#i don't think he'd even get on the damn boat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

himbosandhardwear · 5 months ago

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Eddie has a bad habit of picking at his skin when he's nervous. Not, like, shy nervous or stage fright nervous, but the real kind of nervous, not-sure-I’m-gonna-survive-this kind of nervous. Like while he was alone in the boat house, he'd shredded every one of his cuticles. That time Hopper caught him behind The Hawk, very obviously selling his wares, he'd bitten his lips bloody.

Tonight he's picking a scab off his knee. It's practically healed already, so it won't bleed, he just needs to feel something on his body come loose before he does.

“You good, dude?” Steve asks, so in tune to Eddie's nervous disposition. Such a good guy. What a friend.

Eddie lets his head hit his knee caps with a thunk.

“Yup.”

Steve snorts. “You don't look good. I mean… You know what I mean.”

He smiles, tilting his head to look at Steve, always happy to give him a hard time.

“Oh, absolutely. You think I look good, don't cha, Stevie?”

He gets a couch pillow to the face for that, but they're both laughing so he doesn't think he's crossed the line yet.

Yet, yet, yet.

“Seriously, what's up with you? You've been quiet. It makes me want to call the squad.”

“Har har,” Eddie mumbles, but he does uncurl himself, sitting back against the couch again. “I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask for advice but it's-” Christ, he doesn't even want to admit to being embarrassed, that's how embarrassed he is.

“It's what?” Steve asks, the picture of earnest encouragement. “You can talk to me about anything, man, we're, like, bonded in blood or whatever.”

“Right. Yeah. Except this has the potential to get real awkward, real quick, and I'm not sure we're at that level of friendship yet.”

“Well,” he drawls, “if you ask me whatever it is that's got you all flustered I'm sure that will level us up. Right?”

“I'm not flustered.” God damn his red fucking face. Steve just laughs at him. “It's just, I don't have anyone else to ask about this. Jonathan probably doesn't have this particular problem, cause he's got- Uh. Sorry.” Steve waves it away, so Eddie goes on. “The kids are too young and the band guys don't understand what we went through-”

“Eddie, just spit it out.”

“Fuck! Okay, fine! You asked for it.” He takes a giant breath, steels his spine and just says it. “The Trauma is affecting my ability to get laid and I don't know how to fix it. Every time I get close to it I freak out and have to bail.”

There. All out now.

He looks over at Steve, and it's so much worse than being laughed at or pitied. He just looks sad.

He shakes it off quickly, hair barely moving, Eddie notes. He finds Steve's hair routine both endearing and ridiculous.

“Yeah. Okay. That's super common, just so you know,” Steve assures him first. “Robin says it's all connected, your mind and your body, so trauma can, like, get trapped in weird places like that. I can't play baseball anymore. Cause the memory of beating demodogs to death.”

“As you do,” Eddie quips.

“Right. But your thing. Uh. Yeah, it took some time before I could relax enough to even attempt getting laid, let alone actually do it.”

“So?” Eddie drawls, waiting. “How did you get over it?”

Something is off. Steve's not known for being skiddish about sex, but his hesitation and his inability to look Eddie in the eye is setting off alarms.

“Hey, if this is too weird for you-”

“No, I'm good, it's fine. Just, I'm the only person you have to talk to about this, so I'm gonna try to be helpful but, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, “in all honesty, I haven't been laid since before Vecna either. Way before. So. Yeah. Not sure I should be giving out advice on anything.”

That's crazy. Like actually crazy. He can't even compute Steve Harrington not absolutely dripping in women. He must have some look on his face because Steve gives a dry sort of laugh, self deprecating, and leans back against the couch with him.

“Weren't you on a date with Brenda Mulligan the night- Vecna’s first attack?”

Steve shoots him a look. “Y- Yeah, but that didn't go anywhere. We weren't, like, compatible or whatever.”

Oh, yeah, it was weird that Eddie knew that at all, let alone remembered it nine months later. “That's too bad,” he replies lamely.

“Yep.”

He feels terrible for dragging down the whole night, it would've been better if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But that's never been his strong suit, as evidenced by him blurting out, “If the hottest guy in Hawkins can't find a suitable date, what fucking chance do I have.”

Steve snaps, “Don't say that. What the fuck?”

Great, now he's gone and made it weird. Good job calling your straight friend hot, you fuckin’ dipshit.

They sit in the awkward silence, out of things to say or out of useful things to say. Either way it's them breathing, the clock ticking, and the M.A.S.H. rerun playing softly in the background.

Steve clears his throat. “Whatever, let's get back to the point. You don't have to tell me if you don't want but…what do you think the specific reason is for your…issue?”

He thinks about it. Has been thinking about it, for a while now. “My dick still works, if that's what you're wondering.”

Steve chuckles, high and surprised. “Good for you.”

“Yeah. It's more like, I can't get out of my head. I start worrying about my scars, explaining them if someone asked. I think about how even though I don't want anything long-term, I wouldn't be able to do long-term anyway, because I'm a fucking mess. If it's really bad, I'll get flashes of Chrissy or Patrick's bones snapping, as a little soundtrack to the fun shit happening outside my head.”

Steve looks sad again. Maybe it is pity but it looks more turned inward, like he's dealing with his own shit more than Eddie’s.

“You hooking up with strangers then?”

Eddie blinks at Steve. “Well…duh. Right? Not like I have guys lined up around the block here in Hawkins.”

Steve is full blown scowling at the TV. It's weird.

“What if-”

Eddie waits but Steve doesn't finish his thought.

“What if…what?” He prompts, giving a little nudge with his foot.

He's still avoiding eye contact, not even turning his head to look in Eddie's direction.

In a soft voice, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “What if we helped each other out?”

He must've heard that wrong. Or he's misunderstanding.

“What?”

“What if we help each other out? Like, a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

That can't be right. No fucking way. It's a test. Like as soon as Eddie agrees, Steve yells ‘Aha! I knew you wanted to molest me! Goodbye forever!’ and runs out the door.

“What, exactly, do you mean? Like, what are you getting out of it?”

Steve finally looks over. “Well, I would think that was obvious. If you're willing.”

Eddie's legs are starting to go numb.

“Okay, so I blow you and you blow me, except when you're doing it I have to watch you take it like you're being force fed liver and onions at Grandma's house?”

Steve slowly shakes his head no.

“Oh, okay, so you're going to blow me and enjoy it,” he snaps sarcasticaly.

Steve nods once.

“You want to blow me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums without moving a muscle.

“Since when!” Eddie brings his octave down from the upper atmosphere. “Since when, Harrington? This is insane behavior. Should I call the squad for you? I'm serious. I'll do it.”

“You don't have to say yes. I was just offering.” He says it like Eddie isn't one green flag away from stomping on the gas.

He starts nervously laughing, which makes Steve flinch unfortunately, but he can't stop.

“It's cool, just forget I said anything.” He moves like he's about to get up and leave, which is fucking insane because it's his living room. Eddie stops him with a tight grip around the bicep.

“Don't you dare. If you're even remotely serious, we have to have a much longer conversation. Sit.”

Steve drops like a sack of bricks. Which is…something.

“Right. First off, this is uncommon behavior in a straight friend. Is there something you'd like to tell me, so I don't think you've been body snatched?”

He pinches at the top of his nose, like Eddie is inconveniencing him greatly. Too bad.

“I'm probably bisexual.”

“Probably?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm an inexperienced bisexual,” he amends through clenched teeth.

“Good. Great. Happy to hear it.” His heart may explode from his torso à la Ridley Scott's Alien but sure. “Second on the agenda, what do you mean help each other out? What's on the table? Mutual handjobs and then we never talk about it again?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately. That's good. “I'm open to…whatever you're open to.”

“Steve.” He has to clear his throat. “You dont even know what you're agreeing to.”

“I trust you.”

Fuuuuuck.

“Okay, right, uh, let's circle back to that later. Third thing, what, uh, what is your level of commitment with this?”

He just stares at Eddie, all doe eyed. It shouldn't work, Eddie fucking invented that look. It's gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. Now it's being used against him but to what end? Does Steve want to get bundled up in a blanket and tucked into bed? Because Eddie can make that happen for him.

“Whatever you want, I guess,” he finally says. “I mean, like I said earlier, friends who help each other out. Casual. I'm not interested in looking for Mrs Harrington anymore and you're having a problem relaxing around guys who don't understand what you went through.” He makes a gesture like ‘Ta da.’

He's not wrong. It makes sense. But…

“Fourth thing. Is this just an experiment for you? Cause I'm all for you exploring your sexuality but, historically speaking, friends are a bad place to start.” AKA ‘it will break my fucking heart if you decide you're not that into it and it's because it's me.’

“Eddie. Look.” He gets more comfortable, facing Eddie straight on finally. “What you're going to provide is practical knowledge on what has only been theoretical up to this point, but the theory has already been well established.” He taps his head. “Understand?”

A smug confidence melts Eddie into the couch. “You liiike me,” he sings. “You think about me naaaked. You wanna-”

Steve lands on him, lacking any elegance or grace, and nearly caves their skulls in with his Jay Garrick approach to kissing. Eddie doesn't say a fucking word. He does wonder at the fucking majesty that is making out sober. What a revelation. Steve keeps making these tiny, almost wounded noises, to the point where Eddie tries to back up and do a check in but Steve doesn't let him, he chases him down and latches back onto Eddie's bottom lip like he's Hannibal Lector. It's stupid hot.

Everything is going great until Steve lets out a sound that legitimately has Eddie worried he's upset about something.

He pulls back and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I just can't, I can't believe I got this fucking far. You're so hot I'm losing my fucking mind.”

“Me?” Eddie snaps. “Dude, you're out of your mind.” He pokes Steve in his meaty chest. “Literal. Prom. King.”

“Fucking stupid high school shit, are you kidding me?” He sits up, straddling Eddie's hips, which is boner enhancing to say the least; he's got Steve's thighs in his grasp immediately. “You don't get it, I'm gone on you. I've got it bad, man. I was playing it cool earlier-”

“At no point tonight were you in any way playing it cool.”

“-but, fuck it, guess I'm ruining it, cause I can't be cool about this. I don't want casual. I don't even want to date you,” and before Eddie can even worry about that, he says, “I wanna skip straight to boyfriends, man. I know you said you didn't want long term with anyone but-”

Eddie interrupts again, this time by pulling Steve back down horizontal and kissing him like he just bravely declared himself as all in.

If this is a pod-person, well, that's a problem for Tomorrow Eddie. Tonight Eddie just landed Steve Harrington as a boyfriend.

#i might save this to flesh out later #who knows #steddie #ficlet #my writing

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erwinsvow · 6 months ago

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Okay but shy/bunny reader being used to bestfriend!Rafe ditching her because he’s with some girl, she never points it out and somehow she always lets it go because she’s just a babyy and Rafe starts realising that they don’t hang out as much😭💖

it was hard seeing rafe go—always was, and always will be.

you tried to convince yourself you were used to it now, but the familiar ache in your chest when he'd say goodbye to you, topper, and kelce and walk away hand in hand with his flavor of the week was getting worse and worse.

before you'd realized you had feelings for rafe—beyond just the affection you gave to your close friends—you hadn't cared at all. you'd even encouraged it, same way you did with top and kelce, offering advice and recommending which flowers to bring, what places to bring them.

not that rafe ever really needed your help. it seems since the day he'd become your best friend, there was a line of girls hanging behind the two of you, seemingly waiting for their turn. at night, when it felt worse—and somehow it always did feel worse in your bed alone, wondering if rafe's was empty too and knowing that it wasn't—you tried to make yourself feel better.

you're still here, and they're not—that's how you tried. it worked for a little.

the newest girl had been around for a record three weeks, so even your usual bandaid for your shattered heart wasn't helping the wound heal.

so far, he'd skipped two meals, a day at the course, and half of a boat day to spend with her instead of you. you, kelce, and top that is. you'd hoped today was going to be different, walking back to top's jeep after lunch to head to the marina.

"you're not coming?" you call out to rafe, who was walking back in the direction of his own car. kelce and top are too far away to hear—getting into the front already. you were always stuck in the back, and you had never minded when rafe was there to keep you company.

rafe flicks his eyes over you, taking in the new dress you really shouldn't have bought just to see what kind of reaction you could get from him. your bag has your bikini in it and one of his button ups to cover you and he sees it poking out—white seersucker temporarily distracting him.

"rafe?"

"yeah. sorry, no. made plans with-"

"yeah, of course you did." you cut him off, and though even a few weeks ago you couldn't have imagined the vitriol in your voice, it comes out all too easy. "have fun."

you try to walk away but his footsteps follow—and damn his long legs, because he gets infront of you before you can escape.

"what, kid? you mad at me?"

you shouldn't say something. you shouldn't say anything.

"we're going to the boat. you said you were coming. i cut fruit for you."

"i-i'm sorry. top will eat it."

"it's not for him. that's not the point." the words teeter on the edge—wanting so badly to tell him that you miss him. that he never hangs out with you anymore, that he's choosing some girl over you and it stings worse than anything you've felt so far.

you're not sure when it started feeling so different—rafe's always done this. and standing two feet from the jeep, kelce sticking his head out the window to yell at you to get in, you realize you're going to reveal yourself if you don't shut up.

"have fun, rafe. sorry. bye."

you don't give him a chance to respond, but it doesn't take anything else for the gears to click. you're too quiet to ever admit it, too shy to say what you're really thinking, and rafe knows that—he's known it since he met you.

standing there, watching you drive away with kelce and top, he briefly wonders what the last time was he did something just with you. he can't even remember it. it all blurs together—late night runs for ice cream and breakfast while top and kelce were still passed out. the sweet way you smile at him and how your expression changes when he goes to the girl who's waiting for him. he gets in the car and can't decide which direction to turn—towards this girl or towards you.

on the boat, you kick up your feet and open your book, trying to drown out the chatter of kelce and top trying to get out of the marina and focus singularly on the romance in your hands rather than the one in your brain. you drown it out a little too much.

"that the one i got you?" rafe asks from somewhere next to you.

"god-" you exclaim, book slipping from your grip and thudding on the boat. "you scared me." catching your breath, you bend to pick up your book, but rafe beats you to it, picking it up and placing it on your lap.

"sorry."

"what happened to your plans?" rafe shrugs. you wish your heartbeat would slow down. you look down at your lap and rafe looks over you—exposed skin shiny with sunblock, a blue bikini he thinks he's never noticed before, matching nails that suit you.

"already had plans with you, remember?"

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader #AHHH So fun to write this!! blending aus together #<33 hope you like it angel

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theworldisadumpster · 1 year ago

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The most inaccurate thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that you know damn well that Gale wouldn't be roughing it. He's the kind of motherfucker that if and I mean IF you can convince him to go camping at all, would be pulling up in a damn motor home. He'd have a pocket dimension charm on that bitch so fast so when you step in ot's his whole ass tower, Mom, Tara, and house keepers to boot. As well as Elminster who'd somehow escaped his notice but is annoyingly in the way of his kitchen.

Y'all'd be putting a whole deer on the fire, and he'd step out of his camper with a four course meal and an evening robe. He's the type of motherfucker to sit by the fire and ask "Ah, nothing quite like the bracing cold of nature. Shall we carry on with the old camping traditions? A rousing tune about friendship conquering hardship? The rowing of a boat perhaps?" while lounging on a blanket with a glass of wine.

"Oh but he's in hiding, he wouldn't be using so much frivolous magic" you would cry

This is GALE DEKARIOS we're talking about here, motherfucker makes a northern lights show for himself every night, he can't keep his damn hands out of the weave cookie jar.

Dude is constantly getting his squishy wizard ass handed to him in battle, slipping on his own conjured ice and has his own personal life insurance tab with Withers. The companions also keep snack packs on them in case the orb gets hungry.

No way his tent doesn't open up with a full library, comfy chair and tea to boot.

"But too much exertion might explode us all!"

"He doesn't want to get made fun of by the other companions"

You really that his sheltered, mama's boy, groomed by a goddess, nerd ass CARES what the others think?? Yes, a lot, but he'd never admit it. He would also justify it as self care. ie "sleeping on a bedroll will destroy my back and I need to be in tip top shape" (you know he's unironically using tip top in a sentence, don't lie).

In conclusion he sleeps on a feather bed made of fucking magic while the rest of them lay in the dirt, no I will not be taking any criticisms.

#gale dekarios #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #bg3 memes

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miniwheat77 · 1 year ago

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Brat. (dbf!Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), using worms as bait, age gap, (sorry if I missed any)

Your body feels warm, the hot sun beating down on you as you swam with one of your friends in her swimming pool. You had one as well but her parents weren't as strict as yours so you spent most of your time there.

You had just turned 18 but since you still lived with them for the time being you had no other choice but to follow their rules. You still had a curfew, had to tell them when and where you were going and what time you would be home. They still had to approve of it of course. Although they rarely ever told you no anymore since you were 18.

Your dad sat at an old wooden bar in and old dive bar him and his best friend, John Price liked to hang out in. They've been neighbors for years and years and it's essentially how their friendship started. They spent every holiday, game day, barbecue, and family get together with each other since then. They got along well, never fought. John was invited to everything and since he didn't have a family of his own it wasn't too hard for him to show. He wasn't married, had no kids, and lived too far away from his parents and siblings to plan the flights. He also didn't know when he'd be deployed but since he took on a job on the base and was only backup for missions, he was always home. Usually worked a 9-5 on the base. It was out of the ordinary for him and apart of him felt useless but it paid the bills. He was still there if they needed him anyways.

You dad was tipping the whiskey back like it was water which only meant one thing. Something was stressing him out.

John smiles after drinking some of his own bourbon. "Something going on mate?" He asks your dad. "Ah yeah. Y/N has been driving me crazy lately." He groans. "Me and her mom." He laughs. John tilts his head in confusion. "What's been going on?" He asks. "If you don't mind me asking of course."

"To be honest? I don't know. She's just been a real grouch lately. Has an attitude, doesn't listen, complains all the time. We've given her much more freedom since she turned 18 so I'm not sure where it's coming from." He shrugs. John nods his head. He's still listening. "I mean.. we convinced her to go to the doctor to get a few scans and blood work done, thinking maybe it was hormone imbalance or a mood disorder but those all came back fine and seemed to piss her off even more to be honest." He shrugs. "She got something going on in her personal life? Maybe she's fighting with a friend or boyfriend?" John asks. Your dad shakes his head. "She hates guys her age. Hates pretty much everyone she isn't close with anyways. She always said she won't date until she's older after her first boyfriend but I mean. She was like 12 so it was stupid anyways. She's only got a couple close friends and that's where she is right now. I don't know what it is." He tips back another shot of whiskey.

"Must just be moody. Maybe you guys should come out to the lake with me this weekend. I’m taking the boat out.” He shrugs. “Yeah that sounds good.” Your dad smiles. “Maybe getting out of the house will help her out.” He shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just know she’s in my damn nerves.” He laughs. Once they finish up their drinks, they part ways. Driving down the same roads to get home since they were neighbors. They’d usually carpool together but they’d met after work. When your dad arrives home, you’re home already. Watching a show on the couch. He closes the door behind him as he steps inside, smiling when he sees you. “Hey. John invited us out to go fishin this weekend. I said we’d go.” He smiles. “Do I have to?” You mumble. “Yes.” A grumble leaves your lips. “I’m not sure what the attitude is but it better quit young lady.” You roll your eyes, going upstairs to your room. Throwing yourself back on your bed with a groan.

—

John smiles at your dad, he’s sitting up at the front of the boat. You’re laying on your stomach, bikini leaving little to the eyes, you’ve got a pair of sunglasses on and you haven’t spoken much the entire trip. “John, you mind letting me off at the doc? I’m gonna go get another case of beer.” He nods his head, starting up the boat and making his way to shore. He lets your dad off, letting him know he’s going to go back out with you and to let him know when to come get him. When he’s back out on the lake and the anchor is down, he flips his hat around. Scooping up some water with his hand and flicking it all over you. He draws a gasp from your lips and you turn around, “John what the hell!” You gasp. Wiping the water down. “Cmon kid. You’re driving your poor ol’ man nuts. What’s with the attitude?” He crosses his arms, lazy smile playing at his lips. “I don’t have an attitude. Why does everyone keep saying that?” You roll your eyes. “Oh come on. The eye rolling, talking back, ignoring people when they talk to you. Being a real brat little lady.” He teases. You grumble, laying back down. “Nope. Cmon. You’re gonna try fishing. You’ll have fun.” He picks up a fishing pole. “We’re using worms. I mean.. you can use power bait but the stocked fished are smaller than natural spawn fish. It’s up to you.” He shrugs, holding out the styrofoam container that has the worms in it. You sigh, taking it from him. “You want me to show you how to put a worm on?” He asks. “Yeah sure.” You mumble. “Alright, here. You basically just thread it through the top.” You watch him hook the worm and thread it on, watching as it squirms. You take the pole from him, casting it out into the water and waiting.

Pretty soon, there’s a boat full of younger guys creeping up near you. They cat call you, yelling out obscenities at you. You ignore them, rolling your eyes. John is a little amused because he knows what your dad has said about guys your age and how you hate dating. They leave just as quickly as they come. “Can we just home? This is boring.” You roll your eyes. “No, not until we catch some fish.” He laughs.

This is where he starts to see it.

When you think he’s not paying attention, you’re adjusting yourself. Sliding awkwardly on the seat, rubbing up against your fishing pole for any sort of friction. Acting more and more bratty as the time ticks on. It’s amusing to John really, to see just how frustrated you are. “Where is my dad? He’s been gone a long time.” John shrugs. He pulls out his phone. He notices a text from your dad, seeing that he’s received a text from him a few minutes before.

You mind giving Y/N a lift home? Her mom texted me and said she took a bad fall at work and is in the ER.

Yeah no problem at all, see you later mate.

“He said your mum fell at work so he’s going to go see if she’s okay. It’s just me and you kid.” John sits down. “So we can go home now?” You ask. “No.” He laughs. You mutter something under your breath. He laughs. Your fishing pole bobbing startles you and John perks up. "You got a fish!" You set the hook, yanking the fishing pole and starting to reel it in. The fish puts up a pretty good fight and when you reel it closer to the boat, John scoops it up with the fishing net for you. Helping you get it off the hook. "Look at that darling." He smiles as you pick it up. "Good girl, see? This is fun." He smiles. His statement takes you off guard, cheeks heating up. "Uh.. Yeah. Whatever." You shut down quickly. He thinks it's odd at first. Once you've thrown the fish back into the water, he sits down across from you at the front of the boat.

He looks around, making sure no one else is around. “Look. I know what’s going on.” He smiles. “Yeah? And what’s that?” You look at him. “Well.. I’m putting two and two together here. The attitude, the never wanting to go out.” He smirks. You look up at him. “I mean.. you’ve been grinding up against your fishing pole since I gave it to you. Rubbing your thighs together when that boat full of guys came by.” Your lips part slightly, cheeks going red. "And when I called you a good girl." He chuckles, seeing how you start to squirm from his watchful eyes on you. “Do you not know how to make yourself cum sweetheart?” He laughs. "T-that's inappropriate John." You look away from his gaze, thankful your sunglasses help conceal your embarrassment. He laughs. "Oh come on, what your dad doesn't know won't hurt him, besides. You've been on his nerves lately and if I help you out, maybe he won't be so stressed out. So talk to me." He smiles. You stay quiet and he moves across the boat, sitting right next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "You can talk to me darling. I can help you." Your heart rate picks up, it's racing in your chest. "I.. I don't know what you want me to say." You breathe. You're one step away from panting at his close proximity. The only thing you can think about are his hands on you. "Have you ever had sex before?" He asks. You shake your head. "Have you.. done anything at all?" You shake your head again. "I've tried to it myself but it makes it worse." You look down at your hands nervously playing with them.

He smiles. Right now, John is thankful there is a room below on his boat. "I can show you." He rests his hand on your thigh, feeling you stiffen up under his touch. "O-okay." You breathe. "Come on." He grasps your hand. There aren't many boats left on the water, it's getting late in the day and everyone is going home thankfully, you might get a little loud. He pulls you down the small set of stairs into the cabin of the boat. It's really small. He makes sure to wash his hands before he touches you, having you do the same.

There's a small bed and a table and chairs and that's it. "Lay on your back." You swallow hard, getting up onto the bed. His deep voice has your clit throbbing at the attention it knows it's about to get. You're sure you've soaked through your panties. He leans onto the bed, helping you remove your bathing suit. When your bottom half is exposed to him, he wants to drool. "God you're beautiful." He groans. He glides his hands down your exposed thighs, causing chills to rise on your skin. You're panting now, small gasps leaving your lips. "Relax." He chuckles. "I'm going to help you, try to calm down sweetheart. You're too eager." He runs his fingertips over your skin, his touch is searing, it burns your skin as his fingers move across you. You want his hands on you. You want them inside of you. He takes a deep breath of his own, trying to ignore the way his cock throbs against his cargo shorts. "Start slow. Little circles on your clit." He reaches forward. "Like this." He breathes. He uses his thumb, rubbing circles over you. Your lips part slightly, a whimper leaving your lips. It’s different when he’s touching you. You can feel your lower stomach swirling, something is building already. “You try.” He draws his hand away. Resting your hand over your mound, rubbing circles over your clit just as he said. The sensation is gone just as fast as it came, causing you to whimper out at the loss, your touch feels like nothing. You draw your hand away. “This isn’t going to work John, it doesn’t work.” You blush.

You try to sit up but he pushes you back. “Have you ever cum before?” He asks. You shake your head. “Oh darling.. no wonder you’re so bratty.” He smiles. “All of that sexual tension and no way to release it. Poor thing.” He’s teasing you, but at the same time actually feels really bad. He knows it’s harder for you to cum. “Stop it John.” You try to push him off, tears gathering in your eyes from frustration. “I’m just teasing darling, let me help you.” He moves himself up further, grasping your thighs and pulling you down on the bed further, you let your head rest back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. The boat rocks back and fourth over the water. You’re nervous. You don’t know what he’s going to do to you. He moves himself between your legs, and you don’t understand what's going on until you feel something warm and wet against your entrance. You lift your head up, jumping at the sensation. “Oh f-fuck!” You gasp. He glances up at you. He’s still got his hat on, but he’s flipped it backward by now. Giving himself room to devour you. He moans into your opening, you taste sweet. You’re breathing hard, clutching at the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your clit. He starts slow, letting your sensitive nub get used to the sensation of his tongue, not wanting to overwhelm you. You clutch at the sheets, melting further and further into him as he laps at your entrance with his tongue. It's clear that he's had a fair share of experience. You feel something building in your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

You're getting louder and louder, crying out his name and he's never imagined himself in such a position.

This is just to help her dad, so that he isn't so stressed out.

That's all.

John rocks his hips into the bed, cock hard and throbbing against his shorts. Begging for some kind of friction. He imagines your pretty lips around his cock, maybe your pretty eyes looking up at him as you take him further down your throat. He groans into you earning another moan from your lips. When you're wet enough from his spit and your arousal, he slides a couple of his fingers into you. Feeling you tense up around him, all of the air leaving your lungs, you've never had anything inside before and he can't help but smile into you.

He sucks against your clit, swirling his tongue around it, you're squirming, struggling to stay still beneath him, even his grip on you doesn't keep you completely still. He sucks your clit into his mouth one more time, lapping his tongue over you, his fingers curling into the sweet spot inside of you and you lose it, lips parting as moans leave your lips. A mewl leave your lips and you squirm out of his grasp as he desperately laps up your arousal from your orgasm. You push him away, closing your legs. You're looking at him with a look of pure shock, panting, a little sweaty. The look you're giving him it's unsettling how fucked out you look. He wipes his lips of you, looking up at you. "Do you feel better?" He laughs. You nod your head. "Good. Try to relax." He smiles. "Still got about an hour of light left, let's make it worth while and try to catch some fish yeah?" He smiles, standing up. When he's out of your line of sight, he sucks the taste of you off of his fingers. Groaning at himself.

What has he just gotten himself into?

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #john price x reader #john price #price x reader

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foodtruckery · 27 days ago

Note

trick or treat! optional prompt word: begging (i know im predictable) -🐶

for you, my dear? consider it a full sized candy bar! (the full sized candy bar is just omegaverse porn, to be clear, so y'know. proceed with caution)

"Damn, it feels great out here."

"Stanley, it's barely twenty degrees. Put your hat back on or you're going to get sick."

That should have been the first sign. But how could Ford have realized that at the time? With the amount of data he'd been missing, it was a miracle he remembered the interaction at all.

He did remember, though. He remembered Stan with his beanie in his hand instead of on his head, half shrugged out of his jacket and leaning against the side of the boat. He remembered how pink Stan's ears and face were, from the cold and any errant sprays of seawater. He remembered the glint of a gold chain around his neck, disappearing under the stretched collar of his sweater.

He remembers brushing it all aside. Stan always ran hot, after all. He would enjoy standing out on the deck in the cold.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Ma," Stan had mocked. But he had put his hat back on, and that had pleased Ford more than he cared to consider.

A day later, when he realized he was missing clothes, should have been the second sign.

They were still a few days out from the next port, and while Ford planned to save the bulk for a laundromat, he did want to have at least some decently clean clothes on hand. He'd certainly gone longer, much, much longer without, but he didn't care to if he could help it nowadays. It reminded him too much of dimension hopping or, worse, being so sleep deprived and paranoid that the idea of pulling a shower curtain between him and the rest of the room felt as good as a death sentence.

So he resolved himself to do a little bit of laundry to tide them over.

"Stanley? Have you seen my sweater?" he called, frowning down into the bag of his own dirty clothes as if the missing material would appear if he stared hard enough.

"Huh?"

Ford rolled his eyes. "My sweater! Have you seen it?"

Stan leaned into their shared room and stared pointedly at his chest. "You're wearing your damn sweater, Sixer."

"Not this one! My green one."

"Why the hell would I know where your sweater is?"

"I didn't say you knew where it was. I was just asking if you had seen it," Ford snapped. What a stupid thing to be arguing about. "Nevermind. It probably fell out someplace."

Stan snorted. "Yeesh, relax, I'm sure it'll turn up. We'll probably start to smell the damn thing if you don't find it. Didn't you sweat through that one?"

Ford hadn't even remembered that until Stan brought it up, but at the time he'd simply chuckled and nodded. "I believe I did. Probably better to save it for the laundromat anyway."

He'd stopped looking at that point and grabbed a different sweater to hand wash. He'd track it down before they made port. He hadn't known it was a scant four steps away, crammed under Stan's pillow alongside a sock and two pairs of briefs. Why would he?

There were more signs, of course. Things that, in the moment, were a bit odd but otherwise unworthy of discussion. Stan complaining that their shared room was too warm. Stan putting up less of a fuss than usual when Ford asked him to do something. Stan standing closer than normal when they fished or leaning directly over his shoulder to read Ford's notes. Stan spacing out midway through a task -- though Ford stood by his ignorance on that one. It was hard to see the unfocused eyes and not remember his brother kneeling in the woods in his clothes, to not think the side effects of the memory gun were cropping back up.

The same can't be said for missing the most obvious sign, though. Because he had noticed when Stan's scent shifted -- how could he not? It was the two of them and nothing else but briny water for miles.

"What the hell are you staring at, Ford?" Stan had demanded, scowling over his shoulder at him. He'd been irritable all day, snapping and complaining about damn near everything, and it was irritating Ford in turn. It had his hackles up in a way that just fueled the agitation, leaving him to try and wrangle Stan's temper in tandem with his own ridiculous instincts -- to crowd, to start a fight, to establish a proper hierarchy over the other alpha on his ship.

"It's freezing out and you're wearing a t-shirt, Stanley," he'd pointed out, keeping the growl out of his voice but not the irritation. Stan also had sweat beading at his temples, bizarrely enough. And that should have been concerning, but it was hard to feel that through the itch of annoyance.

"Well, take a picture, it'll last longer."

"You smell strange," he'd said, whether he'd meant to or not. Because he did. Stan smelled odd, and Ford couldn't figure out why. And it had been driving him crazy for going on two days now.

Stan, of course, didn't care that Ford was inexplicably distressed by this and barked out a laugh that didn't sound at all like how he laughed when he thought something was funny. Ford clenched his jaw, acutely aware of the points of his own canines.

"You ain't exactly exuding Chanel No. 5 yourself."

"That isn't what I--"

"Can you just," Stan cut him off abruptly, shoving a hand into his hair and making a frustrated, nearly whining sound that pinged around in Ford's head long after it had gone. "I ain't in the mood right now, Stanford, all right? If I go below deck will ya just give me some fucking space for a while?"

He didn't want to. What Ford wanted was to put his own hand in Stan's hair and yank until he exposed his throat and made that high pitched noise again. But he was trying to make this work, dammit! To rebuild at least a sliver of their relationship, because the alternative was losing Stan all together. And that would be worse. He knew that would be worse. But it meant he had to get a grip on himself, and it was proving more challenging than he'd care to admit.

For better or worse, Stan took his silence as assent and stormed off, carrying the strange, newly sweet tinge of his scent off with him.

That was better, Ford decided, when the wind had swept it all away in favor of sea salt and frigid air and his instincts finally loosened their grip on him. He reminded himself that he wasn't the only alpha reckoning with too little territory and too much competition. It was an adjustment for both of them. Frankly, it was probably for the best that Stan had chosen to step away. Resorting to fisticuffs on the deck wouldn't have been their finest moment.

When Stan didn't re-emerge an hour later, Ford assumed he needed more time to cool off than Ford had. Stan had always been the more brash between them, more emotional. That made sense.

When Stan didn't re-emerge for dinner, despite Ford calling out for him, Ford assumed Stan was being a child about all of this. Honestly, they were both adults here, and they were going to have to sort this out eventually. But fine. If Stan wanted to go hungry because he couldn't get a grip on his instincts, Ford wasn't going to coddle him. He'd keep himself productive topside and maybe Stan would come to his senses.

When it got too late and too cold for Ford to brood on the deck any longer, he went through the motions of preparing the ship for the night by himself, irritation bubbling back up close to the surface as he outlined a mental list of grievances to recite to Stan. He was up here trying to make this work, and Stan had once again chosen to tuck tail and try to run away from his issues. Typical! Just typical.

Ford slammed the door behind him on his way below deck, grinding his teeth to keep from growling his agitation outright. And he very nearly fell the rest of the way down the short flight of stairs when the scent below deck hit him.

He had to grab the banister to keep himself on his feet when his head swam, breathing pointedly through his mouth and mentally reciting the decimals of pi until he regained a tenuous grip on himself. Something was wrong. Something had gone horribly wrong while he was upstairs sulking.

"St-Stanley?" he shouted, stumbling the rest of the way down the steps. Had Stan been right? It felt horribly warm down here. But it was hard to think too closely about that when it felt like a fishhook had snared low in his gut and was reeling him further into the bowels of their boat in jerky, unsteady steps towards their shared room.

Ford could make out muffled whining before he reached the door, and he should have been worried - he was! Of course he was! But it wasn't concern that was making his sweater feel unbearably hot or straining against the zipper of his pants. By the time he'd fumbled the door open, all those curious but otherwise unimportant little signs sprinkled across the last several days had already started slotting into place.

They were painfully obvious now, lined up in a neat, flashing neon row in Ford's head.

Stan didn't even seem to notice the door opening right away, not with his glasses on the floor and Ford's missing green sweater clutched to his face. That was fine. Ford was temporarily frozen in the threshold of their room anyway, staring. Stan was naked from the waist down, his cock flushed and swollen and dribbling steadily onto his stomach. The view was horrible from here, difficult to make out all the details Ford was suddenly desperate to observe, but there was no mistaking the frantic movement of Stan's hand between his thighs or the obscene squelching sound accompanying it.

Ford ran his tongue across his teeth and slowly approached the bed Stan was fingering himself on. Ford's bed.

"Si-- Sixer?"

Ford tore his eyes away from the damp spot growing on his sheets and found Stan watching him from over the sweater. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes may as well have been black. And when Ford reached up and brushed his knuckles against his brother's sweat dampened temple, Stan closed his eyes and whined.

"How did this happen?" he asked, sounding steadier than any part of him actually felt.

"Please," Stan said, the word so rare and his voice so thready that they may as well have looped around Ford's limbs, reeling him closer. He sat on the edge of the bed and shivered when Stan immediately curled towards him, a magnet drawn to its other half.

He slid his hand further down, tracing over the now-damp chain pooling around Stans' throat and dragging his palm across Stan's chest. He rumbled quietly when his brother arched eagerly towards it, more than could be good for his back.

"Stanley," he tried again, and there wasn't anything he could do for the lower pitch to his voice. He felt like an elastic, pulled taunt at both ends but slipping. "How in the world did you go into heat?"

Stan, to his credit, did try to answer him that time, working his mouth and his tongue, but Ford only made out the words 'drugs' and 'mistake.’ And that gave him better clues but no real explanation as to how his supposedly alpha brother had ended up here. He'd have to settle for physical evidence until Stan was capable of being interviewed properly.

Reaching further down, he bypassed Stan's twitching cock to curl his hand around a thigh, feeling where his leg hair was matted down by slick as he squeezed. When Stan shuffled his heels further apart and Ford could better see the three fingers he was still driving into himself, he growled.

"Please," Stan begged again, practically a record, and he mewled into the dirty sweater when Ford pressed a finger in alongside his. Ford worked the digit out of rhythm with Stan's frantic thrusting, pushing and curling until Stan jerked against the bedsheets.

"Ah, there we are," he crooned, lifting his other hand to squeeze one of Stan's soft pecs as he rubbed mercilessly against that spot.

When Stan sobbed and slid his own fingers out of his wet hole to clutch at his arm, Ford simply replaced them with three more of his own, groaning when they sank easily into him. He was painfully hard in his own pants, but that seemed like such a secondary concern in the moment. He'd get to that, after all. Repeatedly. But he felt punch drunk on Stan's scent, on the way he clenched around his fingers, on the wet, whining sound he made every time Ford stabbed his fingers against his prostate.

It was so unlike cocky, loud mouthed Stan and so much closer to the fantasies he used to dream up in high school that Ford wouldn't have believed it was real if he couldn't feel him hot and shuddering under his hands.

"Six--ah! Sixer! Pl-Please, I need, I need--!"

Ford pinched the nipple under his palm hard and smiled when Stan shouted. Leaning over the mess his brother had become, he brushed a gentle kiss against his forehead.

"I know what you need, Stanley. I'll take care of you," he promised, grinding his fingertips against his prostate again. And again. And again. "But you're going to do this for me first. Come on, sweetheart, I know you can."

Stan sobbed around a mouthful of Ford's sweater when he came, untouched, soaking Ford's hand to the wrist and striping his own stomach and tshirt.

"Good boy," Ford growled, kissing Stan's wet cheek and his temple and savoring the way he shuddered and whimpered as he pulled his fingers free. Getting his zipper down was enough of a relief to make him groan again. "Let's get you a knot."

#foodtruck trick or treat #stancest #stancest a/b/o au #nsft #i didn't actually mean to do this instead of working today btw #the treat is for you but i fucking played the trick on myself #foodtruck’s snack packs

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amourtoken · 4 months ago

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hi so this may be VERH tmi but like :( ive literally never ever been able to actually get off and its making me think of nicky or matt with an inexperienced reader :((((( helpin them get off and taking care of them andndjwnejenrne

I fucking love this and I was in your boat for YEARS so I entirely understand. I didn't realize I could even get off in the first place and thought the whole climax thing was just bs or that there was something wrong with me honestly 😭 I'm 21 now and didn't actually finish for the first time until i was like 18ish if that makes you feel better. I didn't understand my anatomy at all and every guy I'd been with till I met my bf didn't either so it was just a lot of missed opportunity.

Also: adding a cut bc this is LONGGGGG

I feel like explaining you've never gotten off to either of these guys would be like flipping a switch in their brain. Wdym you've never gotten off??? They'd make it a whole ordeal to change that.

Nicky would be "softer" about it, and I put that in quotes bc he's by no means a softie lmao he's a closet freak that just hides it well until the right moment. He's gonna take such good care of you :((

Nicky spends damn near a whole hour on foreplay itself, there's not an inch of your body that goes untouched. He wants you so needy you're shaking underneath him before he even touches you where you really need it. He'd kiss up and down your thighs and his fingers would dig into your hips a bit to drag you closer to his face so he can bury it in your pussy. He'll spend hours here if you let him he doesn't mind, he drags your hands up to his hair so you can pull him around however you need too cause he knows what he's doing but your input is important.

Honestly, he doesn't even care if he gets to cum tonight at all, he's doing this all for you. If eating you out isn't enough he'll work his fingers into you at the same time or offer to use a couple toys if that's better. He just wants you to feel good and he'll do anything to get there. Nicky only stops when he has another idea and that's to fuck you with a vibrator pressed right against your clit. He'd hand it to you so you could control the speed and pressure while he focused on fucking himself into you. If you can't seem to get it right he's more than happy to do it for you again and if the vibrator just isn't your thing dw babe he'll use his fingers.

The whole time he's talking you through it and praising you for doing such a good job for him. Once he can tell you're actually getting close he's practically high on it. He tries his best to not change his pace so you can ride out the feeling as long as you'd like but God once he feels you cumming around his cock he's rutting into you like a fucking animal and can't help himself.

"Fuck baby, that's it- shit- you're doing so good for me, it's okay- you're okay, feels good doesn't it?"

Matt on the other hand is an entirely different creature and when he hears you've never cum before he doesn't have the same "patience" Nicky does. He's more than happy to help you get off, but where Nicky spends hours bringing you to the edge, Matt is dragging you to it by your throat and forcing you off.

Matt wants you all fuzzy brained and subspaced for him during this whole thing cause he's gonna be taking care of you, you don't need to do any thinking. All you need to remember is his name.

I could for sure see him dragging you onto his lap in front of a big floor length mirror so he can show you everything he's doing. Your legs are spread on either side of his and he has one of those app controlled vibrators inside you (only taking it out when he wants to fill you up with his cock instead). The idea of watching yourself get off is embarrassing but fuck you're so wet it doesn't really matter at this point, Matt's fingers feel too good to worry about anything else. He has one hand spreading you wide and the other is switching from fingering you and scissoring you open to rubbing your clit and spreading your wetness around. His legs are keeping yours open even when yours squeeze against his and threaten to close.

You're literally dripping down his hand and wrist by the time he decides to fuck you, and he's not changing his stance from earlier, you're still in front of the mirror. He still ends up doing all the work and he's more than happy to though, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock until you were whimpering and crying. Your shoulder and neck are totally littered with bite marks and hickeys from him as well.

When he can tell you're getting close to that edge he hilts himself entirely inside you and wraps a hand around your throat to keep you steady while the other one abuses your clit. Youre twitching in his hold and nearly sobbing by this point cause it feels like an electric current is running under your skin until that coil in your belly unwinds and you yelp and cry in his arms while you cum around his dick. His pace slows on your clit but doesn't stop, he's trying to draw it out as much as he can for you before he lifts you off his cock to change positions.

#Nicky #Matt #Ask #Nicholas ruffilo smut #Matt dierkes smut

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writealongnowdear · 17 days ago

Text

Love me Like a Sailor

Arthur Morgan x Captain!Reader

Summary: John is a little brother. The Konstantina prepares to set sail. Arthur is nervous with a side of pathetic.

A/N: Classes got me FUCKED UP and I'm sick. I hope you enjoy tho ❤️❤️

Part 1

☆☆☆☆☆

When Arthur rode back into camp, he could feel eyes on him. It made his skin prickle, the way that it always did when someone was watching.

He hitched up his horse, boots hitting the ground as he brushed up her sides and let his head rest against her neck for just a moment. He had to gather himself - wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye if he didn't.

Morgana whinnied, brushing against him almost compassionately. Arthur snorted, patting her a few times and feeding her a sugar cube.

“Quit your worryin’, girl,” he muttered. “Don't need my damn horse on my case, too.”

Everyone else was gathered around the campfire tonight. It was cool out, fall on the air and rain on the horizon. He'd have to make sure that they were ready for the storm.

A heady laugh reached his ears, unmistakable. Arthur grimaced, looking up from under the brim of his hat.

“How was it?” John asked teasingly, immediately after laying eyes on him. Arthur glared, walking past him.

“I ain't in the mood, Marston,” he gruffed. With a huff, he grabbed a bottle of beer from Pearson's wagon and uncapped it. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip that elicited a whistle from John.

“Cmon now, it can't have been that bad,” he said, shit-eating grin twisting his scarred features. Arthur grimaced.

“It wasn't, asshole,” he said, blush rising to his cheeks. “I got us a deal.”

John wiggled his eyebrows, making him look even more like the child that he was.

“Oh really? What kind of deal are we talkin-”

“Shut up, Marston.”

John laughed again, grabbing a beer for himself and clapping Arthur on the shoulder. He stood next to Arthur, watching the camp go by in silence for a moment.

“What is the deal then?” He asked eventually. Arthur shrugged, rolling his shoulders and taking another swig of his beer.

“They need extra protection. In return they'll pay us or peddle for us.”

John nodded, digging in the dirt with the tip of his boot. He always did that when he was thinking.

“What's the catch?”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes. That's what he'd been trying to figure out.

“Don't know yet. But with how things are going, we ain't got time to wonder about it.”

“Amen, brother,” John snorted.

The two sat in comfortable silence. The sun had just started to set, purple and orange splashing across the lake and its shores. Arthur itched for his pencil.

And he thought of you.

☆☆☆☆☆

The ride went quickly. Charles and Javier were fast riders, always ready to run.

Van Horn was just as it always was - quiet and unassuming but for the drunks retching outside the saloon. It was an early morning; the sun was barely rising on the horizon.

The Konstantina was moored where it was last time he'd visited, almost a week ago. There was a man on watch at what Arthur thought was the bow. As they rode their horses in and tied them up, his eyes flashed over the main deck. He caught a glimpse of your silk shined hair, his heart skipping a beat.

“S'that it?” Javier asked, coming to stand next to Arthur. His bag was slung over one shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on his belt. Arthur nodded.

“The one and only.”

Javier snorted. He clapped Arthur's shoulder and shuffled his boots in the sand. Charles fell onto his other side, sighing out a breath and squinting at the boat.

“Not what I expected,” he murmured. Arthur shrugged.

“Gets the job done, doesn't it?”

Soon enough, all three men were stepping aboard the boat. The watchman on the bow greeted them, asking them to wait while he got the captain.

Javier lit up a cigarette, sitting on top of a crate. He passed it to Charles who took it with a hum of thanks.

“I'm excited to meet this captain of yours,” Javier said, leaning forward with a glint in his dark eyes. “John said she was something else.”

“John says a lot of things,” Arthur said as easily as he could manage. Charles huffed, passing the cigarette back. “Ain't none of them smart.”

“He said she had you whipped six ways to Sunday,” Charles said, crossing his arms but gesturing one of his hands at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Arthur felt himself blush, and thanked the darkness of the early morning for hiding it.

“I don't even know what that means,” Arthur grumbled, pouting. Charles laughed, Javier slapping the man's broad shoulder with a mischievous grin.

“I bet you wish you did, though.”

Arthur glared at both men as they laughed. He was about to open his mouth and defend himself, but he cut himself off when he saw you approaching.

Your outfit was a far cry from when he last saw you; baggy cotton pants and a button up shirt that somehow hid the swell of your chest. Your hair, which was usually left long, was braided tightly and pinned methodically around your head save for a few strands in the front. When you fastened your captain's hat on your head, he couldn't tell that you were a woman at all.

Despite that, his heart still felt like it was going to beat out of his chest if he looked at you for any longer. He could've chuckled at the humor in it. Even dressed as a man, the sweep of your long eyelashes along your cheeks still made his breath hitch. The curve of your mouth still made him want to tear his hair out.

Catching the stunned glances of Charles and Javier, Arthur shrugged and cleared his throat. Their shock quickly passed, but their obvious amusement did not.

“Arthur,” Javier said in the same tone of voice that Abigail used to scold Jack.

“What?!”

“Gentlemen!” You exclaimed, greeting them with the same upbeat attitude you always seemed to have. “Welcome aboard! We're pleased to have you.”

Charles nodded, a slight smile on his face as he introduced himself and Javier, who moved forward to shake your hand. His eye flicked back to Arthur with a lazy grin that betrayed his mischievous curiosity.

“Pleasure's ours,” Javier said. “Cigarette?”

You hummed in assent, taking the cigarette between two fingers and inhaling a drag of it. Arthur stared as you let the smoke pool out of your mouth in waves.

“So you're the infamous Caspian that Arthur's been talking about?” Javier said, his charm turned up all the way. Arthur sighed heavily.

“That's Captain Caspian, to you,” you said with a wink, dissolving into laughter soon after. “For better or worse that is.”

“S'that why you're dressed like that?” Charles said bluntly, gesturing to your outfit. Javier slapped his shoulder with a venomous “Cabrón!” hissed under his breath. You smooth out the wrinkles of your shirt with a raised eyebrow.

“Sailing ain't a woman's work,” you say.

“Neither is smuggling.”

“Can't have one without the other, Mr. Smith.”

“...I suppose that's true.”

“It's better like this anyway,” you say. “Navy would be onto us in seconds if I dressed normally.”

The small talk continued as your cigarette burned down between your fingers. Arthur couldn't comprehend your words, but he figured that was okay - if it was important he'd ask you to repeat yourself and that wouldn't be so bad. He could listen to your voice like one of Dutch's terrible records.

“So, what's the route?” Charles asked, kicking Arthur's boot and forcing his attention back on the conversation.

“It'll be short - we should be in port by supper tomorrow night,” you said. “We sail from here to Saint Denis, which is where we'll drop you boys off.”

“Thought it would be longer,” Javier muttered, itching around his mustache in thought.

“Think of this as a trial run,” you said. With a shrug and a sigh you stamp out your cigarette and lay your hands on your belt. “If it goes well, we can go longer.”

Arthur nodded along, trying not to let his eyes catch on the way your hands looked clutched on your belt and failing miserably. The way he always stood, the way every man stood… it looked damn near erotic on you.

“Mr. Morgan?” You asked, jolting him once again from his pathetic thoughts. His eyes snapped to yours, meeting your amused face. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Was just thinking,” he said, scowling. Charles snorted.

“That's new.”

“Don't hurt yourself.”

You laughed at Charles and Javier's responses, only laughing harder when you caught a look at Arthur's glare. He crossed his arms and sat back against the railing of the deck, hat falling over his brow.

“Har har,” he said. “My brand of thinking is always the least likely to get us killed.”

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten us?” You ask, clearly teasing him now because what else could he possibly be thinking about.

There wasn't any time to think about robbing and stealing and killing when he could be thinking about your hips, the swell of them and how they would give under his hands. Your eyes, how pretty they would look filled with tears of pleasure. He could be thinking about the way that your lips would form his name, and if your voice would crack with love around the vowels. Or how soft your hands would be if he got to hold them, and how the skin of your back would feel pressed against his chest after-

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, hands fisted tight in his lap. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”

He looked up to see your eyes soften, fondness clouding the color of your eyes. He's sure that the smile spilling across his lips is one that John would describe as dopey, but he finds that he doesn't give a damn.

Because now? All he's thinking about is how he can make you his the way that he's already yours.

☆☆☆☆☆

Bbg, this is for you @johnnysilverhandeeznuts

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr2 community #took me ages but its finally out!!!#charles smith #javier escuella #captain!reader #arthur morgan x captain!reader #arthur morgan fluff

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abarbaricyalp · 9 months ago

Text

Strawberries and Cigarettes (always taste like you)

Title from Troye Sivan

Bucky smoked like a chimney. It didn't matter how many times Sam said they'd figured out it was bad for you. Mostly because Bucky had a super soldier serum that made him think he was invincible. Sam had sat next to him on a Brooklyn balcony one night that they both couldn't sleep and watched Bucky go through an entire carton without coming up for air. He always had a cigarette behind his ear, waiting to be lit. A lighter in his pocket, even during missions. It wasn't like it was to help with anxiety or whatever. The dude was jumpy and jittery even while he was smoking. And Sam had never really seen him jonesing for a smoke break, but he took one every chance he got.

He'd asked Bucky to stop smoking around him because Sam didn't have a super soldier serum to save his lungs, which Bucky was slightly gracious about. Gracious up until the point that Sam slunk over because the smell of the smoke and Bucky's shampoo and his leather jacket was addictive, and then he was all smirks and silent 'I-told-you-so's. It at least put him in the habit of asking before he lit up. It really didn't help that he looked like a modern Marlborough man ad come to life. He was desperately alluring and sexy when he smoked. It was woefully unfair that such a foul hobby was so damn hot.

(Oddly enough, the grace came back on the rare nights that Sam sat beside him and wordlessly held out his hand for a cigarette too.)

Sam didn't condone the habit, but he didn't exactly hide Bucky's cartons from him or give him an ultimatum either. Hell, Bucky's smokes were usually on his grocery list when he knew the guy was going to be around.

"Hey, have you noticed if Buck's low on cigarettes?" Sam asked Sarah while she compiled her own list to send him with.

She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Bucky doesn't smoke," she said. "I've never seen him even hold a cigarette."

Sam frowned and thought before making an answer. After four decades, he'd found it was best not to argue with Sarah about something that may have an objective truth to it. He rarely beat her at this game.

True, he had woken up a few weeks ago, last time Bucky had been around, with the glaring thought that Bucky smelled good next to him. Not like smoke, but a clean, fresh smell. He'd chalked it up to him showering the evening before and not getting up throughout the night. And true that Bucky had a fidget in Louisiana that Sam never noticed anywhere else, where he flipped the cap of his lighter continuously or tumbled the lighter through his fingers. But he never actually lit anything with it. And true, he didn't smoke on the boat. And true, he'd never asked Sam where the cheapest cigs around were (a constant hunt in New York).

Bucky didn't smoke down here, Sam realized with a start. And he never smelled like smoke because he had a whole new wardrobe in Sam's house. Sarah had never seen him smoke.

Sam made for the backdoor, grocery list discarded. Sarah called after him, but he didn't quite catch it--something about the zucchini she needed him to remember and also lollipops--and he went out back.

Judging from the way Bucky had an arm around Cass's center, and AJ was rolling on the ground with laughter, and the swing set was still rocking up and down as Bucky held Cass still, Sam had a feeling he'd interrupted an attempt at swinging the swing all the way around the top of the set. Bucky looked much guiltier than either child, but it was Cass who insisted, "We weren't doing anything!"

Sam leveled a stare at him, but he knew these boys were forged under Sarah's gaze and nothing Sam had in his arsenal was going to be half as effective.

"Why don't you two head inside?" Bucky suggested, still looking guilty. "Your Uncle Sam and I were just about to head into town."

The boys grumbled their objections, but it only took them a few steps before they were jostling each other and starting a game of tag that would absolutely get them in trouble inside. Once the door was shut, Sam looked to Bucky again.

"No one was going to get hurt," he insisted sheepishly, wrapping the chain of the swing around one arm to lean his weight against it.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Sam asked without preamble.

Bucky's got-caught frown turned into a confused one. On muscle memory, but with no conviction, he patted his front pocket with his other hand. "I don't have any on me," he admitted with a shrug.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Bucky flushed prettily, looking away from Sam in embarrassment. "I didn't wanna do it in front of your nephews. Didn't wanna be a bad example. And, when we were staying here, I didn't want to make Sarah's home smell terrible. You know how that smell is. Lingers."

It was more forethought than anyone had put into anything for Sam in a long, long time. Sam hadn't even thought about Bucky smoking around the boys. Bucky didn't usually smoke in front of other people, unless someone was passing by the alley he had stepped into, so Sam hadn't been worried about it. Bucky had never even seen the boys before he'd shown up on his own down here, new clothes, no cigarettes.

"You chew on lollipops instead," he realized as the fondness in his chest bloomed even further out. "I thought you just did that to give the kids an excuse to have some too."

Bucky scuffed his sneaker in the dirt under the swing. "Keeps me distracted enough."

"Buck, you spend so much time down here. More time than you don't. You must hardly smoke anymore."

Bucky's shoulders came up to his ears. It didn't hide the blush on them. "It's worth it. Guess I might've been looking for a good reason to stop."

Sam thought about all the movie moments he'd caught Bucky smoking--the moonlit balcony, a sunset after a fight, digging through files half naked in bed. All those moments he'd had an overwhelming teenage desire to pull Bucky to him and kiss the smoke out of his mouth. But they were all easily overshadowed by images of Bucky acting as a jungle gym for kids, or reading to Cass and AJ before bed, or helping with science experiments and baking days, or swinging Cass all the way around the swing set, ready to catch him if he fell.

Sam crossed the distance between them, pulling Bucky's face to him between the swing chains to kiss him deeply. He tasted like strawberry lollipops. "I like this look better," he decided.

He felt Bucky smile against his lips. "Well maybe you can help keep my mouth busy," he suggested before kissing Sam again.

Yeah, this was definitely better.

Don't smoke, kids.

Bucky absolutely has an old engraved lighter from the war

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

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zombiekillerbiceps · 2 years ago

Text

Am I Just a Joke to You?

Note: this was supposed to be so short. It was supposed to be a little drabble but noooooo I have to establish a whole ass dynamic and side characters. God damn it. Why is it this long. Jesus Christ.

Content: Long post, 4.6k words. Slow burn. Leon x Reader, no y/n, ambiguous era Leon between re2 and 4, mutual pining, jealousy, fake dating?, don't get caught, rough sex, size kink, slight possessive kink, proof read.

It takes Leon getting jealous to finally do something about your feelings for him.

---

"I don't dance."

You rolled your eyes at him. You were both all dressed up for a fancy, UN event that was supposed to be some kind of summit but was really just an excuse for bigger fish to rub elbows. Your job was to keep an eye on things. You were supposed to be protecting the president from the shadows. But honestly? You both scanned this place top to bottom. Half the fucking people here were probably various secret agents from every country on the planet with the exact same job as you. You did this kind of shit 5 times a year and nothing ever went wrong.

"How do you just not dance?" You asked him, picking out a martini from a tray as a caterer passed by. "I bet you're just bad at it."

Leon was leaning against the wall, scanning the room like a BOW was going to materialize out of the meticulously waxed tiled ground. He was clean shaven, his hair slicked back in a way that said he cared, but not that much. His suit fit him well. It perfectly hugged his shoulders and was tailored exactly to his height. His sleeves were rolled up, and you had to stop yourself from staring at his toned forearms. How many times did you fantasize about them wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him while he...

"Focus on the mission," he said. You met his eye and instantly felt embarrassed by the amused expression on his face. Fuck. He totally caught you staring.

You hid your embarrassment in the bottom of the martini glass, tilting it up to hide your face while you downed the whole thing. You passed it off to another serving tray bobbing between bodies.

"And maybe ease up on the drinking. We're on the job."

"Oh, like you've never gotten drunk on the job," you replied with an eye roll.

You'd gotten drunk together on a mission just a couple weeks ago! You were trapped in a snowy Swiss cabin with that blizzard keeping the chopper from retrieving you. He was the one that suggested it, even! Bringing over a crystal bottle of whiskey while you stoked a fire. The wood was limited, you needed to ration it carefully so the two of you didn't freeze. It'll warm us up, he said. It'll help with the adrenaline crash, he said. If we don't sleep next to each other, we'll be popsicles by morning, he said.

"That was different. The mission was over." You tried not to get your hopes up that he thought about that night too. It was the most recent incident, of course you'd both think of it. He didn't think of your bodies side by side, just centimeters from touching, hoping with bated breath that he would turn around and kiss you.

"This mission is basically over," you push. "Come on, Leon, this is a cake walk. We're getting paid a boat load just to be here, and if you want to just stand there, then you go ahead. But I didn't sew myself into this dress not to enjoy myself."

He was getting under your skin. He was always getting under your skin. You needed some space from him.

You turned your back on him and walked into the crowd. You didn't really have a path in mind but it looked like you were bee-lining for a buffet table, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself by doubling back. Especially not with his cool gaze on you. God, he was so irritating. Always so unbothered, like everything was a little bit boring to him, or worse - like everything was a bit of a joke. You knew if you turned around he'd have some wisecrack about getting lost, or missing him, or... Oh, who even cared. Why were you still thinking about him and his cocky smile anyways?

"Difficult choice, huh?" A different voice broke through your daydreams and you cursed yourself to get your shit together. The voice was a low, rolling Ghanaian accent, coming from a tall man that was wearing the best fucking cologne you'd ever smelled. You looked up from the expensive deserts you didn't realize you were staring at.

"Y-yeah," you smiled up at him, sizing him up while he took stock of you too. Broad, but not the kind of broad Leon was. Well built, healthy skin, shiny hair, but no scars or callouses. There was intelligence behind his black eyes. He wasn't a threat. Likely a diplomat of some kind. "There's always so much food I've never heard of at these things."

"You are naturally curious, then?" He leaned against the table while he talked to you. He flashed a charismatic smile that should have charmed you, but irritation still itched at the back of your mind.

"As much as anyone else is," you shrugged, pushing away thoughts of Leon and grounding yourself. A perfectly handsome man was flirting with you, fuck Leon. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. My name is Kwameno. Not that one." He extended his hand to shake. You took note of his perfectly manicured nails. You'd wager this man knew how to dance.

Your eyes darted to where you last saw Leon. You didn't know what you were hoping for. His eyes were fixated on you, expression unreadable from this distance. His posture was as unbothered as always. He was probably worried you'd do something stupid, like give your name. You know, you know, we're on a mission, we couldn't underestimate people, this man could be an enemy lying in wait. You had to blink to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You forced your gaze back to Kwameno and shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure." You didn't release his hand, instead taking it in both hands like the two of you were good friends. You leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. "Do you know how to dance, Mr. Kwameno?"

You knew the answer before he gave it. He was the kind of man who was used to women sneaking off with him with just a few words and a brilliant smile. So, you'd be the challenge. A mysterious stranger in a tastefully tight black dress, making him work to charm you. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"I know a little," he said. "May I offer you a dance, Ms..."

"Mrs, actually," Leon's voice hovered behind you, smouldering with something you couldn't quite figure out. A knot worked it's way into your stomach.

"Oh, I apologize sir. I did not realize. I did not see a ring," Kwameno replied. He sounded genuine, but that last comment was an intentional jab.

"Her fingers swell when she drinks," Leon lied. He took one hand in his as if to prove a point, rubbing his thumb in a small circle in your palm. You couldn't ignore the intimacy of the gesture, his chest so close to your back you could sense the rise and fall of his chest.

What the fuck was he doing?

"If you wanted to dance, darling, why didn't you just ask?" Leon's voice was lowered, making it clear he was talking to you and only you. His breath stirred the hair at your temple. Your face almost turned to meet him, but you stopped short. The air felt hot suddenly. The closeness was decidedly unprofessional. It got your hopes up for something you knew he wouldn't give you and worst of all was that smug fucking tone in his stupid voice.

"I did, dear. I believe you told me that you didn't dance." There was barely hidden venom in your voice.

He moved so fluidly you hadn't even noticed that he was already leading you away from the other man. One hand on your waist, leading you towards where people were dancing in a slow, classical style. Some kind of tango, maybe?

"I didn't like that song," he deflected. He turned you to face him, that stupid smirk on his face. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to ask what he was doing this for. He was probably just going to lecture you about letting your guard down and you didn't want to hear it, and your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck before you knew what you were doing.

You should stop, you thought. He probably knew how you felt. He was probably teasing you, always looking for something he could have over you.

Then, one hand was taking yours in his, the callouses mirroring your own. Another found its way to your lower back, pulling you in close to him. He was steady and strong. Confident. You could feel his solid frame beneath the suit as your body pressed close to his. He led you through the dance expertly.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" you asked.

"Would you believe it was part of training?"

"Not unless I missed a memo," you replied.

You didn't know the tango or whatever dance you were doing, and you couldn't pull off any flashy moves, but you also didn't have to. He led, you followed, wordlessly reading and responding to each other. It was like fighting together, but quieter.

You knew you should stop. You knew that whatever this felt like, it wasn't. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from placing one hand at the back of his neck, feeling the fine hair there. He reached his hand up and pulled yours from the back of his neck, and you burned with embarrassment. He uncoiled your arm from his shoulder. Then, he held you at arm's length.

You were struck by how beautiful he was in the warm lighting. Blonde hair pushed out of his chiseled face for once, letting you take in the sharpness of his features. A soft smile played on his lips. His blue eyes, normally so shadowed, were gentle. They gave his expression something close to open affection. He smiled playfully. Then, he rolled his hips in an exaggerated, flamboyant motion and the sight was so absurd you barked a laugh. He pulled you back in with a spin and a flourish. Your bodies pressed against each other again.

He returned your hand to the back of his neck.

I could kiss him, you thought. His face leaned down towards yours, a hand tracing your back from lower to middle. I should kiss him.

He let out a soft chuckle that turned your blood to slush.

Was this just a fucking game to him? See how far he could take it, just to... To laugh in your face when you finally think of giving in like he's won something? Tears welled in your eyes from the frustration. You pulled away from him.

"Wait, no-"

"Fuck you," you snapped.

You turned on your heel and started to walk away from him. He followed.

"No, wait, let me explain-"

"Am I just a fucking joke to you?" You couldn't look at him. This room was too small, too hot, too many watchful eyes.

"No!" He started to say the first syllable of your name but stopped, seemingly noticing the eyes on you. "Darling, I wasn't-"

"You were being mean!" You turned to face him now, swallowing the tears with your pride. You had killed BOW's the size of a tree and Leon had reduced you to a school-yard child, calling your bully a big dumb meanie pants. You couldn't think of anything else to say. "I can handle the teasing, and the snide insults, and the smartass comments but that was mean."

He stood there, open mouthed and rooted to his place. You took the moment of him being stunned to make your escape. He moved to follow you again when Kwameno stepped between the two of you, and you were thankful to get more ground.

"I don't think the lady wants to talk to you right now," you heard him say. A split moment of quiet before you heard Leon's response.

"If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you take it off me."

You'd rarely heard Leon's voice so threatening. You cast a look behind you to see Kwameno's hand was on Leon's chest. Kwameno was taller than Leon, but Leon was bigger. In muscles and energy. Leon spoke in the kind of way that commanded obedience.

Fuck it. Let them fight, blow our cover, I don't care, you thought, and kept walking.

Ten minutes went by of you searching for a bathroom to hide but, but for whatever goddamn reason the mansion the event was being held in was the only mansion ever built without any goddamn bathrooms.

Fuck! You were so stupid. Not only did you potentially blow your cover with that high school drama bullshit, but you actually believed Leon might want you.

God fucking damn it.

You were lost. You'd wandered into some dark hallway you were pretty sure was off limits, but there was no red tape anywhere and you were pretty dead set on finding a bathroom to hide in. Besides, what else were you going to do? Go back into that ballroom and do your job like an adult? Look Leon in the eyes and pretend like he didn't lean in to kiss you and then laugh in your face?

"Asshole," you said to the empty hallway. You tried a door knob, but it didn't turn. "Why isn't there some kind of bathroom usher. Fucking. Open goddamn it!"

You heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the hall. You knew they were Leon's. You didn't even have to turn your head. You tried the door again like it would magically unlock for you this time.

"I don't think they want you in there," he said, his voice attempting levity.

"Shouldn't you be watching the president."

"Like you said, half the people here are probably secret agents."

"Go do your job," you tried so hard to sound cold, but there was a waver in your voice. You abandoned that door and crossed the hall to try another.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Leon said. There was something genuine in his voice that caught you off guard long enough for him to close the distance between you. "I was just... Surprised."

You looked up at him, defenses flaring, only to lose momentum the second you saw him. The hallway was empty, and the two of you were far enough away from the main party that it felt like you were the only two people in the building. You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. He shoved his hands in his pockets and did the same, infuriatingly handsome while he did it.

"I know you know how I feel about you," you said. You were almost surprised by how tired you sounded. This quiet moment drained the anger from you. "You aren't stupid."

He chewed his lip, meeting your gaze but clearly mulling over what to say. You gave him the time to think it out.

"I didn't think anything would happen between us," he said eventually. "I realized I could kiss you, and..."

He trailed off. He didn't wear vulnerability well. But, neither did you. This was uncomfortable.

"Let's just... Forget this ever happened," you offered.

"No."

"Nothing is going to happen between us."

He took a single step towards you, closing the small distance between you entirely. He leaned on one arm between you and the door, looking down at you. A strand of blonde hair fell loose from his style. There was something pleading and a little confused in his eyes. His other hand brushed your jaw and tilted your head up to look at him. He was so... Gentle. Earnest. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"I want this," he breathed. "Don't you?"

There was no humour or sarcasm in his voice. He wanted you. And, if you were reading this right, he wanted you to want him too. He didn't push, but he didn't back off either. The next move was yours.

Oh, fuck it.

You kissed him. The second your lips met his, everything else faded away except excitement. And then, heat.

He didn't rush the kiss, but his hands were on your body immediately. Grasping at your hips while his tongue met yours, pressing you into the doorframe behind you. Your own hands slipped under his jacket, feeling the muscles under the silk button up he wore. You knew he was fit, you'd seen him in action, but god it was entirely different to feel it for yourself. To feel his strong arms wrapped around you. His hands travelled up the curves of your hips, then gently caressed your shoulders. He was so gentle.

He bit your bottom lip, earning a small noise from you. His kiss traveled down your jaw to the sensitive spot below your ear, beside your throat, the curve of your collar bone. He licked up the length of your neck with hot breath meeting cool air in a way that made you shiver, ending with a kiss that made you moan.

"Leon, don't-" he was already pulling away. You had to catch his shoulders and pull him back, "- don't leave any marks, we're at work."

You could feel him grin into your neck.

"But that's half the fun," he complained, his sultry voice coiling in your stomach. Oh, you'd let him do anything he asked if he asked in that voice.

One of your hands found his belt, pulling his hips flush against yours with it. He groaned, his hands becoming more insistent. They grabbed your hips and the outside of your thighs. He found the hem of your dress and pushed it up, fingertips brushing against the bare skin. One hand tucking around to the back of your leg, lifting your thigh so you could wrap a leg around his waist. You pulled him close with your leg and almost whimpered. You could feel how hard he was in those dress pants, pressed right up against where you needed him most. You could probably just push your underwear to the side and...

"Fuck," you muttered, fire burning in you now.

"Yeah?" He asked, grinding against you just lightly enough to tease. You whimpered, hands tightening on his back. "Oh, what was that, sweetheart?"

"Shut up," you tried to kiss him but he hovered just out of reach. Stupid, cocky smirk on his face. How was he still irritating you?

Fine.

You reached down to where your hips met and grasped his cock over his suit pants. You weren't as gentle as he was, stroking him firmly through the fabric. His eyebrows stitched together, a low groan rumbling from his throat. He looked so fucking pretty like that.

"Oh," you whispered mockingly, "what was that?"

He sighed something that sounded pretty close to bitch and your hips rocked up at the thought. He noticed, something between a moan and a laugh hummed into a kiss.

You wanted him to fuck you. God, you wanted him so fucking badly. But there was a reason you couldn't... What was it again?

Oh, shit. You were huddled in some off-limits hallway at a UN meeting when you were supposed to be protecting the president.

"We can't," you whispered. You pulled back from the kiss, the two of you panting with lust and adrenaline.

"Why not?" He asked, but he stilled his hands on you.

"We're at work!" You reminded him, giggling. His forehead rested against yours and he started to chuckle too. And then it grew to full blown laughter from both of you. Some of the tension defused between you, laughing it away until your cheeks hurt from grinning.

"You're right," he conceded. Then, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It wouldn't be appropriate."

"It wouldn't..." You cautiously agreed. He was up to something.

"Especially out in this hallway where anyone could catch us."

"Mhm...." The thought of getting caught bloomed warm between your legs, making you realize then how worked up you were. Could be feel how wet you were between the cotton underwear and his suit?

A hand left your body, leaving you cold where it had been, and grasped the doorknob next to you. You watched his arms flex with effort, tendons coiling under the skin. Goddamn, he was strong. There was a loud metallic pop as the doorknob snapped. The door swung open.

"Then we better not get caught," he said.

You were on him in a flash. The show of strength turned you on, urgency building up inside you. You really shouldn't be doing this. That only made it hotter.

He led you into the dark room, closing the door gently shut behind him. There was no lock to keep it closed, but no breeze or uneven ground to swing it open.

He backed you up towards a surface- a desk maybe?- the solid wood biting into your ass as he pinned you against it with his body. Your kisses grew messy, strands of spit connecting your tongues when you parted for air.

You pulled your underwear down, stepping one leg out of them. He followed your lead, pulling his zipper down. You could hardly see him in the dark, but the outline of his cock pulled from his boxer-briefs intimidated you. You watched, transfixed, as he worked his cock. He leaned his face closer towards you. You could still feel his movements, the wet between your legs threatening to start dripping. His breath was hot against your ear when he spoke.

"Getting me jealous like that was a clever little trick," he said.

"It wasn't on purpose," you said, and realized then you were lying to him.

"Bullshit." He pulled one of your legs back up around his waist, hands gripping you harder this time. It hurt a little. He stopped stroking his cock to press his fingers against your slit. He groaned, voice shuddering, "fuck, you're so wet for me."

For me.

"All for you," you told him. Goddamn, that sounded dumb, but you wanted him to say it again. You needed to hear it again. For him. His.

Two fingers dipped into your cunt and you moaned. He hesitated like he was deciding between two options, and then his fingers pushed inside you. You buried your face in his shoulder to muffle another moan.

"So needy for me," he cooed. He curled his fingers inside you, expertly working that sensitive, bundle of nerves. Fuck. Fuck, that felt so good. "I know, baby."

You must have said that out loud. Shame burned your cheeks red but you quickly forgot it. The tension in your center was growing quickly. Dizzyingly quickly.

"Does that feel good?" he asked. All you could do was whimper and nod. "Yeah?"

Your legs were shaking, your breath was coming quicker. He let out the occasional groan along with you. Was he that turned on working you up like this? Fuck, you could feel his cock leaking onto your leg. It was too much.

"Leon, please! Fuck, fuck I'm so close," you tried so hard to keep quiet.

"Yeah? Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on. Cum for me." His begging in your ear pushed you over the edge, cunt spasming around his fingers, whimpering into his shoulder.

He slowed as you came down, letting you catch your breath. You didn't need to see his face to tell there was some proud, smug look on it.

"Fuck you," you muttered, hearing him chuckle in response.

"That's what you get for making me jealous," he told you. He slipped his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. You watched him use the wetness on his hands to circle the head of his cock.

Oh my god. Using your own cum to fuck himself. The combination of your wetness made a lewd, squelching sound as he fucked himself.

He rested his forehead against your shoulder and lined his cock up with your warmth. You were breathless with how badly you needed him to push into you.

He let out a shuddering breath and didn't move. You rocked your hips against him, trying to get an angle that you could slide onto him, but failed. You let out a frustrated whimper.

"Please, Leon. Stop teasing me."

"Beg for it."

"What?"

He placed a hand on your cheek and made you look him in the eyes. The hand drifted around to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. His gaze was heavy. Serious. "Beg for me."

You searched his face, weighing your options. The growing need you felt was almost unbearable but begging for him felt like admitting defeat and you weren't about to grovel.

Then it dawned on you. He was looking for consent. You nodded, desperation driving you mad.

"Fuck me," you begged, "please fuck me."

His cock pushed into you with an obscene noise, gliding into you so, so easily. He filled you almost to the point of hurting you. Then he pulled out again, slowly, almost to the point of leaving you empty.

His hand tightened on the back of your neck, using it as leverage to pull himself into you. His pace got frenzied. Hard. The two of you whimpered, moaned, babbled out nonsense of mostly "fuck," and "please," and "so fucking good."

You were getting close again. Your pussy tightening around him, only making you more sensitive. You didn't realize how loud you were getting when his hand left your thigh and clapped around your mouth. You blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes: heavy lidded and pussy-drunk.

"If you don't shut the fuck up, we're going to get caught," he groaned. The timber of his voice, the roughness of his hands on your face and neck, the relentless pace he set with his hips... All topped off with the threat of being discovered doing something you really shouldn't. You tried to quiet down, but you were so close, and he felt so good. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything.

"Skirt hiked up, fucking me on the job," he grunted out, his voice getting higher pitched near the end. His pace was less steady, more erratic. "Fuck, m'so close."

You moaned your encouragement into his hand, pleading with your eyes. He tightened his jaw, fighting to keep himself quiet. His pitch got higher, faster. The sounds of your pussy soaking his cock heard over your muffled moans. You were close.

Fuck.

His hips snapped into you harder than before, just pushing you over the edge with white-hot ferocity. He pushed into you deeper, gasping and whimpering, cumming with you.

He looked so pretty when he was cumming.

You came down together, breathing hard, gently rolling to a stop. He slowly moved his hands from your face and his grip on the back of your neck eased up.

"I can't believe we just did that," you whispered, laughing in disbelief. He chuckled too, the sound familiar to the laugh on the dance floor, and another soft realization dawned on you.

He slowly pulled away, gently cradling your face, his eyes asking a question you weren't sure you understood.

"I don't regret it," you guessed. He smiled, then shook his head.

"I'm glad, but I didn't hurt you, did I? I was holding your face pretty hard."

You shook your head, gently kissing him.

"It was hot," you reassured him.

You held each other for a few minutes longer and enjoyed the afterglow. You both knew you needed to go, but neither wanted to initiate it. You tried to ease out of the moment.

"We should do that more often," you joked. He laughed softly in surprise.

"Yeah, we should."

He stepped away from you with a final kiss, pulling up his pants and tucking his silk shirt into them. You pulled your underwear up and smoothed down your dress. You helped fix each other's hair, soft, giddy smiles between you.

Then you snuck out of the room, hoping no one noticed you were gone for too long.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil smut #re4r smut #leon kennedy smut #re4r fanfic #re2r fanfic #leon kennedy x you #hey if you liked this consider leaving a comment!

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mauesartetc · 1 year ago

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Thoughts on Helluva Boss 205 ("Unhappy Campers")

Wow, this... This one may actually be worse than Murder Family. That's impressive.

Is anyone else noticing a pattern of Helluva Boss episodes going absolutely nowhere? Each one ends without affecting the larger plot in any meaningful way. Season 1's structure was fairly episodic as well, but at least back then there was some sense of progression.

I usually include separate lists of pros and cons in these critiques, but in this case, I have so few compliments to give this thing it's not worth it. I tried my best to find more to like about this episode, but it gave me bupkis to work with. So I'll just present all my notes in chronological order.

Let's get this over with.

-Looks like the rehab facility where Barb used to live is located in Sloth (on account of the floating islands and all the pink in the environment), just like the hospital in this season's previous episode. We've never seen care centers in any other ring, so... Does Hell society's opinion of sick people dictate that they're just lazy? Some clarification on that might be nice.

-"She's got a job now. A life. Don't fuck it up by findin' her." Holy shit, the nurse is the most mature, sympathetic character in this entire episode. Tasing Blitzo in the butthole earns her bonus points in my book. Nurse Pussyface, you are way too good for this show.

-Why is Blitzo even trying to visit his sister if he's been kicked out of the facility several times and knows she hates him? What's the impetus? "Look, I know you hate my guts, but Dad's dead, and he named you in the will." Or maybe he had an experience that reminded him of her and figured he'd drop by to see how she was? Y'know, something.

-By the way, Helluva's animation is usually a highlight, but here there's not much to say about it. It wasn't especially memorable or ambitious; just kinda... passable. Even the climactic fight scene (which I'll get to later) didn't have much to write home about.

-How the hell didn't the client notice the holes in his boat before he rowed it out into deep water? Because I'm pretty sure it would leak when it was still in the shallow end of the lake, unless this is a unique real-life boating phenomenon I'm not aware of. Also, you'd think this guy was a bit too gung-ho to get out on the lake for someone who can't swim. Did someone have a gun to your head, dude?

Fun fact: Did y'all know I was on staff at a summer camp once? We had a pond, canoes, and a boathouse just like the camp in this episode. One thing we had that this camp apparently doesn't, however, is this important rule: No one gets in a canoe without a life jacket. EVER. But, well... We see later that the adults at this camp don't care much about safety, so I guess that's fair enough. (Though I'm curious how they manage to stay open, or what the client's loved ones have to say about his mysterious disappearance.)

-What did the client do to get sent to Hell after he died? Mrs. Mayberry murdered someone, so that's why she's here, but this kid seems pretty chill-? (And don't even try to explain this on Twitter, writers. If it's not in the story itself, it ain't canon.) I also can't help but notice that his design reflects the way he died, but every other sinner's appearance is just random. Consistency? Who needs it!

-Some unintentional hilarity for ya: Here's Millie's face after the client recounted his death.

And she holds this pose for the remainder of the scene. Was there NO direction on how to animate Millie here?! This is a grim situation and she's smiling?! I get that she's a demon, but damn that is cold. It's never been clearer that half her role in this story is just smiling and looking cute, to the point the animators don't know what else to do with her.

-Richard Horvitz's valley girl voice was kinda funny. I dug it. Not sure why Moxxie and Millie had to dress in drag for anything other than cheap laughs, though.

-I know Millie's hurtin' for more development, but this story's conflict would have made SO much more sense from a character standpoint if Moxxie were getting all the praise from the campers. Think about it: He's the one Blitzo always shits on and doesn't believe in. He's the one whose father doesn't love him. He's the one who never gets positive attention from anyone except his wife. Suddenly the conflict is much more compelling: Now that he has approval from these humans, maybe he doesn't need it from Blitzo anymore (not sure why he needed his approval in the first place, but whatever). Maybe he'd realize what he's been missing, and how shitty Blitzo's treatment has been in comparison. Could this be the breaking point that finally gets him to muster some self-respect and quit IMP? We'll never know, because the episode has miscalculated where the most interesting dilemma actually lies.

As far as we can tell, Millie's had zero reason to doubt herself, and we never see her being mistreated like Moxxie has.

Take these lines of dialogue: "And for once I feel like... Like I'm important! Like I'm somebody to be proud of!"

Wouldn't they fit so much better if they came out of Moxxie's mouth?

-I kinda liked how the lyrics of Millie's song were humble while Moxxie's lyrics were egotistical, showing that being down to earth will win you friends while being self-centered will turn people off. But is that really the kind of message we need in an adult show? It's a useful lesson for children, but after you hit the age of this series' target demographic, most people will have the social skills to know better than to pull what Moxxie did at the campfire.

-Speaking of Moxxie being super immature, why does he weep when a bunch of preteens ignores him? They're...They're kids, Mox. They aren't your peers. Literally who cares. This behavior makes no sense outside of (once again) cheap humor. I could understand being bummed out that you're not good with kids if you wanted to have your own someday, but even that doesn't warrant actual tears. And this makes him look like a massive hypocrite later on when he asks Millie why it matters what "these yokels" feel about her. I mean... You seemed to care a lot about how they saw you, Moxxie...

-Moxxie's excuse for why it's so hard for him to get information on the case is that everyone's too busy "swooning over" Millie. Here's a thought: Why doesn't Millie get the info? She's the one everyone likes, so it should be a snap, right? Well, once again, the characters get railroaded because the writers can't entertain any other plot ideas. And of course Moxxie ends up getting blamed for everything as if he's the only one who fucked up here.

-Why the hell would a summer camp show so much favoritism toward a single camper that they set up a friggin' concert for this camper and this camper only? Yeah yeah, "viral sensation" and everything, but 1) The news crew can wait another day or so for camp to end in order to conduct an interview (y'know, something that wouldn't require a huge-ass stage and pyrotechnics that'd cost the camp boatloads of money), and 2) The camp staff thinks Millie is a child. How fucking irresponsible can you get to lavish this much attention on a kid? Think it'll go to her head or something? Psssh nah. Also, you're telling me none of the other campers are the tiniest bit jealous? How do you think they feel, seeing this one kid get treated like a god while they're left in the dust?

Okay, plot-wise, the writers decided they wanted Millie to sing a song so she's occupied during the final showdown with the killer. Easy solution: Camp talent show. That way, the adults treat all the campers equally, and Millie gets her (more believable) moment in the spotlight.

-Oh hey, we finally see Asmodean crystals in action. And of course the first one we see is a butt plug.

SuCh a MAturE shOw, GUys! (Sorry, I'm still laughing my head off at that.)

So, a bit of backstory for those who aren't familiar: We first learned of Asmodean crystals in the Season 2 premiere, when Stolas opened the grimoire to reveal Norse runes on its pages. Someone on the internet was kind enough to translate:

Now here's the deal: Blitzo tells the lust demon to open the portal with his crystal (even threatening him at gunpoint), leading me to believe only non-imps could use Asmodean crystals and that's why he needed the grimoire to get to the human world.

But guess what happens later:

Blitzo's sister Barb, another imp, uses a crystal on her bracelet to open a portal back to Hell. So what exactly was the point of stealing the grimoire from Stolas??

BLITZO. YOU. DENSE. MOTHERFUCKER.

Okay, maybe I'll be generous and acknowledge that there might be another explanation, like Blitzo getting banned from using Asmodean crystals because he's misused them in the past. (Maybe there's a spell that causes the crystals to burn him every time he tries to hold one. Something of that nature.) But at this point I don't trust these writers to fill in their plot holes. Or plot portals, as the case may be.

-The portals themselves are kinda pretty, though. I can appreciate that they look different from the portals created by the grimoire.

-Moxxie calls Blitzo "sir" in this episode despite Blitzo telling him to use his first name in Truth Seekers. Moxxie then uses it in "Ozzie's" (if I remember correctly), but now he's back to "sir" for unexplained reasons-? Coupled with how their relationship has reverted back to square one with Blitzo learning nothing (as well as no one bringing up the agents or what they can do to stop them leaking the proof that demons exist), do the writers just want us to forget that episode or what?

-Blitzo chastises Moxxie for dragging the case out for a week, but it took him a week to track down Barb. This hypocrisy is never addressed.

-At the boathouse, Blitzo tells Moxxie he's looking for his sister, then kicks down the door, revealing Barb inside. Moxxie asks, "Do you know her?" "Do I know her? That's my sister, fuckface!" That's... oddly repetitive, writers. I get that Moxxie wouldn't immediately make the connection since Barb's disguised as a human, but there's a more graceful way to handle that in the dialogue. Something like, "Is this her?" "Oh, now you're on the ball!"

-In an earlier post I expressed concern that these writers wouldn't handle Barb's addiction well, and I'm somewhat relieved they didn't go into it. But I also predicted she'd amount to a genderbent Blitzo instead of having her own personality, and... well...

Overindulges in addictive substances? Check. Runs a business that requires travel to the human world? Check. Pottymouth? Check. Uses sexuality as leverage? Check.

It would've been nice to at least get a hint about what Blitzo did to make her hate him so much (and perhaps confronting that would make him rethink how he treats Moxxie-?), but I guess we'll have to find out when she comes back in seven episodes or so. Yaaaaay.

-Barb says she picked this particular human as her supplier because teenagers are easy to manipulate, but she really had no way to accomplish that other than flashing her panties at him? Assuming Barb and Blitzo are the same age, she's in her 30s, and... it's just a tad creepy and uncalled for, even if this kid's legal. That's a pretty big age (and power) gap regardless. This is one of those times when it looks a lot more predatory when you switch the genders, but, importantly, women can be predators too. Bad optics, y'all.

-The climactic fight scenes in prior episodes were snappy and exciting, but this one's pacing felt really sluggish. I get that the song in the background had a slower tempo than we're used to in these action scenes, but would it have been so hard to double-time the animation? Also, previous fight scenes were notable for their creative choreography, but Barb wrapped her tail around Moxxie twice in a row. Having trouble coming up with new fight moves, guys? Like damn, she's an acrobat. She could do so much more.

-In another edition of "characters being idiots because plot", Moxxie and Millie make out in front of everyone who thinks they're related. They couldn't have run off to somewhere more private?? Apparently no; this needed to happen so Millie's internet fame would be dashed... or, here's another option: Show how the internet popularity cycle is so damn short that everyone's already moved on to the next sensation. You could have made that funny if you actually put in some effort. Like... The faux-incest was just so unnecessary.

-Much like Murder Family, another unfunny ending where Moxxie's dreams are crushed. Blitzo gets his hopes up only to call him a "fuckin' disgrace". But remember, guys: He'S HArd oN hiM BEcauSE hE CAreS! (Fuck it, I think I'll just edit a supercut of every time Blitzo has berated Moxxie, pre- and post-Truth Seekers.)

Oh and look, Millie's glaring at Blitzo, which is totally the same as opening her mouth to tell him off like he deserves, right?

She'll take on a whole gang of mobsters out of love for Moxxie, but standing up to Blitzo? Whoa, that's a step too far. Y'know, because he's the writers' favorite and he shouldn't have to experience any complications from his behavior. Same old story as it's been for a season and a half.

This ending would've been a million times better if it left off on a cliffhanger. Maybe this could have been Moxxie's final breaking point. After Blitzo calls him a disgrace, Moxxie could take a deep breath and...

MOXXIE: (flatly) I quit.

Then he walks out of the room. Everyone looks after him, stunned. When he closes the door, the screen cuts to black and the credits roll.

Oh shit, what's going to happen next? How will Blitzo deal with this? How will it affect Moxxie and Millie's home life? What kind of new job will Moxxie find to keep food on the table? Will he ever come back to IMP, or will Blitzo find a replacement? I know these writers aren't too interested in serialization or any sense of continuity outside of the stupid romance subplot (or hell, inside it), but good god, it would give viewers some exciting possibilities to look forward to.

This episode had so much potential and followed through on none of it. "Unhappy Campers" turned out to be a more fitting title than expected, as that's exactly what I was while watching this.

(Also this show needs a continuity coordinator like yesterday.)

#helluva boss #helluva critical #critique #criticism #review #writing #long post

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whatwooshkai · 3 months ago

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"Red, you gotta tighten your grip, you're goin’ to lose it like that!" High Tide orders, smacking Heatwave on the back of the helm. With one hand he grabs the rod Heatwave's holding, forcing it into a different position.

Heatwave grumbles something unintelligible and High Tide hums, moving on to inspect whatever Chase and Boulder are doing.

High Tide's correction actually makes holding the rod more comfortable, but it's not like Heatwave's about to admit that, especially not to him. High Tide's ego cannot get any bigger.

"Green!" High Tide shouts, and starts adjusting the rod in Boulder's hands, who's shooting pleading glances at Heatwave.

"I think I preferred the derogatory nicknames to this," Blades mutters from beside him, flicking Heatwave with one of his rotors.

"WHAT WAS THAT, CREAMSICLE?!" High Tide shouts and Blades flinches, shoulders shooting up to his audials.

"Nothing!" he shouts back, voice box crackling with nervous static. Confident High Tide's not looking at him anymore, Blades turns to Heatwave and flicks him with his rotor again.

"I think I got something!" Boulder suddenly shouts, backpedaling as they yank on the rod, which is bending probably more than it can handle.

"'Atta bot!" High Tide shouts, running up beside Chase to help Boulder pull on the rod. "That's gonna be a big one!"

Heatwave doesn't move, his tanks suddenly cramping. Blades grabs onto him, dropping his rod, which High Tide notices, of course.

"ORANGE!" he shouts, suddenly letting go of Boulder. "Grab that damn rod! Don't be losin' my equipment now-!"

"Sorry!" Blades shouts, scrambling for the rod, and Chase lets go of Boulder to turn on High Tide, presumably to either chastise him or wait for orders, depends on how the mech feels, usually.

There's a sudden lurch of the boat and Boulder's rod bends faster than any of them can react, and soon there's no more Boulder, but rather a green blur that speeds off the side of the boat and into the water.

Heatwave doesn't even think about it. He dives into the water.

-----------------------------------

"Are both of you nuts?!" High Tide snarls, shouting over their fans at full blast. He piles more towels on their shoulders, then quickly checks the temperature of the hot energon he gave them.

"Primus almightly," High Tide mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. "We're lucky none of y'all have sea-based alt modes, y'all sink like rocks."

Heatwave's tanks give a sudden lurch at that and he flinches, leading to all three of his rescue bots leaning closer.

He doesn't know what happened. He's done water rescues before, hell, he's saved Boulder from the water before.

But he'd jumped in and his vision had gone black. And for a moment, he was someone else. And then he was himself, again, but different, heavier, that damn feeling of phantom kibble-

It makes him wonder about the actual nature of his power. Can he see the future? Into other universes?

Nothing makes sense.

"I think that's enough for today," High Tide mumbles, rubbing both Boulder and Heatwave's helms. "I'd better take y'all home before Prime gets on my aft again."

Heatwave sighs heavily, leaning against Boulder again. There's a fleeting thought in his processor, that maybe he should avoid water for the foreseeable future.

But that's ridiculous. What kind of firetruck doesn't like water?

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quill-pen · 7 months ago

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Bless This Woman

So, @rom-e-o presented me, out of the blue and in the middle of the night, with this gorgeous piece of fan art😍😍😍:

And it inspired a wholesome and sweet little ficlet, surprise, surprise.

Btw: Yes, my Ebenezer grows his hair out long, if this is the first encounter with my work you've had. Also, in future, I plan to try and publish my Scrooge story, and Romey and I are kind of in cahoots with that; so we are trying out some slightly different character designs for Scrooge. That Netflix look is so specific, that I don't want to risk getting sued. This hairstyle is one we've decided on for him, as opposed to his lovely swoop.

It was a request Ebenezer had never been asked before; one he never thought to encounter. He wasn't what anyone would particularly call a "praying man", even now after he'd turned his life around for the good. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't become one: Because how could he possibly deny a woman as sweet and lovely as his Bess when she shyly asked him if he would pray over her that night before bed?

"Pray over you?" Ebenezer asked. Not in a condescending way, but certainly in a slightly confused way. He'd never heard that phrase for it before. Praying for someone, yes, but over someone? That was new to him.

Bess stood before him in her gauzy summer nightgown, the neckline slipped tantalizingly down to expose one speckled shoulder. She looked a little embarrassed, a slightly rosy tint in her cheeks making her freckles pop sharply--something her husband adored. "I-I know it sounds silly," she commented with a small, beseeching smile. She ducked her head and lowered her gaze in instinctive supplication, as her hands fiddling together at her waist. "But it's... it's something George used to do with Mama every night when he was home and... well... it's kind of something I've always hoped the man I love would do for me, too."

She looked back up at him, trying to judge his reaction to it. "Y-You don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him in a bit of a rush. "I just thought I'd ask. Doesn't hurt to ask, right?" She bit her bottom lip, hoping she hadn't just made herself look foolish in her husband's eyes.

She hadn't. And as far as Ebenezer was concerned, she never could.

Smiling softly at the woman, the Englishman stood from his seat beside the small fire, closing and placing his journal upon the mantelshelf as he did. Then he approached his wife, opening his arms to her. "It doesn't sound silly," he murmured softly, taking her into his embrace. He snuggled the American close, nuzzling into her thick, inky curls and kissing her crown. A satisfied purr nearly rumbled from his chest as Bess folded him into her arms and snuffled into the soft fabric of his nightshirt over his heart. "And, no, it never hurts to ask. I'd be happy to pray over you."

Bess looked up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness? "You would?" she asked, sounding rather relieved. "Truly?"

Her husband nodded as he kissed her hairline. "Of course." He touched his brow to hers and gave her a sheepish smile. "You might have to tell me how," he muttered. "I've never prayed over someone. Come to think, I can't recall when I last prayed for someone either. Not really. Not like you would in church."

Bess giggled as she nudged her nose along his. "This isn't exactly like that," she assured him. "It's not a big production full of show-boating piety the Bishop likes to make. This is more genuine and from the heart."

"I'm not even sure I know how to pray, to tell you the truth."

"George always told me that prayer is just talking to God. And the best way to talk to God is to talk to him as though He were a good friend."

He knew that was true. Still, Ebenezer felt a little out of his depth as he watched his beloved sink to her knees on the plush rug beneath their bed. Regardless, he knelt beside her. "H-How did George used to do this?"

Snorting, Bess gently pulled out of Ebenezer's embrace. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her as she moved towards their marital bed. "Don't worry, I won't judge," she stated with a smirk and wink over her shoulder.

"I only caught him doing it a few times," Bess answered as she scooted into the man's side, ever desiring to be close as possible. She manages to twine her legs and feet with his. "But the few times I did, he always had his hands on Mama. On her shoulders, around her waist, hugging her--he was always touching her."

"Well, I certainly like the sound of that," Ebenezer remarked. Without a moment's hesitation, he stretched an arm across his wife's shoulders and pulled her close again. He pressed his lips to her brow. "Mmm, I love you," he murmured, the sentiment leaving him automatically.

Bess hummed as she leaned into his touch. "That love you feel--let that be what guides what you say," she quietly instructed.

In many ways, that didn't give Ebenezer a clue as to what to do at all. Yet in many others, it did.

The couple knelt there at their bedside in silence for a moment, the man absently stroking the woman's arms as she pressed into him. His mind, for a moment, felt like a wheel stuck in muddy clay. What should he say? How should he begin? He supposed the best way was just to start.

"Dear Lord, first and foremost, I would like to thank You for the wonderful woman beside me. I'm... not always certain what my convictions are in terms of faith and religion; one thing I do believe with certainty, however, is that You have placed my wonderful Bess beside me."

Bess dared to open her eyes and lift her gaze just enough to see her husband's down-turned face just above hers. She smiled in adoration at the man, marking how his long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. Somehow, she managed to press a little closer to the man, nudging her head under his chin.

Ebenezer tightened his grip on her. "I come to You now, to pray for my Bess, Lord," he continued on, voice quiet but steady. He still didn't really know what he was doing, but that didn't seem to matter: He was focusing on his adoration for his wife, letting that guide him through what he wanted to say, and it was doing the trick. He was feeling much more confident in every passing moment. And, amazingly enough, even more in love with his mate.

"I pray that You watch over my beloved Bess, Lord. That you take her into Your arms and keep her safe throughout her life. I pray, if she can't find comfort and happiness in this world, that she is able to find it in You. I place her ultimate well-being in You, Lord, for I know there are things that I, as a mere man, cannot do to protect and comfort her."

Bess pressed her face into the open neck of Ebenezer's nightshirt and nuzzled at the hairy swathe of chest bared to her. On instinct she fluttered kisses to over sternum. "Oh, Darling...."

A slight heat bloomed across Ebenezer's face, but he didn't falter. "I ask You to continue to bless this woman with goodness you have granted to be in her life, Lord. And should it ever come to an end, I repay You grant her the strength to overcome challenges, just as You have granted her before. I ask You to continue healing and soothing the wounds and scars of Bess' past, and that You might bring her to realize that she is so much more than them--that they do not define her. I pray that she continues to discover herself in You, oh, Lord, and that she might draw great satisfaction and peace from that.

A lump suddenly formed in the man's throat and tears bit at his closed eyes. "I also pray that-" he cleared his throat as it croaked, "-that You might allow my lovely Bess to remain in my life, Lord. To remain by my side and help me continue to bear the burden of life. She is my greatest strength, my greatest happiness, my Brightness. And I ask with all my heart and soul that she might remain so, Lord. I promise to strive each day to be a better man, to be stronger and more virtuous, and to make this world a better, kinder place if You might allow Bess to remain in my life. I promise to cherish her with my entire being and do my best to care for her and make her happy all the days of my life."

Bess felt something warm and wet drip onto her cheek. Looking up again, she saw a single trickle of tears dripping down Ebenezer's cheek. Moved to wet eyes herself at the sight (her kind, sweet, tenderhearted man), the Yank reached up and gently dried them away. Then she kissed his stubbly chin. "Amen," she whispered. "That was beautiful. Thank you, my dearest moonlight."

Ebenezer gazed down at her with a trembling chuckle. "Not as beautiful at George's though, yes?" he rasped, looking a little shy.

Bess shook her head with a doting smile. "Better," she answered honestly. "Because it's my prayer. And it came from you and your heart. And I'll cherish it and carry it with me, until the day I die."

Genuine relief flooded through the gentleman. Bowing his head, he lifted a hand to his love's face and held her tenderly as he pulled her into a lingering kiss, one she eagerly returned.

"I'll do this again every night if you'll, please, just stay with me forever, Bess," Ebenezer whispered against her lips. His eyes were beseeching as he gazed deeply into hers. "Please."

Bess couldn't help the little smile that curled her lips, nor the little chuckle that left her in response to that promise. "Well, then, you're about to become a praying man, Ebenezer Charles. Because, while I can't speak for our Heavenly Father, I have no intentions of leaving your side. Not ever. Now, please, kiss me again."

And her husband, ever faithful and giving, did just that.

#scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge #fanfiction #scrooge x oc #bess scrooge #ebeness #ebenezer x bess

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