your Crown has a low amount of trust in R's capabilities and tends to be overprotective, feeding R's insecurity and self-esteem issues as well High romance: Your Crown trusts R to handle themselves, and there is an equal partnership where they both confide and rely on each other, allowing R to flourish

A Low romance: Your Crown prioritizes their romance with A above all else, including being a good ruler, and as a consequence A cannot fully trust the Crown - they are also reminded of their backstory, which is especially painful High romance: Your Crown knows what to prioritize when it is appropriate, and as a result A can trust that the Crown will be a responsible ruler. This is barring political disagreements they may or may not have down the line, but that's for in the future.

D Low romance: Your Crown pretty much agrees with D that duty should come above all else, allowing distance to grow between them and for the romance to fizzle out, and for D to continue to see themselves as nothing but a tool for Arsur High romance: Your Crown continues to pursue D romantically, and reminds them that there should be more to them and their life than just their duty to Arsur. Basically, leaning into the Forbidden Romance trope!!

X Low romance: Your Crown does not respect X's boundaries, buying into the flirtatious and roguish facade that X plays up, and acts entitled to their time or affection. X gets the ick. High romance: Your Crown respects X's boundaries, trusts that the mutual attraction will be enough to have X coming back to them, and shows understanding for their complicated relationship with the position of the Crown considering X's backstory

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson, AFAB reader, "shy" reader, flashing, public setting

A/N: My first Eddie blurb, yay! I'm very rusty but I'm trying to get back into writing with some short blurbs so I'm starting off a little light before I dive back into full on filth and debauchery.

Thinking about...

Eddie and his girlfriend who's often too shy to initiate all the naughty things she wants to do with him.

That is until the sexual tension building inside you reaches an all time high one night when he's on stage performing - your own personal kryptonite.

It's almost too much for you to handle, staring longingly at his skilled fingers as they move deftly over the frets of his guitar, a light sheen of sweat making his neck gleam enticingly under the stage lights, shirt riding up so that his stomach and happy trail peek through.

You loved watching Eddie perform, seeing him shine and thrive in his element and look good doing it. Ripples of want had been coursing through you all night, turning into waves as the gig continued, morphing into a storm of desire swirling wildly inside you until you're finally able to cast your inhibitions aside and work up the nerve to do something you've been fantasizing about since watching him perform the very first time, since before he'd even asked you to be his girlfriend.

You flash him.

Hooking your thumbs underneath the hem of your top, pulling both it and the thin lace bra you'd been wearing underneath up over your breasts smoothly. For all the care and effort you'd put into picking out the pretty lingerie for when you'd be alone together with Eddie in his van after the show, you decided this would be a better way to surprise him in the end.

You're at the back of the bar, all eyes on Eddie and the band, everyone else too caught up in the music to notice the girl with her tits out, thankfully. But your boyfriend's eyes had kept returning to you all night while he was up there on stage so when he looks to you again after nailing his solo, searching for your pretty face and your sweet, shy smile in the crowd he gawps when instead he's met with the sight of your exposed breasts and the big proud grin plastered on your face. He's seen them before, sure; been rendered thoughtless at the sight your pebbled nipples and your soft breasts but this? in a room full of people too preoccupied to know any better? risk and thrill intertwining and all for him? it nearly does poor Eddie in.

It's long time fantasy of his come true, made even better because it was you who'd done it and now that it's actually happened, Eddie's so caught up in it that his fingers fumble over the guitar strings, jumbled notes and chords blaring out of the amp but the botched melody fails to catch his notice for he's still too busy staring at your tits.

Some of the audience members begin murmuring and tilting their heads in confusion at how the front man's lost his composure in the span of a couple of seconds and you decide you've had your fun, pulling your clothes back down in time for Eddie to snap out of his dazed stupor and finish the song the way it was meant to be played, all while his cheeks blazed bright red.

There's still a couple of songs left to be played in the set after that but instead, he announces that the band will be taking a quick break over the mic, hopping off stage and making his way over to you.

"Baby, I can't believe you did that", he exclaimed excitedly under his breath once he'd shuffled through the crown in record time, his hands set on your waist, smile impossibly wide, and eyes bright with a telltale glimmer.

"I've always wanted to do that", you confessed with hot cheeks, adrenaline still strong in your veins. "Ever since I first watched you on stage".

Eddie gives you a look, a mix of impress and adoration playing on his features.

"Who knew my sweet, shy girl had it in her?", he pulls you closer, close enough for you to feel that part of him press against your hip.

"Eddie..." , you flustered, quickly glancing around the crowded bar to make sure no one was watching the two of you.

It's obvious he's dying to slip his hands underneath your clothes and touch you and your body burns hot with the same need. He leans in, lips to your ear as he whispers, "How about we head to the van a little early? Y' can gimme a private show this time"

[yourfatherlucifer]

MDNI - Pirate!Hongjoong

Ft. Seonghwa and Yunho

prince!reader

fucking god… 😩 btw this may seem cnc but its completely consensual, reader is just hesitant, he's not used to the pirate ways, and is in the closet.

please REBLOG

The very aggravated prince was thrown down into the brig, his body practically hogtied together, "You won't get away with this! My father will have your head on a silver platter!" He snarled and thrashed.

With a giggle, the captain of this ship approached the small cell, "That's so cute, but unfortunately for you, you won't be going anywhere, pretty boy. I have more uses for you than some gold for my crew." He grinned.

Hongjoong paced around the brig, his head facing towards the ceiling, "As the pirate king, I need a..how can I say this, a plaything? No..a cocksleeve is more like it. Someone who can entertain myself and my crew." He quickly slammed himself onto the bars with a laugh, which startled the prince greatly.

"Having a royal was the perfect choice." Hongjoong peeled himself away.

"What on earth are you talking about, vile pirate? You couldn't just find some woman, not a man, a crown prince at that?" His eyebrows furrowed in disgust.

"Are you shaming my sexuality, little prince?" Hongjoong's gaze darkened with anger, "I'm a pirate, we don't like women aboard our ships. They're bad luck."

The prince rolled his eyes, "No, I'm not shaming you, but why me?"

"Because. I can."

Hongjoong walked away and whispered in his crewmates ear, "Bring him to my quarters and stand guard outside."

With that Hongjoong left and the other man unlocked the cell, cutting the rope on the prince's legs. He hoisted him up very roughly, "Let's go, pretty boy. You're in for a fun time with my captain, lucky you." He smirked and pulled him up the stairs to bring him up-deck.

Seonghwa shoved the prince into Hongjoong's room and shut the door behind him once he left and stood guard outside. The captain smiled and pulled him to his bed.

Hongjoong pulled a knife out of his boot and sliced off the rope on his wrists, "I need your hands free for what I'm gonna do to you." He smirked as he climbed on top of the confused man.

"Wait, I didn't agree to be your cock-" He cried out as he was interrupted by Hongjoong grabbing on his bulge.

"Are you sure about that? Because I saw the way you were looking at my lackey. Don't tell me the good little prince is hiding in the closet?"

His face flushed red in embarrassment and pushed gently on Hongjoong's chest, "Shut up, pirate!"

"Tell me your name, crown prince."

"It's M/N.."

"Well, M/N, I'm gonna ruin you for any woman and for any chance of you giving heirs to your kingdom. You're mine now."

He whimpered beneath Hongjoong and straightened up his body.

Hongjoong sat up and pulled down his own pants just to pull out his cock, slighty startling M/N in the process.

"Oh my-" He tried to scramble away.

"Calm down, pretty boy. You can handle it."

"How is that going to fit!" He scoffed.

"Really? You think this is far too big to fit inside? Well then, looks like I'll have to introduce you to someone later." He chuckled as he yanked down the prince's trousers and threw them wherever.

Hongjoong's fingers danced around M/N's tight ring and slowly pushed a couple in, receiving a loud moan from the prince in response.

When he deemed he was ready, he pushed his cock in with a grunt. M/N let out a couple tears from the stretch and wrapped his arms around Hongjoong's neck.

Hongjoong watched as his cock sunk repeatedly into M/N's ass, with a crazy grin, "Fuck, you're practically pulling me in. Wanted a cock that bad?" He giggled.

M/N let out several assorted moans and cries each time Hongjoong slammed his hips against his.

Hongjoong pulled his own shirt into his mouth to get a better view of his assault on M/N's hole.

After a few more thrusts, Hongjoong flipped M/N into a doggy style position and called out for best mate, Seonghwa.

"Seonghwa, get your ass in here and get undressed!" He barked out.

The male walked in, slamming the door behind him and stripped himself of his clothes, cock already hard and standing at attention, "Yes, Captain?"

Never stopping his thrusting, he looked back at Seonghwa, "Get underneath him." He growled and turned back to M/N, "You're going to fuck him with me."

"Yes sir." Seonghwa climbed underneath the nearly fucked out prince with a grin, his hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes rolling into the back of his head each time Hongjoong hit that perfect spot.

Seonghwa pressed their cocks together and gave them a couple tugs before letting go and guiding his cock to M/N's already occupied hole. It was a hard stretch, especially with M/N's protesting.

"Wait! I can't take two at once!"

"You can, and you will." Hongjoong growled as he felt Seonghwa's cock slide against his inside of M/N.

Both men were jackhammering into the poor prince as he fell on top of Seonghwa's chest, he felt like he was in heaven, he was very overstimulated but didn't care. Being fucked by two cocks was the best thing in his opinion. Hongjoong was right. He was definitely hiding in the closet and was more than happy to come out if this was the result.

M/N was leaking so much cum from his cock onto Seonghwa and he couldn't help it. Not with the way they were fucking him, like he was a doll and nothing more.

Hongjoong suddenly stopped and grinned mischievously, "Sorry to break your fun early, Seonghwa. But, I need you to go get our biggest, tell him..I have a plaything for him. Then go back to guard duty."

Seonghwa sighed and pulled out, and slipped out from underneath the weak prince, "Fine, but you owe me." He grumbled and threw his clothes back on and left.

Hongjoong also pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants, leaving the limp boy on the bed, "Like I said, I'm gonna introduce you to someone." He walked over to his desk chair and watched as the naked prince laid nearly asleep on his bed, "Don't fall asleep, I'm not done with you, pretty boy."

A few minutes passed and a very big man walked in, "Captain?" He approached Hongjoong's desk.

"My bed. Have fun." He grinned and watched as Yunho slowly turned around to see M/N, "He's all nice and stretched out for you. No need to be fragile with him."

Yunho smiled, "Thank you, captain." He walked over to the prince and took his massive cock out, "Hey there, just lay there. Don't need to do anything. I got it." He pulled M/N's hips to his as he faced down on the bed, too weak to move, he didn't even feel like turning around to see how 'big' this man was.

Yunho roughly pushed his cock in, stretching M/N with his girth and length alone.

M/N groaned and squeezed the blanket beneath him, "So big.." he muttered and squeezed his eyes shut as Yunho fucked into him, his hips angled in such a way that he was doing nothing but slamming against M/N's prostate, repeatedly.

Hongjoong watched with a grin, fisting at his own cock without a sound from his lips.

But by the time Yunho had cum, M/N was already falling asleep, and Yunho was still rock hard.

"Sir, he's passing out, little thing can't keep up with me." Yunho chuckled.

"Then pull out and return later, he can't consent if he's asleep. I'll call for your comeback." Hongjoong sighed in annoyance and waved off Yunho.

"I'll clean him up." He grumbled and watched as Yunho left.

Hongjoong then walked over and leaned into M/N's ear, "I have five other men who will love playing with your hole, pretty boy~"

[mightyflamethrower]

SCRANTON, PA — Female athlete Kelly Baker was expelled from her university this week after refusing to have her skull fractured by a man, reports claim. During a press conference, she was officially rebuked as a bigot which, according to NCAA guidelines, bars her from joining a competing school.

"I just don't want to have my skull crushed, that's all," said Baker in a statement. "I believe every person is made with equal dignity, and I am not in any way afraid of trans people. I am, however, afraid of brain hemorrhages. I'm sorry, but I'm only going to do karate against other women."

Baker was officially removed from the team after she declined to fight a 250-pound man named "Julianna", who sent his past three female opponents to the hospital with broken craniums. "It was so dehumanizing how Kelly didn't let me bash her face in," said Julianna, formerly known as "Gary". "Karate is all about technique, anyways. If Kelly cannot handle getting a subdural hematoma from a beautiful woman like me, she needs to get out of the sport."

According to sources, Julianna holds the record for most broken bones in a single karate tournament, but gender experts maintain this has nothing to do with higher testosterone levels.

At publishing time, Julianna had been crowned champion of the tournament as all of the other competitors were unconscious.

[munchmemes]

taylor swift lyrics, the tortured poets department edition, part two

guilty as sin?

▸ my boredom's bone-deep. ▸ am i allowed to cry? ▸ i'm seeing visions, am i bad? or mad? or wise? ▸ one slip and i'm falling back into the hedge maze. ▸ oh, what a way to die. ▸ i keep recalling things we never did. ▸ how i long for our trysts. ▸ how can i be guilty as sin? ▸ i keep these longings locked inside a vault. ▸ someone told me there's no such things as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. ▸ they're gonna crucify me anway. ▸ what if they way you hold me is actually what's holy? ▸ i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

▸ the "who's who?`" of "who's that?" is poised for the attack. ▸ you don't get to tell me about 'sad'. ▸ if you wanted me dead, you should've just said. nothing makes me feel more alive. ▸ who's afraid of little old me? you should be. ▸ the scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. ▸ at all costs, keep your good name. ▸ you don't get to tell me you feel bad. ▸ is it a wonder i broke? ▸ let's hear one more joke. then we could all just laugh until i cry. ▸ i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean. ▸ they say they didn't do it to hurt me but what if they did? ▸ i want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. ▸ you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. ▸ isn't that what they all said? that i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong. ▸ you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me. ▸ you caged me and then you called me crazy. ▸ i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

▸ the jokes that [you/they] told across the bar were revolting and far too loud. ▸ they shake their heads, saying "god help [them]" when i tell 'em you're the one. ▸ i can fix him, no really i can. and only i can. ▸ i could see it from a mile away. ▸ you had a halo of the highest grade, you just hadn't met met yet. ▸ come close, i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night. ▸ trust me, i can handle me a dangerous [man/woman].

loml

▸ we were just kids, babe. ▸ i don't mind, it takes time. ▸ i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed. ▸ i felt aglow like this. never before and never since. ▸ you and i went from one kiss to getting married. ▸ you said i'm the love of your life about a million times. ▸ a conman sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme. ▸ i felt a hole like this never before and ever since. ▸ what we thought was for all time was momentary. ▸ i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all. ▸ the coward claimed he was a lion. ▸ i'll still see it until i die. you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart

▸ i can show you lies. ▸ i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit. ▸ they said 'you gotta fake it 'til you make it' and i did. ▸ you said you'd love me all your life but that life was too short. ▸ i can do it with a broken heart. ▸ i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday every day. ▸ i cry a lot but i am so productive, it's an art. ▸ you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart. ▸ i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since [you/they] left. ▸ i'm miserable and nobody even knows!

the smallest man who ever lived

▸ was any of it true? ▸ now you know what it feels like. ▸ i don't miss what we had. ▸ in public, you showed me off then sank in stoned oblivion. ▸ you didn't measure up in any measure of a man. ▸ were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? ▸ good riddance 'cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden. ▸ i would've died for your sins. instead i just died inside. ▸ in plain sight you hid but you are what you did. ▸ i'll forget you but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy

▸ this happens once every few lifetimes. ▸ these chemicals hit me like white wine. ▸ what if i told you i'm back? ▸ the hospital was a drag. worst sleep i ever had. ▸ ditch the clowns, get the crown. ▸ what if i told you we're cool? ▸ honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy? ▸ where's the trophy?

clara bow

▸ all your life, did you know you'd be picked like a rose? ▸ i'm not trying to exaggerate but i think i might die. ▸ this town is fake but you're the real thing. ▸ take the glory, give everything. ▸ promise to be dazzling. ▸ you're the new god we're worshipping. ▸ beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding more. ▸ it's hell on earth to be heavenly. ▸ them's the breaks, they don't come gently.

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A new threat comes to town, and a new applicant comes to the pub.

Warning: language, mentions of assault-ish

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 16: Fear & Delight

I don’t show it but I quiver whenever you come near. And I cannot decipher between the thrill and the fear. I wanna stop it but like it too much to let it stop here. It’s wrong but I want you tonight.  It’s not my own volition but I fell in deep, by running the distance I’ve been advised to keep. I trot to the wolf like a doting sheep, it’s wrong but I want you tonight. — Fear & Delight, The Correspondents

There was news from Belfast. 

There was no way for you to anticipate the severity of what this actually meant when you heard a Shelby family counsel had been called. Apparently Arthur wanted you there specifically, which of course caused you some unease. 

While the oldest Shelby brother hadn’t called you a whore recently (at least not to your face), he still hadn’t exactly welcomed you with open arms into their business. Over the last month, you’d noticed an uncomfortable power dynamic shift between Arthur and Tommy. One that you were sure Arthur wasn’t too happy about. 

For a moment, you wondered if it had anything to do with your incident with Benji — something you still dreamed about. There was a looming ache in your heart that you imagined wouldn’t go way any time soon. 

“Eight o’clock,” Tommy said again, his voice low against the hum of the busy patrons of the Garrison. You nodded, continuing to wipe down the glassware. “I already told Harry, he’ll cover.” 

You gave him a disapproving look, still unhappy with the way he seemed to go about handling your pub-related business with Harry. But Tommy brushed you off. 

The man you recognized as Freddie stood up from his table in the back. Discreetly, you looked between him and Tommy, trying to busy yourself. 

You weren’t sure if Ada had told Freddie yet that you knew of their dalliance. He hadn’t made any indication that he did, heck he hardly ever even looked at you, so you assumed no. 

“I’ll take a mild,” he said to you, leaning against the bar as he looked toward Tommy, who continued to smoke his cigarette and avoid his old friend. 

You took another look between the two before pouring his glass, then watched as Freddie leaned over and took one of the two coins Tommy had laid down on the counter, and pushed it toward you. 

Looking between the two, you were surprised to see Tommy chuckle, flicking the ash off his cigarette. 

“Cheers, Thomas. Good health to you,” Freddie said, lifting his mug before taking a sip. When Tommy didn’t respond, Freddie reached over and grabbed his cap off the counter, examining the razor blade stitching. “Crown of a prince. Soon to be king, I’d bet–” 

“You don’t bet,” Tommy finally replied, still looking forward. 

“No, but these past few days I’ve been speculating.” 

You tried to appear busy, like you weren’t eavesdropping. It was the job of the bartender to blend into the background. So you continued to polish the glassware as you pretended not to listen to the scene before you. 

Tommy waited for Freddie to continue, but when he didn’t, Tommy took the bait. “About what?” 

“One of my union comrades has a sister who works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory.” 

You remained cool as you listened, but paused at hearing Freddie’s confession. Luckily, Freddie was leaning with his back against the bar counter, head leaned toward Tommy and away from you. You chanced a look at Tommy, who gave nothing away as he continued to look down at his cigarette and listen. You followed suit, going back to your task at hand as Freddie continued. 

“She says, over the past week, they’ve had messages coming up from London to the brass. From Winston Churchill himself.” Freddie paused, pushing up from the bar and moving closer to Tommy. He offered the next part in a softer voice, just loud enough for you to overhear. “Something about a robbery. ‘A robbery of national significance’ it said.” 

Tommy rose his brow unimpressed, still not bothering him with a glance. 

Freddie went on. “She found a list of names left on the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together. What kind of list would have the name of a communist and the name of a bookmaker side by side?” 

You chanced a peak toward Tommy, watching him set his tumbler down before finally addressing Freddie. “Perhaps it’s a list of men who give false hope to the poor. The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that sometimes,” he leaned in closer, “sometimes my horses stand a chance of winning.” 

He sat back up, taking another hit off his cigarette as Freddie considered him before pushing off the counter. He moved in closer, and the tension rose, causing you to grow more cautious. If a fight were to go down, you weren’t sure what you would do – what you’d be allowed to do. You knew Harry was in the back room, but still. 

“You know,” Freddie said, leaning in toward Tommy, “there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings that I really wish I’d let you take that bullet in France.” 

Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he continued to look down. “Believe me, there are nights I wish you had.” 

The front door swung open, a man crashing through like a bull trapped in a pin. You gasped, jumping toward the back of the counter as you watched Tommy and Freddie spring into action at the sight of their friend Danny. 

“They’re gonna get me!” he shouted as Tommy and Freddie grabbed both sides of him, throwing him down to the ground together. 

“Breathe, Danny, breathe!” Freddie shouted when they finally got him face down. 

“Danny! Danny! You’re home!” Tommy said loudly as Danny continued to cry out on the floor. “We’re all home in England. You’re not in France. You’re not an artillery shell, Danny, you’re a man. Hey? You’re not a whizz-bang. You’re a human being, Danny. You’re all right, you’re all right.” 

You watched astounded as they managed to calm down Danny. According to Harry, this wasn’t the first time that Danny had barreled into the pub like this, lost in his mind and attacking everyone in sight. But this had been the first time you’d witnessed an incident. 

It reminded you of what your life could had been like, had your father not gotten help himself with his own PTSD. You knew that nowadays, the concept of PTSD wasn’t even an idea – no one could have anticipated the trauma influenced by the harrowing nature of the First World War on the veterans as they returned home to normal lives. 

You were beginning to wonder if Tommy had any sort of symptoms or triggers when they lifted Danny from the floor as Tommy comforted him back to the present. At some point, Harry had emerged from the back room during the commotion and began righting the tables and chairs. 

“Ah hell, did I do it again?” Danny asked Tommy, crying when he confirmed. 

Tommy pressed his forhead against his friend’s, “You’ve gotta stop doing this, man.” 

Danny offered his apologies as Tommy led him toward the door. 

“It’s all right. You go home to your wife now, Danny. Try and get all that smoke and mud out of your head, eh?” 

Danny apologized again until he left the pub. Tommy and Freddie shared a look before Tommy wiped his face with his hand and moved back to the counter. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Harry said as he gestured toward a broken table top. “You have to do something about him.” 

“Damn right, Harry,” Freddie said antagonizingly, patting the man on the shoulder. “You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection.” He followed Tommy back toward the bar, where you’d already filled up his glass. “You’re the law around here now, Tommy, aren’t you? Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Wizz-Bang’s head, like they do with mad horses.” Tommy paused in his walk toward the door. “Maybe you’ll have to put a bullet in my head someday, too.” 

Tommy shook his head, lifting his cap and straightening it back on his head before turning to look at you. For a moment, you could see the real hurt behind his eyes. A vision flashed before you, of Tommy putting a gun against his own head, and you shuttered. 

“Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders,” Tommy said to Harry on his way out the door. “We’ll take care of it.” 

That night you approached the Shelby house with trepidation. Aside from that first family meeting, you hadn’t exactly been invited to any of the other meetings. Which was to be expected, you weren’t really family after all. Plus, at the time, there were members at these counsels that still didn’t know of your involvement in the company. 

After the Benji incident, Scudboat and Lovelock had become privy to your real status amongst the business. Polly assured you that they could be trusted, and that they would be useful security-wise. You had been receptive to this update, since neither man had ever had any kind of trouble with the books (aside from some bad math) and they’d always been kind toward you. 

“Finally, we can get started,” Arthur shouted when you walked through the den door. 

Apparently you were the last to arrive. Polly pushed a chair out for you to sit between her and Arthur, who stood and began to pass out small pamphlets. 

“Right, I’ve called this family meeting because I’ve got some very important news. Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub on the Shankhill Road yesterday and in that pub there was a copper, handing out these.” 

He handed a paper to Ada, which John snatched away to read himself. He gave the remaining papers to Scudboat to pass to you, Polly, and Tommy, who was standing against a beam on the other side of Polly. 

“‘If you’re over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham.’” John read from the pamphlet. 

“They’re recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials,” Arthur went on. 

Ada’s brow creased, “To do what?” 

“To clean up the city, Ada,” Tommy answered. “He’s a chief inspector. The last four years he’s been clearing the IRA out of Belfast.” 

“How do you know so bloody much?” Arthur asked acusatoringly. 

“‘Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll.” 

“And why didn’t you tell me?” 

Tommy continued to stare at his older brother, shrugging slightly, “I’m telling you.” 

Arthur fumed, taking a swig of his flask as Polly asked, “So why are they sending him to Birmingham?” 

“Well, there’s been all these bloody strikes at the BSA and the Austen works lately,” Tommy explained. Ada shared a quick look with you, knowing that it was Freddie who had a hand in most of those strikes. “Now the papers are talking about sedition, and revolution. I reckon it’s communist they’re after.” 

“So this copper’s gonna leave us alone, right?” Polly followed up. 

Tommy chanced a look with you before easily answering her question. 

“There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night.” 

“Yeah, but we ain’t IRA,” John chimed in. “We bloody fought for the king. Anyway, we’re Peaky Blinders. We’re not scared of coppers.”

“He’s right,” Arthur added. 

“If they come for us, we’ll cut them a smile each.” 

“So, Arthur, is that it?” Tommy asked, ignoring his younger brother. 

Arthur pointed toward you. “Her.” Your brow rose as everyone turned to look at you. “Was the powder trick her idea?” 

Tommy’s brow furrowed, “Like I told you this morning–” 

“You brought her in to help us with the company. Ever since she got here you’ve been reckless. We don’t fuck with the Chinese!” 

You rose your finger, “I’d like to point out that I have no idea what a powder trick even is–”

“Y/N is only doing what we agreed to,” Tommy answered honestly. “I’ll have no more talk of it.” 

Arthur huffed, still staring daggers at his brother. 

“You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?” Polly asked, breaking the tension between them. 

Tommy shook his head. “No. Nothing that’s women’s business.” 

You rose a brow to that, curious what business was unfit for either you or his aunt to be privy to. 

Polly narrowed on him. “This whole bloody enterprise was women’s business while you men were away at war. What’s changed?” 

“We came back.”

“How could you let him do it?” 

Polly stormed into your flat that night, pulling off her black veil that she typically wore to the church. 

“Uh, sure, come on in Pol,” you joked, motioning for her to come in despite her already standing in the middle of your room with her hands on her hips. 

“Tommy told me about the guns.” 

You sobered up real fast at that, closing the door. 

“You have to convince him to get rid of them – throw them in the Cut.” 

Taking a deep breath, you moved to prepare you both a cup of tea. “How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Talk to him, he’ll listen to you. Do you know how much trouble he’ll be in if he’s caught with those guns, or selling them for that matter? He’ll hang!” 

You swallowed, the severity sinking in. You knew that Tommy was going through every possibility that these guns could serve him. 

“You know I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but I can’t make Tommy do anything, Polly. You know that better than anyone.” 

She huffed, the sound of surrender as she knew you were right. She ran her hand across her forehead. “This copper is going to be trouble. I can feel it.” 

You had to meet Harry early the next morning. He’d closed early due to the mess Danny had caused and you offered to help him clean up. You were sweeping the floors when the door opened. 

A woman came in and you stopped her, “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re closed–”

“I’m here about the job as a barmaid,” she said with a polite smile.

You appraised the woman before you. She was beautiful, her features soft and polished. Her blonde hair stood out against the others in the town. 

A pang of jealousy filled you immediately, but you pushed it aside. You’d already convinced yourself that this place needed more help, and that no one was going to encroach on your territory. But dammit, why’d she have to be so pretty. 

“Y/N,” you offered her a smile and your hand. 

She reciprocated, “Grace.” 

“Harry!” you shouted, listening for Harry to come back from downstairs. “This is Grace. She’s here about the barmaid position.” 

“Are you mad?” he asked, looking her up and down. 

“Am I what?” 

“Job’s been filled.”

He turned back and you shared a confused look with Grace, knowing that the role hadn’t been filled, unless he’d hired someone without letting you know. 

She took a step forward, “It was in an advertisement in yesterday’s paper.” 

“Believe me, love,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m doing you a favor.” 

“I’m not asking for favors, I’m asking for employment.” 

You couldn’t help the small smirk on your cheek at her response. “Do you have any experience?”

“And references,” she replied, opening her bag and handing you her papers. “I worked in a pub in Dublin.” 

Harry walked over toward you, looking over your shoulder at her papers. “What part of Ireland are you from?” he asked.

“Galway.” 

He hummed, “my mother was from Galway.” 

“She does have experience,” you commented. “That’s better than any of the others who’ve come in to apply.” 

“I can’t have two pretty women in my pub. The coppers will think I’m runnin’ a brothel.” 

You shared a look with Grace, sighing at the real reason Harry didn’t want to hire her. 

She straightened as she took off her hat. “Watch. And listen.” 

Your brow knitted curiously as she picked up the spit bucket, then she began to sing. 

“I wish I was in Carrickfergus, only for nights in Ballygrand. 

I would swim over, the deepest ocean. The deepest ocean, for my love to find. 

My boyhood friends and my own relations, have all passed on now, like the melting snow.” 

She sat down the spit bucket, now filled with the spatoons she’d dumped inside as she sang. You and Harry shared a surprised look. Her singing really was magical, and the jealousy you’d been fighting off rose back up like vile in your throat. 

“In Ireland, my singing made them cry and stopped them fighting.” 

Harry chuckled, “I hope you know a lot of songs.” 

Grace nodded, smiling as she looked back toward you hopeful. 

You smiled back at her encouragingly, but something in your gut pulled at you to take caution. Something about her felt very disingenuous – she felt too polite, too posh, nothing at all like the other people you’d met in town since you’d arrived. 

You tried to convince yourself it was your jealousy, that you were being territorial, all the things you’d been afraid of – but something deeper felt off. 

Like you weren’t the only one here with secrets. 

“This investigator isn’t messing around,” Tommy commented as you brushed Monaghan Boy’s coat. 

It was just the two of you at the Yard, Charlie and Curly were on guard. Tommy used your interest in visiting the horse as his cover to check in on the crates, which hadn’t been touched since you left it the other night. 

“Our coppers say he made a big speech about taking down the Peaky Blinders and Fenians and Communists,” he continued. “Said he doesn’t trust any of them, and brought in his own brigade of men.” 

“This is getting serious, Tommy. Aren’t you worried?” 

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’m told he didn’t serve. Reserved occupation—“

“Tommy!” Curly ran toward you, “It’s Arthur. He’s been beat bad!” 

You handed Curly the brush and hurried alongside Tommy, who led the way back toward the Lane. He stopped first at the Garrison to grab some rum – said it was the best for disinfection. You disagreed, but didn’t dare argue with his determination in the moment. The pub was packed, but the minute Tommy walked in, the crowded moved aside. 

He snaked through the snug and opened the window as you pushed your way behind the bar. 

“Doesn’t matter what kind, just any bottle,” he shouted, causing Harry and Grace to look toward him. 

“What are you doing, I thought you were off this morning?” Grace asked you, looking between you and Tommy. 

“I am,” you added, searching the shelf for an unopened bottle. 

You heard Harry whisper to Grace that whatever it is, it’s on the house. Tommy sat some money down on the window seal anyway, which Grace moved to collect. 

“Ready?” you said after finally finding the bottle. Tommy nodded, giving one last look to Grace before turning to leave. 

“If I say something’s on the house,” you heard Harry say to Grace as you moved to leave, “then say nothing to whoever you’re serving. If they decide that they want you, there’s nothing anybody could do about it. Lucky for you, Tommy there hasn’t looked at anyone other than Y/N since he got back.” 

You couldn’t help the swell in your chest and smirk on your lips as you gripped the bottle and made your exit from the pub. 

Your smirk immediately fell when you arrived at the Shelby house to the sight of Arthur beat up and bloody. 

“I’m not bloody chocking, am I?”

“You will when I wrap this cloth around your neck,” Ada said back to the older brother as she poured boiling water into a bowl. 

“Let me see him,” Tommy announced, opening the bottle of rum and ringing out a rag. Arthur took a swig of the bottle before Tommy took it back, pouring some onto the rag and pushing it against a nasty gash above his eye. 

Arthur hissed as Tommy reassured him he was alright, then grabbed his arm. “He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said. Something about a robbery.” 

Tommy pushed away from him, taking a few steps backwards to breathe. 

“Who?” You asked innocently, moving to help Polly and Ada tend to some of his other cuts. 

“The inspector,” Ada answered. 

Your mouth fell again, surprised that an officer did this, and realizing just exactly how out of your depth you may be. 

“He said he wants us to help him,” Arthur continued, still watching Tommy as he leaned against the counter. 

“We don’t help coppers,” John commented. 

Arthur pointed to his younger brother. “He knew all about our war records. He said we’re patriots, like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears.”

“Was this before or after he beat you to a pulp?” You scoffed, mostly to yourself. John breathed out a laugh, but Arthur remained serious. 

“I said—“ he hissed again as Polly bandaged up his hand. “I said we’d have a family meeting and take a vote.”

He waited a beat, watching Tommy until his head dropped down to his hand. 

“Why not? Hmm?” Arthur asked when Tommy still didn’t say anything. “We have no truck with Fenians or communists.”

Tommy continued to remain silent. 

“What’s wrong with ya?” Arthur asked, then looked to you. “What’s wrong with him? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?” He finally asked, directing the last question to Polly. 

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists,” she replied looking back at Tommy with that cut throat disapproving glare. 

Arthur set his sights on you, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. That it was you — you were what was wrong with him lately. 

After you all got him relatively cleaned up, he left and grumbled something about getting back his money’s worth. You didn’t ask what he meant by that. Ada and John soon followed, leaving just you, Polly, and Tommy left in the kitchen. 

Polly gave you a pointed look before leaving. 

“Tommy—“ you began the minute you two were alone. 

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Did you see Arthur’s face? And this guy wants your help,” you scoffed, dropping into the seat. “This man has to be insane.”

“And desperate,” Tommy added. “This changes our plans. They’ve shown their hand. We can use this. If they want them back this bad, they’ll have to pay.”

You blinked. “You think you can extort from this guy? God, you really would make a great politician, you know that?”

He shook his head. “This is our ticket for legitimacy.”

“In what world?” You all but laughed, thinking of the irony that something legitimate could come from theiving and blackmailing. 

“In this one! This is the way of the world!” He softly exclaimed. Despite the two of you being alone in the house, he still felt the need to be discreet.

You took a deep breath. “I understand that you believe the only way to get ahead is to play dirty, but this — you saw your brother’s face. This guy isn’t messing around. And Winston Churchill. I mean, that’s serious business. He’s the fucking prime minister—“ Tommy’s brow creased, and you shook your head. “I mean, he— he could be one day. He’s just, he’s— he’s powerful, I mean.”

“Fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don’t just dump it on the bank of the Cut,” Tommy said strongly.

You swallowed, knowing there was no talking him out of it. “Okay. What’s your plan.”

“In France, I learned that it was frivolous to have a concrete plan. You had to adapt at a moment’s notice to survive. My Kimber plan remains, this just may be an opportunity to further my original goal.”

“Alright,” you conceded. 

You held his gaze for a moment before he sat down and took your hand. “This is good, Y/N. This is our chance.”

Outside of Birmingham, the new Inspector walked into an art museum, approaching a blonde woman wearing a large hat. 

“Are you in position?”

Grace rose her head, “I am, sir.”

“First impression?”

“I’m quite shocked at how these people live. Have you found anything out that might help me?”

“I interrogated the head of the Peaky Blinders. He didn’t know anything. A brute.”

Grace hummed. “It strikes me that it isn’t Arthur who heads the Shelby family. It’s the younger one, Thomas. They say he won two medals for gallantry in the war.”

“You sound fascinated,” Inpector Campbell commented, raising a brow. 

“There’s a woman at the bar. She seems very close with the family. I believe she may be my gate to learn more. However, my opinion has not changed. The bookmaker gangs have other business, and the communists are too weak to have planned this. I believe the guns were taken by the IRA.”

He hummed. “You must not let your personal history cloud your judgement.”

“What history?” Grace countered. “That the IRA murdered my father will not affect my judgement.”

“If you see any guns, check the serial numbers against that list,” he slipped a folded paper in her hands. “Your father was the finest officer I ever worked with. I know he’d be very proud of you.”

Back in Birmingham, you were helping Polly with the books when Tommy walked in, blood splattered across his white collar. You knew what this meant — Danny was gone. 

He’d accidentally killed someone during another fit. An Italian whose family wanted revenge. Tommy had promised to dispatch of him himself, with the Italians as witness. 

“Where are ya!” Arthur shouted from the other end of the empty shop. He slammed a paper in front of Tommy. “It bloody won! Monaghan Boy bloody won!”

“Yeah. It won. And word will spread. So the next time we do the powder trick, it won’t just be the Garrison that’ll bet on the horse. It’ll be the whole of Small Heath. And you know what? The horse will win again. And the third time we do it, we’ll have the whole of Birmingham betting on it. A thousand quid bet on the magic horse. And that time, when we’re ready, the horse will lose.” Arthur only stared at him as Tommy shut the book he’d opened. “Think about it.”

He walked the book over toward you and Polly, dropping it to the table along with a bag of coins. 

Polly picked it up, judging the weight. “Bad week?” Tommy didn’t reply. “There was no moon last night, I checked. Did you do the right thing?”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting your eyes. “I did the right thing.”

God, you hoped he did. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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[ily-fictional-women]

Bloody but Beautiful

Summary: The night can bring in many dangers, many monsters, and many realizations. 

Pairing: vampire!Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Warnings: Talks of blood, minor implications of abuse, and a small dash of spice

Word count: 1448

a/n: Been gone for a long time lol. Was at a mental health low, got good, had my birthday, and got broken up with. Anyways, I’ve been obsessed with Interview with a Vampire so ya’ll are getting a vampire au! (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.) 

Kate stands at the top of the rooftop listening for any type of commotion. But the thumping hearts coursing with rich red blood are too distracting. It’s been over a month since she treated herself to any good blood. Animal blood works. But it can only keep the urges down for so long. Tonight is the night, she's sure of it. 

Or, that is until she smells a familiar scent. “What are you doing here Y/n?” Y/n lets out a dramatic groan before laughing a little, “I swear Kate, I’m gonna be able to jumpscare you eventually.” Kate keeps her view on the city, “You are welcome to try. Again though, why are you here Y/n?” 

Y/n moves closer to Kate, wrapping her arms around her neck from behind and resting her chin on her shoulder, “Before Clint left he emphasized it was good to not go on patrol by yourself. And you weren’t at your apartment.” She’s too close Kate thinks to herself. 

It’d be so easy to do a quick turn and take a drink from her pretty neck. But her phone buzzes with a police alert before she can give too much thought to the idea of draining one of her closest friends. Y/n moves her gaze to Kate’s phone, “What is it?” 

“Hostage situation not too far from here, the tracksuit mafia is holding a few girls. Did you bring your knives?” Y/n lets go of Kate quickly flashing one of her many daggers with a grin, “Did you bring enough arrows?” Kate rolls her eyes at the tease, “Always.” 

//

Y/n takes out an electric arrow drawing it back and releasing it to take one of the guards at the front entrance. “That should be the last one on the outside, you ready to go in?” Y/n gives her an affirming nod. Kate takes another arrow shooting it to create a zip-line. 

Making it across the way the two observe the scene through the glass rooftop. If it weren’t for Y/n being here this could be quick for Kate. She could use her strength to easily knock out all the men. Then used her speed to bring the girls to safety, leaving her enough time to drain at least three of the men and dispose of the bodies before any police would find the girls safe. 

But, she also does love a challenge. “Looks like there’s about seven of them on the inside, three with guns all aimed at the girls. Four with bats or crowbars. How do you want to do this Kate?” 

“I’ll use a few of my smoke arrows giving us enough time to get in. You take out the ones without guns with your knives, I’ll use my arrows to get the ones with guns. But I’ll need you to get the girls out of there before I tie them up just in case one of them gets up. Just in case any backup arrives.” 

Y/n looks at Kate with slight concern, “Are you sure you can handle them all?” Kate grins assuringly, “I’ll be fine, are you ready?” With Y/n nodding Kate breaks the glass of the rooftop the sound already triggering the tracksuit mafia to look up. Quickly shooting a few smoke arrows though and their vision is compromised. 

Y/n drops down first based on the memory of where each man was she throws her first knife in the direction of a man with a crown bar. Hearing a loud yelp once the knife made contact she ran in the direction being able to see him from behind she put him in a chokehold long enough for him to pass out. 

With Y/n now occupied Kate aims from the rooftop as the smoke starts to clear. Before the men can start shooting she draws her arrow making sure to not aim at any lethal areas for the men. She shoots two in the shoulder with tranquilizer arrows. Then the last in the foot with a glue trap arrow. Using another arrow to knock the gun out of his hand. 

As the smoke fully clears Y/n looks up at Kate as she begins to untie the girls, “Everyone’s out like a little kid. You can come down.” Making her way down Kate gives Y/n a serious look as she unties the last girl, “You should go right now. They probably already called for backup. Get them as far away as possible, okay?” 

Y/n hesitates for a moment, “Fine.” As she leaves with the girls Kate knocks out the man she stuck with the glue trap. Beginning to pile them up so it would be easier to tie them together Kate pulls out a knife from one of the men Y/n took down licking the blood clean off of it. 

The rich taste was definitely something incomparable to animal blood. She can feel her fangs start to slip out, but she manages to control herself tying up the rest. Making her way outside she hears some yelling in a nearby alleyway. Taking a quick peek she sees a man yelling at a woman. Then he slaps her.

Wasting no time Kate uses her speed to take the woman a few blocks away noticing bruises all over her. Some old. Some new. Making her way back to the man before he could even notice the woman was gone she used her strength to toss him so hard into a nearby dumpster it leaves a dent in it.

She picks the man up by the jaw lifting him to his feet. He groans in pain, “What the fuck are you.” Kate slams him down on the ground, “Someone just trying to good. You on the other hand. You’re a monster.” She draws out her fangs, “I don’t like monsters.” Lifting him up again she sinks her teeth into his neck sucking out his blood, draining him dry. 

As she drops the man feeling satisfied she looks up to see Y/n her mouth agape. Panic immediately rises in Kate, “Y/n I- I can explain. Just don’t-” Y/n cuts her off. “You’re beautiful.” Y/n looks at Kate admiringly. Covered in blood, the moonlight giving it a slight shine. Y/n repeats again moving closer to Kate resting a hand on her bloodied cheek, “You are beautiful.”

Kate leans into Y/n’s touch, “You’re not scared?” Y/n leans closer to Kate her lips only a breath away from hers. “How could I be afraid of a beauty like yours?” Kate closes the space between them the kiss slick with blood. As things became more heated Kate pulls away looking at Y/n, her lips now tinted with red. 

“So you knew? And you don’t care?” Y/n wraps her arms around Kate once more, “No I don’t care, and I assumed you were either a vampire or a narcoleptic recluse with a hobby of archery.” 

Kate giggles kissing Y/n again, pulling away for a breath Y/n smiles. “How about we clean this up,” she gestures to the man on the ground, “then you take me back to your apartment.” 

“Deal.” 

//

Tossing their gear on the floor not wasting any time getting into the apartment Kate pushes Y/n against the entrance door kissing her like she needed it live. As Y/n’s hands move to grip at Kate’s waist Kate's hands wander up to the zipper of Y/n’s jumpsuit. 

Tying the top half around her waist her sports bra exposed, but more importantly, her neck exposed. Y/n pushed Kate away for a moment, guiding her to sit down on the couch. As Kate sits she watches as Y/n takes a seat on her lap. She rests her hand on Kate's cheek again lightly brushing her thumb.

“You can take a small drink, if you want.” Kate squits her eyes for a second, “You trust me enough for that?” Y/n nods and Kate begins kissing her again. But slower this time, as her hands move across Y/n’s body she moves her lip’s attention from Y/n’s lips to her cheek, then her jaw, but as she reaches her neck she pauses. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” At the confirmation, Y/n can feel Kate’s fangs slowly enter her neck. The feeling causes a sense of excitement to swell inside her. This blood was different for Kate though, it was so much better. Blood always tasted good, but blood with lust– no. Love, rushing through it. It’s a rich delicacy. A delicacy Kate could get used to.