#long john silver x reader

[slashingdisneypasta]

Flirty!MultiVillains x Clueless!Reader || Excerpts / Reactions

Plot: The friendzone is a many splendored thing... not. (You friendzone them) Includes: Candy Pop, Dark Link, Inkubus, Long John Silver, and Oogie Boogie. Warnings: Sexual references!! Derogatory and degrading statements!! These are mostly from the villain’s point of view. Feminine pet names used (Especially in Silver's. He consistently uses 'lass'). Oh also Inkubus may have some sinister intentions... but they are not disclosed and honestly what do we expect. Unedited as of yet. Tagging: @asperol-with-izzy , @disney-android-foundation , @lady-love88 , @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @miss_understood , @moxiiscool , @ryantryan6969 , @spookiifi , @thecourtofgraywaves , @yesthetrashbin , and @your-mxnd-is-mxne . Hi all! ^^ Please head the warnings, its meant to be comedic, but Candy Pop and Dark both make some very gross comments 😅 Hope y'all enjoy and have a great day ^^

Candy Pop:

You walk away quickly after that, giving him that sweet kiss on the cheek and saying he’s such a lovely friend to you, and he wonders for a split second whether that was on purpose. “-Excuse me?!?” Surely you know that he wants his hand down your pants? “Hooooold on hold on hold on- “ You can’t be this dumb. Surely! Almost immediately Candy Pop whips around and follows you right down the hall- quickly catching up to you and skipping ahead, walking backwards in front of you, making you smile. “Love! Love, love- what was that last part??”

“I’m glad to have you, Pop.” You grin back, giggling at the befuddled look on his face. It does not clear up.

“Uhuh… as??... “He prompts you carefully, waiving his hand in a ‘go on’ sort of gesture.

“A friend! A wonderful friend.”  

“… hah, sorry, again? I just can’t wrap my head around those words. Must be our language barrier.”

Adorably confused, you tilt your little idiot head at him; Eyebrows knitted together. Oh god, he thinks. Are you not joking after all? “Candy Pop, you’re English.”

… Right… okay- “Yes, well, English used to be quite different in my time, right??” Yeah, that’ll do for an excuse. Sure. “Anyway- again?? You love me… as??”

Sighing, you stop walking and reach out to put a hand on his arm; Making him stop, too, and guiding him towards you. Theirs a gentle, concerned look on your face and your touch makes him feel weak, makes the skin under your fingers light on fire, and he just wants to shove you against the wall and taste you under his tongue. All over. But- “Candy Pop. Whatever you’re thinking… stop.” Holy shit you’re not joking!! You’re truly a dumbass!! What is he going to do!?? He wants to shove his tongue in your asshole, so this- he can’t- this won’t- this is just not going to work!?? “You are lovely- to me, at least.” You give a giggle, and its enchanting, you’re enchanting, but he has never wanted to squeeze you more then right now. Even with your pretty hand on his arm and your pretty eyes on him and your pretty voice in his ears. “and I do love you. Believe it, bud.”

Then you give him another soft, maddening kiss on his painted cheek, and leave again. This time he does not follow. This time he’s too gobsmacked.

Slowly he brings a hand up to his mouth, chewing on his nails and staring at the floor… oh my this is a disaster.

Dark Link:

“Mmm, y��know Y/N,” As the movie begins the play, after you’ve opened your jumbo bag of doritos and settled down beside Dark on his bed, he takes the opportunity to throw an arm over you. He’s close, now, just like he likes it, and he can see you stuff your face with artificial cheese in detail, sure, but eh- you’re a cute pig. You pull it off. Good on you. “This is a pretty freaky flick… if you get scared, be free to get cozy with me… BEN’s not gonna be here, tonight.”

At least he better not; Dark paid the little weasel handsomely in Hostess cakes and threatened his little man if he did show up. Tonight is the night Dark makes his damn move on you. A real move. One you won’t be able to write off a joke or just friendly. You’re obtuse, but you’ll get it this time. He’s sure.

… because honestly if you don’t, he’s going to lose what’s left of his ever-loving mind. He may have to fuck BEN, or Jeff, if you don’t get it this time. Any dank, warm hole will do but he hopes it’ll be yours. He’s going insane using his hand and wishing it was you. This trying to fuck you thing, has been an ordeal. He’s actually exhausted. You’re dumb as a box of rocks and he wants to feel you so bad. It’s killing him.

You’re killing him.

“Oh,” You pop a dorito in your mouth, looking at him with those pretty (clueless) eyes. “Where’s he gonna be?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Anyway- “

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah whatever. So like I was saying- “

“Are you sure he’s not coming around?? I’ll wait- “

“New conversation babe. Stay with me. I just want- “

“I have a bit of a crush on him… “You confess then, awkwardly, a nervous look on your face- but also relieved, like you’ve been wanting so badly to tell him this for a while.

… And Dark sputters, losing his entire train of thought entirely and just staring at you; Under his arm, looking adorable and shy, picking at one of the corners of your dorito bag and telling him… what!? The sound of blood curdling screams erupt from the horror movie then, which is fitting. “… C- Uh, c- come again please?”

You look bashful, before groaning and hiding your face in your hands. Dark follows your face with his eyes, not moving because he’s in shock. “You couldn’t tell?? Aghhh, I feel like I act like a total loony tune around him.”

“… Nope, baby, I couldn’t tell… “

“Oh you’re just saying that!”

“No, babydoll, I promise I am not.” … I guess I’m fucking Jeff tonight then. Goddamnit.

Inkubus:

… He feels like he’s being filmed. Leaning back suddenly, Inkubus brushes a few leaf’s from your annoying pot plant aside and glances behind it. Camera crew?? Secret hidden videographers?? Hello??

No?

He looks swiftly back to you, and you’re still gushing! And yes, you are gushing, right now. To him. That is how he would describe it because that is the correct word. You’re positively glowing, right now, and you certainly don’t notice how disorientated he has gotten- almost feeling dizzy, of all the pathetic human ailments, because this has never happened before, things have never gone this horribly wrong-  

“- oh sorry!! I’m talking too much, aren’t I??” Inkubus watches you tuck hair nervously behind your ear, as innocent as ever, and barely restrains the urge to roll his eyes- or snarl. You’re still completely what he wants, still clean and pure and perfect for his needs. Just your scent puts a sweet taste on his tongue. He can’t… he has to have you. “You don’t want to hear about this… hahah… “

He absolutely can’t believe it. … what are you? If you’re human, which he’s sure that you are, then you shouldn’t be immune to his charm’s. You should be physically compelled. And even if he wasn’t using his powers, you still shouldn’t be able to resist him. He has had a long time to perfect his act, and women - as well men, and everyone else, anyone he wants, - usually fall at his feet. It’s just… the way that it is! Si... What- What- What!?-

But you’re completely in love with someone else. That’s clear.

… But he wants you.

… Taking a deep breath in and rolling his shoulders gracefully, almost totally inconspicuously, forcing himself to calm down, Inkubus pastes a smile onto his face. “No,” He shrugs. “I don’t mind at all- tell me more.” Eugh. “Maybe we can come up with a solution together, hm? Be free to tell me everything… “

It’s been a few centuries since he has played the long game… but here we go~

Ugh… quaint. Truly.  

Long John Silver:

... Just shoot me. Put me out of my misery, please. Morphie, pal-

The little traitor just jiggles and bubbles in the air behind the lass's head, silently laughing his bleeding backside off after the mortifying kick in the pants that Silver just received from you. Silver glares at the creature, but quickly smoothens his face back out again when you look back at him.

Agh... just keep smilin'. Jussttt keep smilin'... dont be a sore git about this... it was worth a shot at least, it was.

"Y'know lass," Silver finally manages to speak, hating what he has to say. "I didn't know y'had a lad, back home... Y'never mentioned 'im, before now. Promse ya, I wouldnta asked-... well, I cant say that. Lets just say I wouldnt've come on quite so strong, eh? If I'd known." He gives a playful wink, brushing off the awkward moment for your sake. Its not yer fault you aint got room in your life for an old pirate like him!

"Oh, hah. Didnt I?"

No, ya sure didn't. He'd've remembered. "Nope, but that's okay lass... I'm just gonna be a splash heartbroke, now. Probably cry meself to sleep fer a couple nights..." He jokes, rubbing the skin over his heart and watching you cover your face, in sweet sheepishness. Oh, you're cute. Very cute. Whoever's got ya is one lucky bastard. "... But I'll get over it, promise ya."

"Ohhhh," Bashful and sweet as all hell, you peak out from your hand and look all-guilty up at him. Damn, you are a lovely thing you are. "I'm so sorry... "

"Don't even think on it, love. Now- "Clearing his throat, Silver picks up the huge, heavy stew pot in his two strong hands. "lets get the grub out there for those men, unless we want a mutiny on our hands."

Oogie Boogie:

"Wha- Friend!???" Oogie immediately throws his body dramatically backwards, hearing that; A hand to his chest. "You see me as a friend!???"

"Well... "Nodding your head, all-wholesome (Blegh), you confirm his suspicion, making the bugs in his stomach absolutely roll. "Yeah, Boogie!- "

"Friend!???" If he had a heart, he would seize it. My god, wasn't he clear?? What does a guy haveta do around here to get some pretty little tail??? The hell is this 'friend' crap!?

"Yes, Boogie!"

"How doya figure that!?"

"Well... " Now you're starting to look kind of hurt. You?? You hurt??? He's the one who's hurtin' now, doll!! What the heck is goin' on here??? "I- I- I mean, I thought so- "

"Pumpkin! I do like ya- but I don't think ya get what's happenin', here!" When you just tilt your head to the side, like a damn puppy dog (Disgustingly sweet), Oogie facepalms. Satan gimmie strength! "... do I have to be painfully clear with you, sweetbean??~~ "

"... Hm?"

"Oh- " Huff "fine." Suddenly Oogie slips in close to you again, curling an arm sneakily around your waist and yanking you against his front. A dirty old smirk tears across his face as he leans into yours. "... this'll be fun, anyway~ Hehehe... Hold on tight to me gorgeous, we're goin for a ride~ And its all or nothin', so keep ya wits aboutcha okay doll?"

[inkpotgoddess2137]

hii so I have this little roman empire thingy where I write a fanfiction about a traumatized lynx lady and her even more traumatized bear pirate husband.

I made them a playlist I think it's fun check it out.

[i-spit-on-your-garage]

Not sure what you're talking about with lack of fic? There's a LOT of fic on ao3 for Black Sails, both from when it was airing and now. Not intended as an insult, but do you know how to sort and filter for what you're interested in? Because a quick glance shows literally THOUSANDS of fics and several dozen in the past couple months, and a pretty wide range of content. Seems normal-to-good for a the type of show it is.

I shoulda been more specific(I have seen the many on AO3),I typically read x reader or general character headcanons things like that,been mostly searching for those. Might be time for me to stop being picky😁 I'll take fic suggestions y'all,gimme the good stuff.

[lmaowhatt]

"can we please go?" - jj m.

summary: jj, ever the hormonal young adult, cant wait long enough for the two of you to get home from a party at the boneyard.

set: a short time after the pogues return from south america, probably between the 18 month time jump of s3 and s4. however, for my sanity, and some of yours, s4 doesnt exist.

pairing: jj maybank x pogue!reader

warnings: jj begging(?), horny/clingy jj, foreshadowing to sex.

if theres any others feel free to comment them!

the party at the boneyard, which now seemed like an annual occurrence had been in full swing for a couple of hours. the sun had fallen well below the horizon, the moonlight providing just enough light for the inexperienced —now drunk— tourons and some tipsy locals to move around without bumping into one another.

the seven pogues had split up somewhat early into the party. jj was currently hanging around some of his surfer friends, laughing and joking about . pope and cleo relished in their time where the other pogues were distracted to walk along the shore together.

kiara was sat on a log, talking to a random touron girl who you and sarah had both urged her to go talk to, teasing her about always sulking at home, being the last single one of the group. after some reluctance and continuous badgering from you, she agreed.

john b had distanced himself slightly, still rightfully sulking over his fathers passing during their return from south america. sarah had regularly gone to check on him, making sure he was okay before going back to where you stood, continuing the previously halted conversation.

jj glanced around the party, moving to fix the clasp of the flimsy shark tooth necklace that has somehow survived through everything the young adult had been through during the past two-ish years as his eyes landed on you. the boy bit the inside of his cheek as he shamelessly let his eyes wander down your body.

a pink spaghetti strapped top, the hem of which stopped right above your diaphragm, overlayed with a white knitted halter top. a blue ankle length skirt hung low on your waist with a small silver belt serving as a contrast to your gold dangly earrings, a mix of dainty silver and gold necklaces of different lengths hanging around your neck.

jj bit the inside of his cheek, watching your boobs bounce slighty as you laugh along to a joke sarah said, taking a sip of the beer in your grasp. he cleared his throat as he looked down at his feet, dragging a hand through this messy blonde locks, before placing his signature red cap backwards on his head.

"yo jj," one of his friends, jace, slapped the back of his shoulder to grab his attention. "you good?" the boy asked, furrowing his eyebrows as jj looked up from the ground. jj cleared his throat once more, trying to will away the waver he knew would be there as soon as he spoke.

"yeah, uhm. im good man." the blonde nodded, dapping jace up and waving a lazy hand to the others near him, "im gonna go, hit me up this weekend." jj spoke, fixing his shorts and rolling his shoulders back, weaving through the crowd as he made his way towards you.

you stumbled forward slightly as jj wrapped his arms around your shoulders, cradling his head down and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "hi mama," he mumbled below your ear, raising his eyebrows at sarah as a form of greeting.

you placed a hand on his forearm, holding it as you rolled your eyes playfully at sarah. "hi baby. you okay?" you asked, smiling at sarah as she excused herself to 'find john b.' you sighed, leaning back ever so slightly as jj began peppering soft kisses onto your neck and along your collarbone.

"can we go home?" he muttered in between kisses. you laughed softly, turning to face him as his lips detached from your soft skin. jjs eyes naturally wandered to your chest, which was more accentuated as it pressed against his.

you snapped your fingers near his face, "eyes up here, maybank." you smiled as his eyes eventually flickered up to yours, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist. he let out a soft whine, "please baby? this.." he huffed out a heavy breath, forcing his eyes to stay locked on yours. "this outfit.. definitely one of your best. can we please go?" he asked with pleading eyes.

you tilted your head with a smirk playing at your lips, "but the party only started a while ago, you dont have friends to catch up with?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and watching as he bit the inside of his cheek softly in thought.

he eventually shook his head. the boy didnt have a valid reason whatsoever, he just wanted to spend some 'quality time' with you, away from the others of course. "they can wait. this cant baby." he said, motioning towards them, then towards you and him with his finger.

you sighed as you looked around at the party. sure, you were having fun after going through weeks, if not months of hell with the entire el dorado situation, and the entire 'being hunted for weeks' situation.

you looked back at jj, whos eyes hadn't moved from your features. with a soft sigh, you silently agreed, taking a hold of his hand and leading him to the twinkie which was parked on the side of the street. jj moved to wrap his arms around your shoulders as you walked the both of you to the twinkie. "i love you much, yknow that?" he whispered into your ear.

just as you went to talk, he interrupted once more. "not for this. trust me, its a perk alright, but i love you for you." he kissed your neck softly. "i love you for how you treat me," he sucked lightly. "i love you for how you treat our friends like family." he swiped his tongue over the small bruise.

"i just love you."

a/n: this is my first ever fic on tumblr so pls be nice. or dont 😭

[readwritealldayallnight]

Wish

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 1k words

warnings/tags: fluff

To say that it had been a long day, would be putting it lightly.

He’d promised you he’d be home over 5 hours ago now. He tries not to make promises to you about that sort of thing, knowing he can’t ever truly guarantee anything in his line of work, especially not what time he’ll be home for supper. But you had pleaded with him so sweetly this time.

“It’s your birthday John,” your lips had half whined, half laughed from where they were squished between John’s loving fingers, his amused expression smiling down at you. “I’ve never had you home on your birthday. I want to celebrate you.”

He had told you he would try his absolute best to make it home for 5, 6pm at the latest, knowing you had plans of cooking him his favourite dinner, probably a cheeky sweet for desert as well. Glancing at his watch as he walks through the halls of the now desolate barracks, he sighs, seeing that it’s approaching midnight.

He hoped you’d gone to bed hours ago, and weren’t staying up waiting for him. He hadn’t even had a single second to send you a half assed text message, the prick. He hoped you would be mad at him upon his return, rather than disappointed. His heart couldn’t take seeing you sad, knowing he’d ruined the work you likely put into the evening.

He approached his office, ready to dump his gear, grab his keys and leave this base in his rear view mirror, paperwork be damned. His steps halted momentarily however, when he spotted the light emanating from beneath his door. Someone was inside.

Cautiously but confidently swinging the door open in a single movement, Price stepped inside, eyes scanning the room, letting out a breath when his eyes land on the figure sitting atop his desk.

“Love what in the bloody fuckin’- do I want to know how you managed to weasel your way in here?”

“Probably not.” You admit casually, swinging your legs over the edge of his desk, sending him a pleased smirk. Your husband plants one hand on his hip, the other running through his beard as he exhales deeply out of his nose, a deep sound of consideration rumbling from his chest. Slowly, his head begins to shake in disbelief, eyes rolling as he reaches behind him to shut the door, unable to hide his own amusement at your antics.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he begins, approaching you where you sit. “Things got away from us, but I should’ve at least called-”

You press a single finger to his lips, cutting him off as you shush him.

“You can grovel tomorrow,” you say, removing your digit from his mouth, winking at his bemused expression. “You still have a few minutes left to your birthday John Price.” You shift on the desk, one hand reach back to open his desk drawer, knowing exactly what you’re searching for. You pull out his lighter, the silver metal catching the light of the lamp as you flick it open, sparking the flame to life. You gently bring the lighter to each candle adorned atop of the small, lovingly decorated, homemade cake you’ve brought.

John rolls his eyes as he counts the candles, noticing you’ve pulled out one for each year, but the love sick grin stretched across his face gives away the love and affection he holds for you. You, who’s been sat in his office for who knows how long, waiting for your husband, all in a last ditch effort to catch even just a few minutes of this day with him. A day he considers as ordinary as any other day, apart from the voicemail his mum leaves him, because he’s never able to catch her call in time. Even after all this time together, he can’t believe you still go through all this effort to make him feel special.

With all the candles now lit, you bring the lighter to your lips, pretending to blow it out before snapping the case shut. You put the lighter back in his drawer exactly where you found, before picking up the cake with both hands, bringing it between your two bodies, where John stands in front of you, hands stroking your knees.

“Happy birthday John,” you whisper to him, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tiny flames, in addition to the love you hold for the man before you. “Make a wish.”

John’s own eyes are shiny with emotion as both his hands come to cover yours, helping you carry the cake.

“My wish came true a while ago sweetheart.” He never looks away from your eyes as he blows out the candles, his real wish come true.

“Oh! I forgot!” You announce suddenly, shifting the cake back onto the desk next to you, reaching for something apparently hidden from view on John’s desk chair. “You have to open this too.”

“Love, you shouldn’t have gotten-”

“Ah ah ah! It’s still today, don’t ruin your birthday for me anymore than you already have.” You interrupt him, lips forming a small giggle at the end of your own joke. You shove the small, terribly wrapped gift into his grasp as he chuckles. Pretending as though it’s a chore, he half heartedly tears away the wrapping paper, revealing baseball cap with his favourite football team on it. “You said you liked Gaz’s cap a while back, and I thought maybe we could, I don’t know, diversify your hats a little bit.”

“I really like this, love. Thank you.” He tells you, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

“Put it on, I want to see.” You order your husband, secretly really excited to see what your man looks like in something other than his usual boonie hat. John lifts the hat from his head, running a hand through his hair quickly before donning the cap, bill facing forward.

“How’s that, then?” He asks, doing a mock spin for you in good humour.

“I like it, but maybe like this,” you say, coming up off the desk to approach him, resting one hand on his shoulder as both of his come to naturally wrap around your waist. Your other hand sneaks upwards, twisting the cap around until it’s backwards on him.

“What?” He asks seriously, seeing the way your expression falls completely, staring up at him with eyes wide, a little slack jawed, and your cheeks have gone cheery red.

“Uh,” you mutter stupidly, completely entranced by how unreasonably attractive John is in the backwards hat. “Nothing. Maybe we’ll only wear it that way at home, okay?” You mumble, twisting the cap back so it’s forward facing again, still feeling dumbly flustered by the man who sleeps next to you every night.

A knock comes from the door before it’s flung open a half second later.

“Ach, sorry to interrupt you two love birds,” A Scottish accent rings out. “But we heard there might be cake.”

[saturnxlust]

Age Gap

Van der linde gang x Fem!Reader

Dutch Van Der Linde

He def goes for younger girls

He looks like the type

You caught his eye with your outfits

Hes 44 but i feel like he wouldnt want a age gap over 10 years

If you got the courage to make the first move he would admire that about you

Definitely sweet talks you about being a smart girl

Lord the amount of praise this son of a bitch would give you could boost even arthur ego

Def a sugar daddy, before the events of black water

After he would try his best but he left most of his money behind in his old house

Arthur Morgan

He isnt that old but he def wouldnt go over 5 years

He finds it odd and repects his women too much

This is the man to go to if you want a sugar daddy

He will gladly spoil you with all the money he loots from dead O’driscols

He also gives out praise but thats just the man he is

If hes not complimenting you and how stunning you are 24/7 he feels like a awful person

He would so totally call you his “sweet baby” or “babydoll”

If you wear pink dresses he’d definitely be wrapped around your little finger

If not and your more of a streatwear person he’d loose his mind at low rise or cami tops

Again you’d have him wrapped around your finger immediately

John Marston

Hes definitely not old and would NOT go under 4 years😭

This guys only 26

Hes not a sugar daddy

Sorry babe

But he thinks your cute

He def likes girls with a attitude

Just look at abigal for christs sake

He was married to her😭

He would try to be good for you

Wanting to take you and run off into the sunset, but he couldnt leave dutch like that

Not after everything dutch had done for him

You would have to get along with jack to even be on johns radar (sorry🥲)

He wants you as soon as your motherly to jack

He talks to arthur about you

He calls you “sweet girl” and “doll” in that gravily voice

Hes incredible, really

Hosea Matthews

Okay well hes old😅

Def a sugar daddy

I mean have you seen him?

He goes for at least 10-12 years younger 😍

After bessie he really didnt think he’d fall in love again but when you came in twirling you hair and giggling he’d be a teenager all over again

You could ask him to shoot the man next to him for no reason and he’d do it

Hes quite literally wrapped around your finger

I say that because he would not leave you alone

Constantly holding you and treating you to gifts and fancy things

He once bought you a diamond necklace in saint denis

Whether you protested or not is up to you

He doesnt let you out of his sight and will not stop rambling to dutch about you

Dutch is too tired and crazy to deal with hosea and sends him your way to obsess over you😊

Sean MacGuire

The belief is hes mid 20’s so im gonna say 25

He definitely is like john and goes for 3 years younger

But i see him as the type to like older women cough cough mary cough

He likes the contrast of him being a stupid asshole and you being a sweet little thing

He trys his best with money but like john has very little so if he buys you something its usually something small

Though he never really feels accomplished after he gets you something small

So he saves for a long time and buys you something a little bigger like a silver necklace or a nice bracelet

His accent gets in the way of things sometimes but he will call you “sweet thing” though it sounds more like “sweet ting”😭

Love him though

Javier Escuella

Another baby of the gang🫶🫶

Hes 26 so he goes for the same range as john

He also doesnt have much money and buys you small things

But he makes it up by calling you endearing nick names

“Mi amor” “dulce nina” “Querida”

You get the point

“Ojalá pudiera comprarte más mi amor pero debes saber que esto es de mi corazón”

I love him sm

He would sugar daddy you if he could

Probably gets upset when he cant buy you things

If your family is rich he refuses your offers of giving him money

It doesnt feel right to have a sweet girl like you give him money when he should be the one providing

It gets him upset to see you want something he knows he cant afford

Has lowkey thought about robbing a very rich man cough cough braithwates cough to buy you things

When on the boat if you go with them he keeps an eye on you

Not liking the scene already, older predatory men being all around you made him extremely uncomfortable

He doesnt want to tell you what to do he always wants it to be your choice but it scares him that he cant really do anything to protect you

Though if it was dire enough he woukd throw the whole plan down the drain to cut open a older guy that got too power hungry and grabbed you

“No te lastimó, ¿verdad, querida?.”

Charles Smith

Hes not as young but doesnt go for under 5 years

Hes got some money to buy small things every now and again

He calls you “baby” and “little girl” alot no matter the age gap

It could only be a few months and he still would💔

He shows you how to hunt and stuff as bonding

He sees killing a deer together and bringing it back to pearson as romantic

But he still takes you on dates

When he can

Hes usually on watch duty as he is literally a unit of a man

This kid is huge

Around 6’6 and 240 pounds

Dwarfs even the biggest of guys, yes even arthur😭

Josiah Trelawny

Trelawny the man you are😍

Hes definitely rich

He has a house with his wife in saint denis

He is quite old so I imagine no more then 10 years difference

He calls you “darling” and “sweet girl” in that trans Atlantic accent

He definitely spoils you rotten

Only the best for his sweet girl

He takes a lot of time to take care of you as well

He doesnt spend time with the gang and only pops up when they need him for things like stealing from rich people

He never lets you pay

Are you kidding

He’d rather die then have you pay for something

Thats a little dramatic but i know he would never feel good about himself ever again if he got to a point where you had to pay

Like what do you mean he doesnt have enough money

No no darling put yours away papa trelawny will have a sweet little chat with the man trying to embarrass him infront of his woman

“YES I HAVE ENOUGH MONEY ARE YOU INSANE, no dear its okay you dont need to pay. BACK TO YOU DONT YOU EVER-“

Obviously there are ones i didnt put in here like micah, pearson, uncle, lenny ect. I dont know enough about them nor do i like most of them (except for lenny i love him sm)

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 8 - Breeding

John Price x Reader - 1k (on ao3)

summary: You worry that your boss sees your relationship as more long-term than you do. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: implied stealthing, under negotiated breeding kink, one-sided daddy kink

You tell yourself it’s just a kink.

You’re not ready to become a mother - you’d like to be married for at least a year before even trying for a baby, and you’d like to have an established career before even getting married. For you, the idea of a bun in the oven is so far down the line it’s not even visible on the horizon yet.

But you know it’s not the same for Price. He’s older than you, has lived a far wilder life and lost it what must be nearly a dozen times over. He’s a weathered man, with deep lines on his forehead and wrinkles around his eyes, just the tiniest hint of silver creeping into his beard.

You know it’s not smart to have a fling with him. Not only is he your boss and a controversially older man, but he’s also the exact opposite of a commitment-phobe like you. He’s always looking for more commitment in fact, something you hadn’t expected considering the illicitness of your relationship with him.

You'd assumed an affair with your boss would involve mostly quickies in closets, a refusal to be in the same room as one another during the workday, maybe even pretending to dislike each other around other coworkers. Instead, he talks to you more once you start sleeping together than he had before - he parks himself on your desk at any time he pleases, invites you to have lunch in his office with him (alone), and laughs when your co-workers call him your work-husband.

So you know that he wants more, that he wants you to really be with him (he hints at far more than just that, but doesn’t dare say it aloud, which you’re glad for) past just being his secretary and his fuckbuddy. 

In fact, he’d nearly torn you into two when you’d giggled and called him a “bootycall” after he called you back into work hours after you’d gone home. His face had gone from eager and affectionate to what you can only call scolding, and he’d been rougher with you than normal. You enjoy a few smacks to your ass, but that night he’d spanked you hard enough to leave you squirming the next morning when you sat at your desk. You’d been pouty about it, had glared only half-playfully at him when he smirked, but the way he ate you out on his desk for lunch more than made up for the discomfort. 

And he makes these… comments sometimes, while he’s buried inside you. Things that allude to a future you’re not ready for.

Gotta come after me, sweetheart, it takes better like that.

Hips up, don’t let any of me drip out.

Gonna make me a daddy, pretty thing? Huh? Gonna take my cum and grow me a baby?

My good fuckin’ girl, lettin’ me breed her pretty cunt.

Gonna look so pretty, all round for me. Gonna take such good care of you.

C’mon, honey, wanna make sure it sticks this time.

You tell yourself it’s just a kink. He plugs you up with a couple fingers once he’s finished, says “Just to make sure you don’t lose any of my cum, can’t be wastin’ it right now,” and licks your clit until your legs shake. 

He hardly fucks you in any position that isn’t bent over his desk, no matter how much you whine and beg for me. He just smacks your ass, gives you an extra orgasm or two to keep you placated. More often than not he leaves you bent over the desk after he’s finished, tilts your hips up a little higher and gives you a kiss on the temple as he sits back in his seat to get back to work.

You’d told him to use a condom the first few times, even though you’ve been on birth control for years. You’ve always been responsible with flings, been more than willing to send a man packing at the first hint of whining if he didn’t want to wear protection. A baby has never once crossed your mind as an option, and it certainly doesn't now.

So it was instinct to tell Price to put on a condom before he fucked you the first time. And he had, without kicking up any fuss about it past a furrowed brow and a grumble or two.

But then the condom broke, and you were left with his cum dripping down your thighs. You’d had a moment of panic, but he’d given you money for Plan B, and you told yourself the odds of getting pregnant with Plan B and birth control were so low it wasn’t worth stressing out over.

The condom broke the second time. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. And every time after that you asked him to wear one.

At some point you stopped asking, and he never remembered himself. A few muttered questions about what brand he’d been using between fevered kisses, thick fingers at your cunt a distraction, and eventually you told yourself it wouldn’t matter as long as you kept taking the birth control pills.

It would be rude to demand Plan B after every round, right? Plus, asking for cash minutes after you'd both gotten off always made you feel a bit... dirty. When you feel him drip down your thighs, when you pull your panties up and feel the mixture of both of you gather there, you tell yourself that the birth control will surely do it's job, and you try not to worry.

Now, pulling open the drawer where you keep your pills, you wonder if maybe all his talk of babies and his cum taking is more than just heat-of-the-moment dirty talk.

You stare down at the empty drawer and every time he’s called himself Daddy echoes in your ear like a choir.

[mystic-writings]

forgiven

PAIRING — ex!dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — two years after you broke up, dean convinces you to let him help you with a hunt.

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, torture, reader and dean ‘hate’ each other

WORD COUNT — 6,610

SONG — my tears ricochet - taylor swift

NOTES — writing this fic almost killed me. why does dean winchester turn me into an anguished poet. 

masterlist | taglist

Regret. 

Dean was a man with a long list of them, but as he stood in a field, watching the pyre burn alongside his brother and Bobby, he found himself placing you at the very top. You were the biggest regret of his life, and he hasn’t even made it to his thirties. He regretted shutting you out. He regretted letting you walk away. He regretted not looking for you when he finally came to his senses. He regretted not being fast enough. 

He regretted letting you die. 

Sam and Bobby had told him one too many times that it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it always? Wasn’t it always him making the hard choices, only for them to be wrong, in the end? Wasn’t it always him who had the blood of innocent people staining his hands? Wasn’t it always him that isn’t fast enough, isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough? 

Wasn’t it him that got you killed?

He’d heard things from other hunters after you broke things off with him. How bloodthirsty you’d become, always working alone, working efficiently, working ruthlessly. He’d hated it, deep down. How you dug yourself deeper into the hunting world when all either of you ever wanted was to get out. It killed him inside, knowing you were still in the business, even if a larger part of him carried hatred for you, albeit misplaced. Dean would never admit it aloud to anyone, though. Sam was often on the receiving end of his outward projections and rants at how much he hated you, and so was Bobby, on the rare occasion he saw the Winchesters. But the inward reflection of his soul was full of hurt; pain and grief and regret buried deep, dug up when Sam was asleep in the Impala and Dean waited for you to start some kind of weird conversation — only to remember you weren’t there anymore. 

It came back to him every once in a while, the memories Dean never wanted to relive. They were too domestic (at least, as domestic as they could get in their line of work), too happy. But they were always hidden, waiting for Dean to be at his weakest. In an old mixtape, in a certain Zeppelin song that would play on the radio, in the crappy diner meals he would eat late into the night, in the glint of light off the silver ring you gifted him on his last birthday with you. 

He wanted to hate you. He wanted nothing more than to hate you. But all you wanted to do was help him. His dad just died, of course all you wanted to do was help him. Dean was just too busy spiralling and drowning in his own grief to see it. That’s what he liked to tell himself. It was the grief that pushed you away. Just another thing his father wouldn’t let him keep to himself, to enjoy and cherish. He put the blame on his father, because why wouldn’t he? John Winchester was responsible for just about every other bad thing in his life thus far, why wouldn’t he be responsible for pushing you away, too? 

So, like you, Dean hardened himself, diving headfirst into the very next case Sam was able to find. He ignored the pain, closed himself off, and got back to doing what he did best — hunting. 

It was easy enough most days. In fact, it made him just that much better at what he did. It should’ve been concerning, at the very least, but Sam knew better than to step in Dean’s path. So, he watched silently as his brother, slowly but surely, crumbled beneath the weight of his own steeled emotions. But it didn’t show; not really, not beyond the occasional breakdown or bender, not until Sam and Dean arrived in Chicago. 

The case itself was mostly cut and dry, they could see that before they even reached the city. Bobby had offered it over to them, a suspected shapeshifter that enjoyed preying upon people by taking on the faces of their ex-boyfriends and torturing them to death. It was gruesome, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything the Winchesters hadn’t seen before. In fact, it practically solved itself, save for the fact that the locations didn’t quite line up with the sewer system, and therefore, they had to take their time in locating the shapeshifter’s lair. 

Their first clue that something was wrong was when they interviewed the first victim’s best friend. 

“And you’re sure Katie was fine when you left?” Sam asked. 

“Yes! Katie doesn’t— didn’t drink. She hated the stuff. We thought Matt was already gone, I mean, he said it himself. He was about to move to Boston.” The girl — Ashley, Dean thought her name might’ve been — reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Why are you asking all this again?” 

“Again?” Dean stiffened. 

“Yeah, again.” She scoffed. “Another agent was here yesterday. A woman, I can’t remember her name. Mick? Something like that?”

Sam’s face dropped. “Agent Nicks?” 

“Yeah, that’s her. Look, she already asked me all this stuff before, can’t you guys just leave me alone?” 

Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before the latter closed his notebook. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair.” 

Neither of the brothers spoke until they were in the Impala, Sam reaching for his phone while peeling away from the curb, dialling Bobby’s number and putting him on speaker. 

Bobby didn’t have the chance to breathe on the other line before Sam was speaking. “She’s here.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were playing a game of Guess Who.” Bobby snipped. “Who the hell are you talking about, boy?”

“Y/n. She’s in Chicago. We just talked to the first vic’s friend, she said another agent already talked to her. Agent Nicks.” 

Bobby cursed under his breath. “She ain’t gonna like you two bein’ there.” 

“Well that’s just too bad,” Dean piped up, practically white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re already here. And I’m not leaving a case behind just because little miss wants to pitch a fit about it. We’re finishing this hunt whether she likes it or not.” 

“On your head,” Bobby conceded. “Just be careful, boys. She ain’t the same girl she was two years ago.” 

“We will. Talk to you later, Bobby.” Sam huffed as he ended the call, eyeing his oddly silent older brother as they headed back to their motel room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice was sharp, laced with anger directed at a pair of haunting green eyes. 

“Working the case, sweetheart,” Dean smiled condescendingly, leaning against the bar. “You know, you should try to be a little less conspicuous next time, Agent Nicks.” 

Damnit. 

“And which conspicuous name are you using this time?” You tilted your head, chest already filled to the brim with barely contained rage. “Johnson? Perry? Oh, maybe it’s Plant! You always did have a hard-on for Zeppelin.” 

“Would you—” Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “God, you’re so— You know, I don’t know how the hell I put up with you for so long.” 

“I guess I was just really good in bed,” you shrugged, a coy smirk playing on your lips. If this had been some post-hunt pub night years ago, Dean would’ve kissed that smirk right off your face. But it wasn’t. It was now, in Chicago, in a hotspot for shapeshifter activity and you hadn’t seen Dean’s face in so long that the presence of it now only made your blood boil. 

“Whatever. We’re both in this now, whether you like it or not.” 

“Like hell,” you nearly spat, finishing off your beer. “I work alone, Winchester. Or haven’t you heard?” 

“It’s funny that you think I still think about you.” Dean scoffed a laugh. “We might as well do this together. Shapeshifters, they’re tricky business.” 

“For you, maybe. Besides, taking on a shapeshifter in a group practically spells trouble. Ever since I left you guys, I’ve had no trouble taking them out on my own.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal. 

Dean huffed, suddenly frustrated at your vehement refusal to work together. “Look, if we don’t work together, we’re only gonna get in each other’s way. And you and I both know neither of us are just gonna give up the job. That’s not how we work.” 

“Why are you so insistent that I be anywhere near you, Dean?” You asked, dropping your angry mask and giving into the slight heartache behind it. “Because if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me gone.” 

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his mind fumbling for any response that he could save face with. His green eyes flashed with hurt, only to be swept away by his tired, nearly pleading puppy dog eyes — nowhere near as convincing as Sam’s, but you were the only person he was ever able to charm with them, anyway. “Because it’s safer, and you of all people should know that I’d never hang a hunter out to dry like that. Especially—” 

Dean cut himself off, his heart aching as he seemed, just for a moment, to forget what you two really were. Bitter exes with a taste for violence; proximal bombs so close to going off. If only you weren’t just that, then Dean would’ve said what was on his mind. Especially people I care about. Especially you. 

You eyed the elder Winchester wearily, his words scratching at the crumbling walls around your heart. You hated to admit it, but maybe, just this once, Dean Winchester was right. These past few years had been wearing you down, stripping your resolve down to nothing more than a single, solitary wall protecting the worst thing you could think of from reaching your heart. You were tired. More so than you were when Dean first suggested getting the hell out of hunting. Back when he suggested it for the both of you, and ideas of an apartment and a dog and a normal fucking job were included in hushed conversations before bed in a crappy motel. 

And then John Winchester sacrificed himself to save his son, and everything slipped out from underneath you. Because you knew the truth, long before Dean ever figured it out. John had told you himself — his final act, the only selfless thing he’d done for his boys. He begged you to get them out, told you that killing yellow eyes didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted his sons safe. And you couldn’t even do that. 

With a final sigh, a too-long look into Dean’s eyes, and the echo of John Winchester’s final words to you ringing in your ears, you conceded. “Fine. But if anything happens, Winchester, so help me—” 

“I know, you’ll kick my ass.” 

“Actually, I’ll key your car, but that works too.” 

Once you finally put all three of your heads together, it wasn’t difficult to find the shapeshifter’s central hiding spot. All of the locations it’d attacked at were no more than a 15-minute walk from an abandoned factory, which seemed to be the perfect spot. It irked you that you still didn’t know exactly how the shifter was picking and choosing its victims, but as long as it was dead before dawn broke, you would be content. 

So, loaded up with silver — a knife tucked up your sleeve and some handy silver bullets loaded into your pistol, you joined the Winchesters in hunting a monster for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. 

Your reunion with Sam was much more pleasant than your encounter with Dean, as the younger of the brothers had always had a soft spot for you. He considered you family well before Dean had even had the guts to ask you out, and he was just glad that you’d been staying safe during the years you spent apart. 

“So, what exactly are we doing?” You’d asked, leaning over the Impala’s front seat, eyeing both Winchesters like it was any other hunt. The ride up until then had been eerily quiet, no one speaking a word and no music playing, which was unusual for Dean. But that was only because the last cassette mix you’d made him was still in the player, and he refused to show any kind of weakness. To show you that he still kept some parts of you around.

“Factory’s pretty big, so we might have to split up for a bit, see what we can see.” Dean reminded you, sending you a cursory glance in the rearview mirror. 

You grimaced. “I don’t like the sound of that. A shifter could do anything with that kind of vulnerability between us.” 

“And it’ll take hours for us to find the damn thing and gank it if we all stick together,” Dean argued, gripping the wheel a little tighter. A sliver of moonlight glinted off a ring on his right ring finger, and you noticed absently that it was the one you’d gifted him for his birthday just before you’d broken up.

“And we won’t be able to gank it at all if it looks like one of us and then we all die, Dean!” You shot back, voice rising in volume. “I’ve done this enough to know that if we stick together, our chances are better.” 

“We’re splitting up and that’s final. I don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot at finding this thing. From what I know, it’s quicker than most shifters, and that means it’s more dangerous.” Dean reasoned, and you knew better than to keep fighting him on it. 

“Look,” Sam stepped in, turning to catch your gaze as you slumped back against the backseat. “It’ll be a lot quicker, but just in case something goes wrong, you shout. If you come across one of us and think it’s the shifter, pull your knife. It’s not the best, but Dean’s right, and it’s all we’ve got.” 

You merely huffed, silently conceding to the brothers’ plan and ignoring the twist in your gut. Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to get away from the Winchester brothers and complete this hunt on your own. You would’ve made an exception for them in any other case, if it has just been any other monster. But shapeshifters relied on groups. They relied on the connection between mimic and victim. And your connection to Dean alone was too big of a risk to take just to kill one stupid monster. 

But that monster had killed three people in the span of two weeks alone, and you would be damned if you let it kill anyone else. 

So, you tamped down the anxiety brewing in your gut and let the lull of the Impala bring you a comfort you’d been sorely missing over the past few years. Despite what you led others to believe, hunting by yourself was lonely. There was never any backup, and you could die at any given moment, but it was all you had left. You, your weapons, and the faith that you’d get lucky enough to live another day. 

You were living on luck, really. Luck and grit and hustling drunk guys at pool or poker. Always on the road, never sticking around, and never letting anyone get close. You’d tried it once with Dean, and all it got you was heartache. Hunting was the only thing left, and after all, violence was your preferred method of distraction. You remembered one of your first hunts after you and Dean had broken up — a particularly rowdy vamp nest in southern Oregon, hell bent on wreaking havoc on an entire town just to quell their bloodlust. You’d been too blinded by the idea of releasing your anger on them that you failed to see how big their nest truly was. All of them younger, more energised vampires than you were used to. They were quick, but you were far more skilled, and you’d almost had them all when one of them sideswiped you with a knife of its own, jamming between your ribs and leaving you nearly too weak to finish the rest off. But you’d done it anyway, before collapsing in the dirt outside. You thought you were going to die that night, bleeding out under a beautiful canopy of bright, white stars and a silver moon. And you would’ve gone willingly, with Dean as your last thought. Your last, heart wrenching, regretful thought. And then, with all the anger and willpower you could muster, you got back up. Because if there was one thing you would not do, it was die so young. So young and so unaccomplished and so unloved. And you would not let your last thoughts be of the man who so willingly pushed you out of his life to succumb to his grief, when all you had wanted to do was help him through it. 

The cut of the engine turning off pulled you from the depths of your mind, darkness enveloping you as the headlights ceased. Turning to the window, you glanced at the distant, towering factory. It was decrepit; all shattered windows and crumbling brick. Graffiti covered almost every surface, and you could see how it was the perfect space for a shapeshifter to lay low. 

Stepping outside, you re-checked all your weapons. The silver knife, still tucked in your sleeve. The gun, its magazine still loaded with silver bullets. Another knife, made of regular steel, tucked into your boot. It was an old switchblade, and had seen its fair share of kills over the years. One of the few things from Dean that you refused to part with, mostly due to how well it had served you in tight spots. 

The walk into the factory, armed to the teeth with knives and flashlights, was silent. You all knew the plan, what was to be done. Nothing else needed to be said. With a few nods and nudges, Dean directed you all to different areas of the sprawling, decrepit building. The top floors were mostly gone, and you could see right through the holes in the concrete above. It was mostly a maze of heavy machinery and different rooms, and before you knew it, you were walking carefully, all on your own, toward the backend of the building. You could no longer hear either of the Winchester brothers’ footfalls, and the lack of noise within the building put you on edge. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, ignoring the chill in the room and the way your heart hammered behind your ribcage. The last thing you needed was to slip up. To let the shifter get the jump on you in some way.

Your movements were precise as you swept through each room, gun in hand and flashlight sweeping across the dark factory, searching for any clue that could lead you closer to the shifter. It felt like hours had passed until you stumbled upon a mound of flesh and liquid, gagging as your light glinted off it. It seemed fresh, too, and you briefly wondered if the shifter was off torturing someone else in the city and this plan was now a bust. 

Then something scraped behind you, and you turned quickly, only to meet Dean’s squinting eyes. He was in different clothes, lacking a flashlight. 

“What happened to your clothes?” You asked, tone tight. 

“Covered in shifter juices. I had to change.” He huffed, already fed up. 

“Your flashlight?” You asked again. “Where is it?” 

“Battery died. I went looking for you when I got back inside. You were right, we should stick together.” Dean relented, and wearily, you nodded and lowered your gun, your grip on it still tight. You didn’t want to trust him, but it was Dean.

“Let’s go find Sammy and sweep back around. I think this thing’s bedroom might be nearby. If these things even have bedrooms.” 

Beside you, Dean scoffed a laugh. “Doubt it.”

You eyed him again, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. “Since when are you so chipper, Winchester? I thought you hated the sight of me.” 

“I don’t,” Dean shrugged simply, eyeing you quizzically when he caught your gaze. “What? I may not like you, but you’re right. Shifters ain’t fun going after alone, especially in a group.” 

“I know.” You said, your voice tight. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But you kept yourself level. “That’s why I didn’t want either of you coming with me. But you just had to be persistent, didn’t you?” 

“Well, you know me,” Dean shrugged casually, turning down a hallway. 

“Yeah, I do know you.” You said, walking a bit faster to stop Dean in his tracks. Your eyeline lined up perfectly with his chest, and you did your best to remain calm as you gripped your gun tighter. “And I know damn well you wouldn’t go anywhere without your necklace. Not even if you changed your clothes during a hunt.” 

Dean looked down at you as though you were crazy, a hand coming up to grasp gently at your bicep. “What are you talking about? I left it in the car, I swear.” 

“Yeah, right.” You snipped, glancing down and finding the ring you gave him to be missing as well. “And your ring? The one you promised me you’d never take off? Where’s that?”

Not-Dean’s grip tightened on your arm, almost unbearably strong. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Now why would I keep wearing my ex-girlfriend’s ring after not seeing her for two years, hmm? Did you really think you meant that much to me, sweetheart?” 

This wasn’t Dean. You knew it wasn’t. But the look in his eye was eerily similar to the one he gave you the day he forced you out of his life, and the words he spewed twisted the knife you didn’t know was still lodged in your beating, bleeding heart. 

In an instant, you raised the gun and attempted to step back, trying to aim and shoot as quickly as you could. But it got the jump on you, first, gripping the pistol’s barrel and striking your forearm, wrenching the gun from your grip and tossing it down the hall behind it. Immediately, you slid the knife out of your sleeve and into your palm, raising it to strike. The shifter blocked that movement, too, grabbing at your wrist as it began to arc downard, squeezing so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. You tried to fight back, but with its grasp on your raised arm and now the hand twisting painfully into your hair — a familiar feeling, now tainted with fear and pain and panic — made you practically useless. 

“Oh, sweet thing, I am just gonna love tearing you to pieces.” Not-Dean snarled, its sadistic smile churning your gut. You inhaled sharply, about to cry out, when it tugged on the roots of your hair, forcing a whimper from you, instead. “Not so fast, darling. We’re gonna have a little fun, just ourselves, before either of your boys can join in.” 

His voice was what you couldn’t comprehend. Sure, that last fight before you broke up was brutal; shouting and cursing each other out and saying things you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say, but this? Hearing him so easily speak about hurting you, like it was nothing, that was what you couldn’t bear. Even if it was the shifter. 

You looked around, finding quickly that you were in a rather secluded part of the building. The far right corner, judging by the window placements. There were beams and trolleys and pieces of equipment laying everywhere, coated in rust and god knows what else. Not-Dean guided you easily to an oddly clean chair in the room, and you sat down willingly, hoping and praying that one of the brothers would stumble upon you sooner rather than later. 

“Tsk, you’re such an obedient girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Not-Dean smirked. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growled, watching him lean down beside you and grab a long rope. 

“Right, because Dean was the only one you let use that nickname,” he nodded sarcastically. “Does it bother you? That I’m in his head, that I know what he thinks. That I have his face.” 

You shook your head as he wrapped the rope tightly around your wrists, pinning them behind the chair. “No. You’re just as big of an ass as he was. But you probably know that already, don’t you?” 

“I do,” not-Dean chuckled, tugging on the rope with the final knot to secure it before heading to your ankles. “In fact, I know everything he’s ever thought about you, sweetheart. And boy, you should hear some of the things he used to think about you.” 

“I’m good, actually. Thanks.” You grimaced, meeting not-Dean’s eyes as he smirked. He placed both hands on your knees, the warmth spreading through your jeans as he pushed himself up and dragged a trolley over to you. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, skimming over the items on the table. “He’s had some very naughty thoughts about you, Y/n. And recently, too. The things he wants to do to you…” Not-Dean tsked and shook his head, finally picking up a knife.

“Gonna cut me up with that little thing?” You smirked, watching the shifter consider it for a moment before putting the knife back down. 

He smirked and walked the short distance to come and stand before you, crouching to meet your eye level as he said, “I had something a bit more… tantalizing in mind.” Reaching into your boot, the shifter pulled your switchblade from where it hid. “Now this seems like a much better weapon, don’t you think?”

You stared at the folded switchblade, your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. Even after you and Dean broke up, that knife made you feel safe, tucked away in your boot. It had seen a lot of action since then as well, effectively protecting you from both monsters and drunkards on more than one occasion. 

The shifter opened the blade slowly, sliding it into its final position with an echoing click. He ran his finger across it first, examining its sharpness before turning his — Dean’s — emerald eyes to meet yours. Something sinister brewed among those sharp irises, teeming with hatred and some sick, twisted kind of pleasure. 

“Dear old Dean gave you this, didn’t he?” The thing smirked. “I’m sure you know why, right?” 

“To protect me.” You growled, shifting helplessly beneath the ropes. “From things like you.”

“This?” He scoffed a laugh. “No, this won’t hurt me. But I can’t wait to see what it does to you.” 

Not-Dean dug the tip of the knife into the space above your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood and drag it down your chest. You struggled to bite back a scream as he worked the metal down your skin, leaving behind a stinging gash when he finally pulled it back, his eyes shining with some sick sense of pride as he stared at it, at the blood dripping down into the valley of your chest. 

“I know you wanna scream, sweetheart,” Not-Dean taunted, his voice syrupy sweet and dripping with sadistic joy. He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. “From what I’ve seen up here in this pretty little head, you’re quite the screamer, aren’t you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, face hardening as the shifter pulled back and stood to his full height. 

He wore the same, simmering rage that Dean often had before he ended things with you. The face he wore when you confronted him about his behavior, the one he wore before he punched Sam for bringing John up in the first place. It sent a strike of fear through your chest, barely concealed behind your hardened features. 

You watched it turn into a smirk as he twirled the blade expertly between his fingers, lips pursing and eyes squinting as they raked over your form, as though deciding what to do with you next. Like he had all the time in the world to figure out how to hurt you the most. 

“You wanna know something?” Not-Dean asked suddenly, throwing you off. “Something… secret?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me no matter what I say?” You glared. 

Not-Dean laughed. “Smart girl! Right on the money.” He smiled, resting his palms on his knees as he bent slightly to reach your eye level. “See, I know something you don’t,” 

You remained quiet, hard eyes watching his every move. 

“Remember all those naughty little thoughts I said Dean has about you?” He didn’t wait for a response as he sighed and straightened up. “Well… he has them all the time. In fact, he pretty much thinks about you 24/7. It’s… well, it’s pathetic.” 

Not-Dean spat, his face turning hard and angry again as he sighed. “It’s like you’re on a loop in his head. Everywhere poor Dean looks, there’s something to make him think of you. Such a shame he was the one to push you away, isn’t it? I mean, you are quite the looker.”

You growled as he whistled lowly, his grip tightening on the knife as he stalked closer to you. He brought it to your cheekbone this time, smirking to himself as it dug into the flesh and sliced quickly. You hissed at the sting, feeling the blood trickle down to the corner of your mouth, the cool air of the factory soothing the cut slightly. 

“It’s quite a shame that I want to ruin that pretty face of yours so much,” the shifter pouted mockingly, rearing back and landing a punch to your already injured cheek, throwing your head completely to the side. It took you entirely by surprise, a small grunt falling from your lips as you clenched your jaw and tried to hide the pain. 

You swallowed hard when you hung your head and saw your blood staining his knuckles — Dean’s knuckles. And then he laughed, the way Dean used to when you’d make some corny joke that caught him off guard, and your throat went dry. 

“Tired already, sweetheart?” Not-Dean chuckled, gripping tightly to the hair at the back of your scalp and pulling hard, forcing a yelp from you as he forced your gaze to meet his. “Better make this quick, then, shouldn’t we? After all, those Winchester boys can’t search this building and not find us. And I want you looking nice and broken when they do.” 

You swallowed down as many of your cries as you could for the following beat down you received. Slashes with your own knife across most accessible expanses of skin, punches and hits everywhere else. Your lip was split open, tinging your spit with the never-ending taste of copper. 

“If you’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest heaving as blood trailed down the side of your neck. “Just fucking get it over with.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Not-Dean pouted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not just you I want to hurt.” 

Hurt pulled at your chest as your eyes met his, the realization swimming behind your wide eyes. He didn’t just want to hurt you, to break you however else you could still be broken after everything else you’ve been through. The shifter wanted to hurt Dean. It wanted to break him. 

“Hurting me won’t do anything to him.” I scowled despite my bruised and bloody face. “He’s the one that pushed me away, remember? You saw that, didn’t you? In his head?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” The shifter scowled back, his voice low and rough, the way Dean usually sounded during hunts. “Dean still loves you. Hell, he never stopped, sweetheart. He’s too headstrong to admit it, but he is. And seeing you like this, all broken and bloody because he didn’t listen to you, because he just couldn’t stay away… that’ll kill him from the inside.” 

“You’re wrong,” you rasped, swallowing your tears with a pained gasp. “Dean Winchester doesn’t love me anymore. And killing me sure as shit won’t do anything to hurt him.” 

The shifter growled, the sound low and deep in his chest as he gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as he inched closer. For a moment, his attention was caught by something else, and then his lips upturned in that sadistic smirk. “Looks like we’re about to find out, sweetheart.” 

With swift movements, the shifter cut your ties and hauled you from the chair by your forearm, his solid, familiar chest pressed to your back and his own forearm pressing you to him by the neck. Your hands came up to claw at his arm immediately, digging in but getting nowhere as you squirmed against his tight hold.

Almost instantly, Sam and Dean charged into the room from the door you stood parallel to, guns and knives drawn, pointed at you and the shifter. 

Dean’s wide eyes looked from the shifter, the spitting image of himself, then to you. He hoped you could see how sorry he was. The plea to forgive him for not listening to you, for letting you get hurt because of his stubbornness filling his beautiful green eyes to the brim. 

And you did. You forgave him the moment he first pushed you away, even if you didn’t want to admit it for a very long time. You made sure to tell him that with a single nod, just as the shifter adjusted his hold on you and smirked. 

“Well, well, just in time, boys,” he said, pressing his arm a little further into your neck and forcing a choked sound from your throat. “So glad you could make it for the main event of the night.” 

“Let her go.” Dean barked, adjusting the hold he had on his gun and aiming it right at the shifter. 

Not-Dean scoffed. “Please, Dean, put that thing down. I know you’re not gonna shoot me when I have her in my way. She’s very useful, you know. Human shield, a fun little plaything… I can see why you kept her around for so long.” 

When no one spoke, not-Dean hummed approvingly. “Exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.” 

Your mind didn’t process what happened until it was already over. 

A small flash of steel below you, cutting into your tank top and piercing up through your ribs, digging deep into your flesh. The release of your body from the shifter’s hold, and the way your body immediately crumpled to the floor. One shout and three shots ringing out above you, the shifter falling in a heap no more than five feet from you. 

You coughed, sputtering, as you lay there on the concrete. Something dug into your torso with every breath, filling your chest with pain and warmth and something you couldn’t breathe through. 

Dean was at your side in an instant, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled you into his lap, shushing the pained groans and whimpers that fell from your lips with a shaking voice. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes flicking to the knife — the knife he gave you — wedged under your ribcage, blood already pooling out of the wound. “Hey. You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.” 

“Dean,” you choked out, breaths rasping and wheezing and taking more effort than they ever have before. Something copper coated your lips, your teeth — it was everywhere. You knew what it meant, and from the look on Dean’s face, he did, too. “I’m s— I’m sorry,” 

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Dean shook his head, his beautiful emerald eyes filling with tears. “Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. You’re gonna make it out of this.” His head snapped up for a moment, eyes catching on something you couldn’t see. “Sammy! Help us!” 

“D—” you cut yourself off with another cough, blood pooling in your mouth and splattering all over your lips. Glancing down at the knife, you reached with shaking fingers to grasp at it, to press your hand over whatever part of the wound you could reach, coating your palm with blood. “Dean,” 

His eyes snapped to meet yours in an instant. “Yeah? Sweetheart, what is it?” 

Grunting, you moved your hand to the handle of the switchblade, Dean protesting above you as you shakily removed it with a pained sound, the metal clattering to the floor beside you. Dean’s hand covered the wound as it poured blood, the liquid coating his hand almost immediately. It stained the hem of his jacket sleeve and spilled between his fingers as they clamped over the wound, tinging his silver ring red. 

“‘M gonna be okay,” you wheezed, nodding slowly as you kept your gaze on Dean. 

“I know,” he nodded back, his voice tight with emotion as he locked eyes with you. “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I…” you gasped, finding words harder to speak, your body harder to move. Your mind swam, and you knew your time was limited. “I love you.” 

Dean made a choked sound as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tears sliding down his cheeks, and all you wanted to do was wipe them away. 

With the little strength left in you, you reached your bloody palm up to his cheek and did exactly that. The featherlight touch forced Dean’s eyes open, his body shuddering as he breathed in and you forced your hand to stay on his warm cheek. 

“This isn’t…” you choked, and Dean shushed you. 

“Save your energy, sweetheart. Help’s coming any minute now,” he nodded softly. 

You pushed, anyway. “This isn’t… not your fault,” you shook your head, the movement jerking and slow as you practically forced breath into your lungs. Each new breath was unsteady and wheezing, harder to take in than the last. 

Dean choked out a sob, leaning over your body and pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hand fell from his face. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can let go now. You’re safe.” 

“I…” you rasped, the words dying on your tongue as the last of your fight dissipated, leaving Dean on the floor of the factory to cradle your limp body close to his as he finally broke, his sobs and cries echoing around the room. 

Sam arrived moments later, his shoulders deflating and his heart aching at the sight of Dean. He’d never seen his older brother so broken, so willingly displaying his emotions as he held you, your body cold and pale in his arms as he rocked you. 

The shifter had, in the end, succeeded. Part of Dean died with you that night, hatred and regret filling the gaping hole within him. He knew nothing else would ever try to fill it again, and a large part of him never wanted it to be filled. He wanted to sit with the hurt for the rest of his life, because it was what he believed he deserved. 

You had gone willingly in his arms, a final admission of love dying on your tongue, leaving behind an ache Dean knew would never be soothed. Because, despite everything he’d done to you, somehow, you still loved him. 

If there was one thing Dean Winchester was full of, after all, it was regret.

everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

dean winchester taglist: @theweasleyslut @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @prettypychoinpink @whitemanshoe19 @allinfangirl @sunsetcurvej @killerqueenfan @justthatfangirloverthere @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @yagorlemmalyn @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @weasleystwinswife @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12

(taglists open!)

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 9 of 12

Synopsis: lies, junk, and ebay side hustles

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—

The Twinkie’s engine hummed as they drove, the soft rumble steady in the quiet night. Y/N leaned against the window, watching as streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, leaving brief glints on her tired eyes. John B’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles pale in the dim light as he guided them down familiar roads. 

This had been one of the longest - but one of the best nights of Y/N’s life. After the initial shock of finding out each other’s secret wore off, John B volunteered to drive Y/N home, much to Rafe’s dismay. 

They had both grown up on these roads, weaving through the same streets, crashing at each other’s houses, and finding trouble together. Now, things felt… different. As if, somehow, the ground they had always trusted beneath them was shifting. Their silence was comfortable but weighted, as if both of them were holding onto thoughts too heavy to put into words.

After a while, John B finally broke the silence, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “So… I guess we’re practically in-laws now.”

She let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Guess so. Funny, isn’t it?”

John B smirked but grew thoughtful, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I mean, I get how I ended up with Sarah, but… you and Rafe? When did that even happen?”

She felt a slight warmth creep up her face. “Uh… tonight, actually.” She paused, swallowing. “We kissed for the first time. I think the word for it is ‘unexpected.’”

He shot her a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding me. Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” She gave a half-shrug, avoiding his gaze. “It's kind of… I don’t know, it just happened.”

John B let out a slow breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You kissed Rafe Cameron tonight… wow.” He let that sink in, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the wheel. “Guess we’re both out here crossing some major lines.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, feeling the truth of that for herself, too. Sarah Cameron and Rafe Cameron—these were people they’d known their entire lives, kids who had grown up with a silver spoon and never seemed to notice the Pogues except to look down on them. And yet, here they were, tangled in the lives of the Kooks they’d once considered untouchable.

“How did that even happen?” she asked quietly, her gaze still on the passing trees.

John B rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering. “It’s… complicated. It was one of those things that just kinda… snuck up on me. I was working on Ward’s boat one day. He needed help with something in the engine room, and when I came up, Sarah was there. She was sitting by the dock, crying. She’d just broken up with Topper.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, though she wasn’t entirely surprised. “Yeah, he’s… something, isn’t he?”

John B chuckled dryly. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Anyway, she looked… different. Vulnerable, I guess. Not like her usual ‘Kook princess’ self. We just started talking, and I don’t know… the lines got blurry. I wanted to hate her, but it’s hard to hate someone when you’re actually seeing them. You know what I mean?”

She did. She understood that completely.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, tracing her finger along the edge of the window. “Rafe… I never thought I’d be able to trust someone like him. I mean, it’s Rafe Cameron. But tonight, something just… clicked. And I realized I wanted to be around him. It’s strange, but being with him, even just for a night… it made me forget about a lot of things.”

“Like JJ?” John B’s voice was quiet, understanding. Y/N felt her heart constrict at the name, the weight of years of friendship and unspoken feelings pressing down on her all at once.

“Yeah,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve been in love with him for so long. And it’s like... it’s been this constant thing in the back of my mind, like this background noise that I got used to. But tonight, with Rafe… it was like the noise stopped. For once, I wasn’t thinking about JJ. I was just... there, in the moment.”

John B let out a slow breath, nodding. “It’s kind of terrifying, isn’t it? Letting someone in like that. I know how much you cared about JJ. Honestly… I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you guys. I’ve known you my whole life. You and JJ are the only people who… get me. And now I’m dating Sarah, and you’re with Rafe… it’s almost like we’re betraying something.”

Y/N looked over at him, their eyes meeting for a long moment. “Yeah, it feels like that. It’s not just about us—it’s about all of us. Our whole group, the way we’ve always been there for each other. I keep thinking about what JJ would say if he knew.”

John B’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’d be pissed, that’s for sure. Hurt, too. But… maybe he’d understand eventually.”

“I don’t know, John B. He’s stubborn. And this would feel like a double blow. We’re his oldest friends, and… he’d feel like we’ve crossed a line. Especially me, with Rafe of all people.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I can’t imagine losing JJ because of this.”

The silence fell again, heavy with memories and old loyalties. Finally, John B glanced over at her, his voice a little softer, a little more vulnerable. “Then let’s keep it between us. We don’t have to tell anyone. I mean… if things get serious or whatever, we’ll figure it out then. But for now… let’s just keep this between us. I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”

Y/N smiled, the weight lifting just slightly. “Deal.”

“Good,” he replied, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He offered her a small grin. “Guess we’ll be each other’s partners in crime, sneaking around with the Kooks. Never thought we’d end up here.”

She laughed softly, nodding. “Life has a weird way of throwing curveballs.”

As the Twinkie carried them back down the familiar roads, Y/N felt a sense of calm settle over her. They had their pact now, an unspoken agreement to protect each other and their secrets. 

—

The salty breeze tugged at Y/N’s hair as she made her way down the familiar path to The Chateau. It had been a week since she last saw the Pogues, and her absence hadn’t been unnoticed. She’d spent the days since the chaos at Tannyhill trying to process everything. The kiss with Rafe felt like a whirlwind, and now she had to face her friends, especially JJ, who she knew would be the hardest. Her stomach was in knots as she approached the hangout, trying to steady her nerves.

John B had said he’d smooth things over, but Y/N wasn’t so sure. Not when it came to JJ.

When she entered, the usual hum of conversation was absent. The Pogues were gathered around the table, but it felt… off. Pope and Kie were sitting together, but their smiles seemed forced as they looked up at her. The only one who wasn’t pretending was JJ, standing by the window, his back to the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even look her way as she stepped inside.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her gaze flicking between Kie, Pope, and John B, who was leaning casually against the counter. “Hey,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kie’s face lit up, though there was an obvious undercurrent of confusion. “Look who’s back! You good? Where’ve you been?”

Y/N winced at the warmth in Kie’s voice—so different from JJ’s cold silence. “Yeah, just needed some space,” she replied, not wanting to dive into details.

Pope nodded but didn’t press further. “Everyone’s been asking about you,” he said. “Glad to see you finally made it out.”

John B gave a small grin, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Yeah, we were starting to think you’d forgotten how to find us.”

Y/N gave him a small, forced laugh, but her eyes were drawn back to JJ, who still hadn’t turned around. The tension was palpable, and it felt like the air itself was thickening with each passing second.

She tried to take a step forward, but JJ’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “So, nice of you to join us,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “Thought maybe you’d decided we weren’t worth your time anymore.”

Y/N flinched. She hadn’t expected the bite in his words, not after everything they’d been through. She knew he was hurt, but hearing it from him like this felt like a slap.

JJ finally turned to face her, his face hard. “You know, I was worried sick after that voicemail,” he continued, his voice rising slightly. “You didn’t answer my texts, didn’t pick up the phone. What the hell, Y/N? You left me hanging.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this level of anger, but hearing him say that struck a chord. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “You could’ve picked up the phone the first time I called,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had actually been there when I needed you.”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and raw. JJ’s eyes widened, surprised by her retort, but there was no denying the hurt that flashed across his face. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he said, voice low and simmering. “You think it’s that simple?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “No, I don’t think it’s simple,” she snapped back, her frustration mounting. “But I tried reaching out, JJ. You’ve been so caught up with everything else, and I—” She broke off, running a hand through her hair. “I needed space. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

JJ shook his head, clearly struggling to contain his frustration. “You can’t just disappear like that without telling anyone what’s going on. I thought something happened to you. I was out of my mind, Y/N.”

She softened slightly at the vulnerability in his tone, but her anger still simmered. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “I just needed time to figure things out.”

JJ exhaled sharply, clearly still hurt but now holding back, as if deciding whether to continue his outburst. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Just… next time, don’t leave me in the dark. I don’t do well with that.”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. That’s the last thing I want.”

There was a long, heavy silence before JJ, with a frustrated sigh, finally gave a small, resigned shrug. “Alright, fine. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

John B, sensing the moment was still tense, stepped in with a lighthearted tone, trying to ease the mood. “Alright, enough of the drama. We’ve got a Pogue reunion here, right?” He glanced at Y/N with a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s just have a good night, yeah?”

Y/N gave him a tight smile, but her gaze lingered on JJ for a moment longer. There was still a distance between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them could ignore. But at least, for now, they were talking again. She only hoped the cracks in their friendship wouldn’t be too hard to fix.

—

A few days had passed since the tense moment with JJ, and things seemed to go back to normal, or at least, as normal as things could get in the Outer Banks. Y/N still spent most of her free time with Rafe, sneaking in moments together whenever they could. It felt like a secret they were both carefully tending, and despite the weight of keeping it under wraps, there was an unspoken comfort in it. She had no intention of telling the group just yet, but she wasn’t pretending things were the same with JJ either. There was distance now, but it was the kind of space that made it easier to breathe. And while Y/N still felt a little uncertain about what it meant for her friendship with the Pogues, she couldn’t help but feel lighter every time she was around them.

People noticed when she disappeared. Pope raised an eyebrow at her a couple of times, Kiara playfully asked if she was meeting some "mysterious boy," and JJ, though distant, was clearly still keeping an eye on her. But no one questioned it further. No one needed to know.

That afternoon, Y/N found herself back at the Chateau, where the gang had regrouped after a few days of avoiding serious conversations. The group was loud, as usual—Kiara pulling out an old map, Pope half-heartedly objecting to some of their more ridiculous ideas, and JJ getting a little too enthusiastic about a new "adventure" they could take. This time, it was JJ’s turn to suggest something chaotic.

“I’ve got it,” JJ said dramatically, eyes lighting up. “We go to the junkyard.”

Y/N shot him a raised eyebrow. “The junkyard? Really?”

“It’s perfect,” JJ continued, ignoring the questioning looks. “We could find treasure, make some plans for the summer, do something that actually makes us feel alive for once. Plus, there’s always weird stuff there—old cars, random bits of metal, who knows what we might find?”

Kiara perked up at the mention of treasure. “Could be a gold mine,” she added with a grin. “Or at least we can see if there’s any cool, rusty junk we can turn into art.”

Pope, who had been staring into the distance, suddenly broke into a mock frown. “The junkyard? Really? You guys are seriously trying to drag me into a place filled with piles of trash?”

JJ grinned, always ready to egg Pope on. “Come on, Pope. You can pretend to be the sophisticated one all you want, but deep down you know you want to get your hands dirty with the rest of us.”

Y/N laughed, leaning back on the couch. It was a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed—her group, teasing and laughing with no tension. It felt like old times, before everything got complicated. Before she started feeling like she was on the outside of the group, watching as JJ and Kiara danced around each other and trying to figure out what her feelings for Rafe meant.

“I’m in,” Y/N said, sitting up and giving them a small grin. “Let’s go find some treasure.”

Pope, still grumbling, threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not getting stuck in any piles of scrap metal. I’m too smart for that.”

“Just remember that when I find something amazing, you’ll be the first to carry it for me,” JJ teased, already standing up and grabbing his jacket.

At that moment, John B, who had been lounging on the couch with a cup in hand, suddenly perked up. “Did someone say junkyard?” he asked, eyes wide with mock excitement. “That sounds like the kind of adventure I can get behind.”

Y/N shot him a grin. “You planning on driving us there, Captain?”

“Obviously.” John B tossed the cup aside, jumping to his feet. “The van’s ready. And if I’m driving, we’re making this a proper expedition. No half-assed treasure hunts on my watch.”

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled at the enthusiasm. “Fine, fine. Let’s go then.”

The gang piled into the old, beat-up twinkie, heading off toward the junkyard. As they approached the site, the familiar scent of rust and oil filled the air. The place looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, with broken-down cars, shattered glass, and twisted metal strewn across the dirt lot. The kind of place where nothing was useful, but everything had the potential for some kind of adventure.

“Alright,” JJ said, standing dramatically in front of the group, “let’s make this a scavenger hunt. First person to find the weirdest thing gets to claim the prize.”

“Prize?” Kiara asked, skeptically. “What, are we going to sell the trash we find?”

“Exactly,” JJ grinned. “Who says junk can’t be worth something?”

Pope rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a smirk. “This is ridiculous. But I’m game.”

Y/N watched John B, who was already surveying the junkyard with a mischievous grin. He had that familiar glint in his eyes—the same spark he always got when he was looking for trouble, and he wasn’t about to let JJ have all the fun. “Fine,” John B said, “but I’m getting the prize first.”

“You wish,” JJ shot back, already moving toward a stack of old tires. “I’m gonna find something epic.”

As they began to spread out, Y/N couldn’t help but feel lighter. She wasn’t thinking about JJ’s stupid pity kiss, or the constant tension that hung between them. She wasn’t worried about Rafe’s feelings either—he was the secret she didn’t have to explain, and she was content with that. For once, she was just part of the group again, her old self. The Pogue she used to be.

JJ sprinted toward an old car, shouting out, “I call dibs on this beauty!” and began rifling through the trunk, already making an absurd amount of noise. Kiara, Pope, and Y/N followed suit, though their finds were much more practical. Y/N pulled out a few rusted tools, giggling when Pope made a face at the mess she was digging through.

“You sure this is the best we’ve got?” Pope asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm but a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said with a playful grin. “What’s your definition of treasure, Pope? Something shiny?”

“Exactly,” he said, half-smiling. “I’m all for finding treasure, but not garbage.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kiara called out from behind a pile of tires, already holding up a set of old neon lights she thought could be used for their next bonfire. “This could make a perfect addition to our party setup!”

Y/N watched as Kiara took charge of their little scavenger hunt, leading them through the junkyard with a sense of excitement that made the whole thing feel a little more like a real adventure. Pope was actually getting into it now, his competitive spirit taking over as he tried to beat JJ to whatever “treasure” he could find. JJ, of course, was already in his own world, imagining the junkyard as some sort of personal playground, where every broken thing was just a stepping stone to a bigger, better idea.

John B wandered off toward the far side of the yard, his eyes scanning the piles of junk for anything that might catch his eye. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how natural it felt, watching the group fall into their old rhythm.

As they explored, laughing and tossing things aside, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the junkyard that felt like home—it was this. It was being with these people. No matter how chaotic things got, no matter how much she didn’t know what she was doing with her own life, these were the people who always had her back

The sun blazes overhead as Y/N steps into the junkyard, eyes wide with excitement.

“This place is awesome!” Y/N exclaims, practically bouncing on her toes. “It’s like a treasure hunt, but better because it’s all free!”

Kiara chuckles beside her. “I mean, it’s not the best place for treasures, but yeah, you could find something cool.” She swats a crow feather out of her face. 

John B, already leading the way, turns back with a grin. “Follow me, I know where the good stuff is.”

Y/N follows, practically bouncing with curiosity. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in there.”

Pope, trailing behind, lets out a dramatic sigh. “Good stuff? In a junkyard? This is like a museum... for garbage.”

Y/N laughs, waving at a pile of old scrap metal. “Hey, you’d be surprised. There’s probably something worth a lot here, Pope. You never know!”

They reach the shed, and John B immediately tries to open the door. He pulls, pushes, and gives it a shoulder check, but it’s locked.

“Uh, guys,” John B mutters, frowning. “It’s locked.”

“Duh,” Pope replies, unimpressed. “It’s a shed. Who’s surprised?”

John B shrugs. “Well, this shed’s too interesting to leave alone. JJ, grab the crowbar. We’re getting in.”

JJ jumps into action, grinning. “This is gonna be fun.”

Pope looks around nervously. “This is a terrible idea. We’re gonna get caught.”

“Relax,” John B says, already walking back to make room for JJ. “It's fine. We’ll just—”

JJ pulls out the crowbar and gives it a couple of solid swings against the shed’s door. The sound of metal against metal echoes across the junkyard. On the third swing, the door creaks open with a groan, revealing the dark interior.

“Here we go!” JJ says, his grin widening. He steps into the shed like he just found buried treasure.

Y/N steps forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in here.”

But as the group floods into the dimly lit shed, their excitement quickly fades. The place is stacked with nothing but junk—old furniture, broken tools, and boxes of random stuff, nothing of any real value. The walls are lined with old tires, discarded appliances, and garbage bags.

“What the hell?” Y/N says, her voice deflating. “This is... this is just junk.”

“I told you,” Pope mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “Who in their right mind would call this ‘good stuff’?”

John B shrugs, undeterred. “Hey, sometimes the best finds are hidden under a pile of garbage.”

JJ pulls a dusty old television out of a box and wipes it off. “Look, I found this! I mean, it’s not working, but who wouldn’t want a retro TV in their house, right?”

Pope raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, because that’s totally what I want—vintage junk.”

And then, the door slams shut.

Y/N spins around, eyes wide. “Uh, guys? The door just closed.”

Kiara, who’s looking around the room with increasing unease, says, “No way. We’re locked in? Are you kidding me?”

John B goes to grab the handle, but it’s stuck. “Great. Of course, the door’s stuck now.”

JJ, still casually rummaging through junk, stops and looks up. “Wait, seriously? We’re locked in?”

“Yeah, JJ!” Y/N says, her voice rising with a mix of panic and amusement. “We’re locked in. Look at this place. There’s no way out.”

Pope starts pacing, his calm demeanor cracking. “This is not happening. We’re literally locked in a shed in a junkyard.”

Kiara looks around, her eyes darting from one junk pile to the next. “Well, at least it’s not a stranger’s shed. I guess we could just chill... but, uh... still... someone has to come looking for us, right?”

Y/N starts laughing, despite the situation. “I mean, yeah. Worst case, we just start a new life in the junkyard. It's practically our new home now.”

JJ throws his hands up. “Yeah! We’ll live off moldy pizza boxes and tire swings. Total dream life!”

John B glares at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Guys, seriously, quit joking. We need to get out of here.”

“Right,” Pope mutters, pulling at the door again. “Maybe if we just pull it...”

The group tries everything—pulling, kicking, even trying to knock the door down, but nothing works. After several attempts, the group begins to lose their energy, and the silence hangs heavy for a moment.

“Okay, so we’re stuck in here,” John B says, flopping down onto an old recliner, his voice nonchalant. “This is officially our new hangout spot, I guess.”

Kiara glares at him. “This isn’t funny.”

“No, really,” John B grins, raising an eyebrow. “You guys remember that one time we got stuck in that abandoned house during that storm? Remember how much fun we had?”

Y/N snorts. “Yeah, except that house was less junk-y and more... ghost house.”

“I mean, this place is just as fun, right?” JJ says, flopping down next to her, pulling a rusted license plate out of a box. “We got old stuff. We got... character.” He waves it around like it's some kind of trophy.

“Sure,” Pope grumbles, “if by ‘character’ you mean ‘how many ways can you die while inside a shed full of junk.’”

John B suddenly jumps up. “Wait, I’ve got it. We break out the windows!”

Kiara looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “John B, that’s not a good idea—”

But John B is already going for it. “Just trust me!”

After a few attempts, they finally manage to break the window, with John B leading the charge. The group spills out into the sunlight, everyone covered in dirt and laughing like it’s no big deal.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Y/N says, brushing off her hands with a grin. “I guess we can cross ‘getting locked in a shed’ off our bucket list.”

Kiara punches her lightly on the arm. “Yeah, not on my list, but sure, let's count it.”

Pope straightens up, shaking his head. “That was a mess. But at least it was... interesting.”

John B slings his arm around Y/N's shoulders, laughing. “Another Tuesday with the Pogues. Couldn’t get any better, right?”

—

A/N: Pogues back to business as usual. Don’t worry—Rafe’ll be back next time. Please drop a thought if anything stuck out to you, I love hearing what you all think!

–

Next time: secrets don’t stay hidden for long

—

Taglist: @hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty , @enjoymyloves , @bilssturns , @dragonslight , @willowpains , @sidney-86

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine you're info-dumping to him about something you love ❤️, or just reading a book 📖, or sipping a hot drink ☕ cuz its freezing out - and he's looking at you this way, cuz you are just too damn sweet.

[grapejuicestyless]

Stupid F-ing Tattoo

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ both had a few things in common. One, love didn’t exist. And two, they both wanted her dead.

She wasn’t dead, but sometimes, he wished she was.

It was honestly fucked up, there was no silver lining. She hadn’t wronged him, or cheated, or lied. She was as guilty as a fish, and he was the shark. But he still wished she was dead.

Sometimes, JJ wondered if she wished the same thing. If some nights, if she ever were to by chance hear his laughter in a passing moment, maybe with his head hung out the back window of the Twinkie like she used to do, or in a lazy jog away from the cops, he wondered if she wished he would also, drop off the face of the earth to give her some peace.

Then he would remember that even though it didn’t feel like it, he had won. Because she had no peace, and he was certain she never would. While he was up all night wishing her to be gone, she was up all night praying for the same thing.

She often told him that the only things keeping her going were him and her dog, but mostly her dog. An old white dog, a stray she’d taken in when she was merely seven. He was as crusty as they get, and while he and his friends often joked about how gross the old thing was, she happily scratched behind his ears and reminded him of how good he was always.

But the dog was getting old, and JJ had long been extracted from her life. Sometimes he wondered if his prayers meant something, and then he would get on his knees and take them all back in a guilty sob. Because JJ didn’t want her to die, he just hated the fact that he had fallen in love with someone who couldn’t fathom love more than he ever doubted it.

JJ felt like an asshole. What kind of person prays for another persons death? Especially someone like her?

He figured he liked her so much because they were so alike. Like the seasons, they were the coolest winters and the sweltering summer all at once. They were so close, yet so far. Like January and December. Born with the same love and loyalty, but destined to fall apart, prophets forced to be divided.

His finger hovered over her contact every night, but every time he thought of how she would answer, and his tongue would go dry. She would probably only say hello, and he would say it back, and the line would go quiet for a few minutes, just breathing in each others inhales, aligning his breath to hers, and then she would ask him why he was calling. He would say he didn’t know, but he hoped she was well, and she would wish the same for him because she always did, and she always meant it more because she never wished that he was dead. Then, she would ask if it was okay to let him go, and he would ramble about something and how it was all dumb to begin with. She would listen and then the line would go dead. Dead like how he sometimes wanted her.

He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go again, even if he didn’t realize he had the first time.

They had just gotten matching tattoos. “P4L” poked into their ankles until the skin swelled red and even air burned. They were fucked, and it was a dumb idea.

JJ said it was the stupidest fucking tattoo he’d ever gotten. She had laughed, playfully pushing his arm away and setting the needle down.

“You don’t have any other tattoos.” She reminded him softly, eyes shining in the moonlight. The twinkles reminded him of the north star, and he felt that he too found home in the same way.

“Not yet.” He promised her, his fingers slotting between hers. “I’m gonna get your name tattooed right across my palm so I can hold you eternity.” JJ smiled, proud at his use of larger words. He’d felt like a poet then, smiling from ear to ear at himself, a dork by textbook definition.

“Well, then I’m going to get your name tattooed on my lips, so I have every reason to talk about you.” She promised him, and JJ remembered the look in her eyes, he knew it from the way John B looked at Sarah and the way Pope’s dad looked at his mom. He knew it was love.

He should never have confessed it.

He knew better than anyone that her mothers neglect had beaten her heart black and blue, and her cousins hatred towards her and her friends who had bullied her, he knew that much like him, love was a construct of some sort of fantasy, a promise of forever that could never be fulfilled, because eventually, someone has to leave.

She laughed, and then she cried. She promised JJ that she also loved him, loved him like a dog loved its owner, unwavering and loyal. But there was no way in hell she could ever love him the ways he wanted, and that hurt JJ because he had spent weeks working up the courage to even come to terms with his very real feelings.

“I can’t love you, JJ. I do, but I can’t because I can’t even promise myself that forever. I’ll break my own heart and I’ll blame you.” She had explained with tears streaming down her face. He regretted the way he yelled at her.

They never spoke again. His best friend, and the love of his life, her voice became a concept in his mind, and he swore that he had forgotten the sweetness of her smell. He hated that because that meant he was just like everyone else. Just another person who would miss her when she went.

So, he started wishing death on her. More for himself, until it became a prayer for her. She never laughed anymore, never smiled. When he saw her from afar, he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her friends she hated because suffering is better than loneliness when all you can think about is the quickest way to go.

He saw a girl floating in the ocean the a few days into the summer, her hair resembled Y/n’s and her eyes did too. It was only when he saw the way she seemed to fold herself into the water he knew it was her because only she would have the drive to try and let the ocean swallow her whole.

JJ ran as fast as he could out, wading through the crashing waves until he could wrap his arms around her. She was wet, cold, and limp. A hollow version of the woman she once was. It reminded JJ that she was just a girl, the same age as him, and he once again, felt guilty for ever wishing death on her.

When he laid her in the sand, he knew two things.

One, on her skin, she had another small tattoo scribbled down to memorize her love forever. His name, just two little letters, the same one, poked into her shoulder in the same font as their matching tattoo.

“Stupid fucking tattoo.” He cried, gritting his teeth together, his hands searching her body for any warmth he could cling to, a sign that maybe he hadn’t seen her too late.

The second thing he knew, through his salty tears and guilty heart, was something he prayed he would never have to witness, but something he had always wished for.

His prayers had been answered.

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 2.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T O N E 🎶 good girls ( john carpenter remix ), chvrches

“Why is she even here?”

“Steve!”

A loud smack cut the air in two as Robin slapped a hand against Steve’s shoulder, rendering the rest of group there in Max’s trailer silent.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, cheeks burning under his gaze, lips twisted into a scowl and trying hard to hold back the daggers you wanted so badly to throw at him.

“She doesn’t know what the hell we’re up against! How’s she supposed to–“

“Steve, none of us knew either, cut her a break.”

“Cut her a break and then what? We all get eaten by a fucking melted people monster?”

“That’s not fair–“

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Nancy,” you cut the girl off, standing quickly from your spot on the couch.

They’d been talking like this since you showed up. Like you weren’t right there in the room with them and honestly you kind of wished you weren’t anymore.

“I need some air,” you grumbled before giving Steve a pointed glare and shouldering open the front door.

The air outside was crisp as you sat down on the front stoop. Not a cloud in the sky and sunlight washing everything in soft golden light, but it all still felt so dark. Like it was harboring thick shadows. Long, spindly, and pitch black. Waiting to wrap their twisted fingers around you.

Waiting to dig into you and squeeze tight.

Waiting to lift you twenty feet into the air and snap your bones like twigs.

Waiting to leave you for dead.

And here was Steve fucking Harrington asking what right you had to be there. Asking what purpose were you gonna serve amongst this “holier than thou” joke of an army. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Eddie had already gotten their asses handed to them by what they’d called demobats, Steve arguably needing serious medical attention, and they wanted to go back? It took everything you had to not leave right there on the spot.

Hell, maybe you should, you thought for a minute. You didn’t owe them anything, especially Steve, but you did owe it to your best friend. The one who basically had a hit out on him. The one who wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly, but all of Hawkins had already decided he was guilty and you weren't about to leave him.

Eddie.

❝ SO SAVE YOUR BREATH, GIVE A LITTLE OF WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT – DO THEY KNOW SOMETHING I DON’T? ❞

You met him two years ago under the bleachers at the Homecoming football game. It seemed like the perfect place to smoke the joint you’d messily rolled in the car right before you’d come into the stadium and apparently you’d been right, but someone else had already laid claim to it...

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this is kind of my spot.”

He’d been all black leather and denim. Dark curls and clove. Silver rings and chains and heavy boots and maybe you should’ve been more intimidated, but the smile lines at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

“Don’t see a sign anywhere,” you’d shot back, no hesitation. Looked over at him all skeptics and attitude and took a long drag from your joint. Blew the smoke off in his direction and it made him grin like an idiot.

“Been sellin’ weed down here for like…the last three years so–actually, yeah. What the fuck, man. Someone owes me a sign.”

...And that was it, you were a goner. Laughing mid-toke and coughing so hard you cried and it made him feel so bad he gave you a baggy for free. Eddie "the freak" Munson and you – best friends.

Skipped all the stupid dances and football games with you. Paraded around the lunch room like an idiot with you. Threw fries back at the jocks for you when they called you a loser and sat on the floor in the bathroom with you when you cried.

So fuck “King Steve” Harrington.

You had every right to be there, probably even more than he did and you were gonna tell him to his face, but—

“Can I sit?”

The sudden sound of someone else made you jump.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and sat down next to you. Gave you a sidelong glance and a small lopsided smile. “He’s really not so bad–”

“You’re joking. Right? Tell me you’re joking.”

The boy hummed, dropped his gaze down to the rings wrapped around his fingers and twisted the one on his thumb.

“He doesn’t want me here. None of them do,” you grumbled, frustration fed further by his non-answer and it pulled his eyes back up to you.

“Hey now, that’s not true–”

“Yes it is! Even Nancy looks at me like a kicked puppy.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Made him scoot closer to you and bump his shoulder into yours. “Listen, sweetheart,” the nickname made you soften, but you tried to keep your scowl in place, “We’re all in over our fuckin’ heads, hm? And Stevie boy…he’s seen some shit. He’s just trying to–”

“Just trying to what? Be a complete dickhead about it? Mission accomplished.”

Eddie sighed and roughed a hand over his face. Rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He knew what you felt because he’d felt it too. Knew what it was like to get laughed at and mocked in the lunch room. Knew how it was supposed to be between him and the other boy. Hell, he nearly cut Harrington’s face off with a broken bottle a few days ago, but one thing was clear.

Change was possible and Steve Harrington was proof, he just wasn’t great at showing it.

“Alright. He could be less of a dick,” he conceded, propping his chin in his hand and looking at you with his big brown eyes. How could you be mad at that?

You mumbled under your breath about that not being the only thing, but fine, okay, only for you, Eds.

Reaching over he flicked at your fingers and looked at you from under his curls with a stern pinch between his brows. “He’s helping me, sweetheart. They all are. Shit, without them I’d probably be in jail already. Or in Carver’s trunk,” he tried a laugh, but it fell short at the end with the weight of his words and it made you grab at his hand and squeeze it.

“Shut up,” you chided softly, no heat behind it. The anger that had been swelling in your chest all but extinguished.

Silence settled between the two of you then, heavy and tinged at the edges with worry. With everything that was at risk and it started to gnaw at the pit of your stomach. What if you couldn’t fix it? And even if you could, this Vecna asshole was about to end the world anyway so what the hell did it matter?

How were a bunch of kids going to do anything about it?

“Ahem,” the door knocked into your back and jolted you back to earth. Pulled a gasp from you and when you looked up over your shoulder you felt your anger return ten fold. “We’re leaving, geniuses,” Steve announced, pushing at you with the door.

“Least you know you’re an idiot,” you mumbled under your breath, standing up from your spot to glare at him at eye level.

“Real cute,” Steve shouldered past you on the stoop, took the last two steps in one go and turned to face you both as he landed on the grass. “For you, Munson,” he said, throwing a mask at Eddie, “Courtesy of Mayfield.”

“What’s that for?” you couldn’t help asking as Max appeared at your side and pointed so casually – too casually – at the mask.

“Gonna steal a Winnebago. Get that on, dingus. Let’s go.”

“Nice,” Eddie grinned up at the red-headed girl and yanked the mask on over his head, “Thanks, Red.”

“Let’s go,” Steve urged, waving his hands at everyone to get out of the house and you felt your heart racing.

“Steal a Winnebago? Eddie. Fuck that–”

“Honey, I’m already a wanted man–” Eddie cut you off and readjusted the ridiculous looking mask a bit. “–c’mon,” he said, tugging at your belt loop to get with it.

“I–that doesn’t mean you can just steal–”

“We’re way past that,” Dustin chimed in, shoving past you just like everyone else, “Besides, if the world’s gonna end anyway, what’s it matter?”

Shit. The kid had a point. It was probably fine. It was just a trailer. Maybe you could give it back afterward? You needed it more than they did. Right?

“Dammit,” you grumbled under your breath, now the only one still standing around. “Wait for me!”

❝ THEY TELL ME I’M HELL-BENT ON REVENGE, I CUT MY TEETH ON WEAKER MEN, I WON’T APOLOGIZE AGAIN ❞

The first time you ran into Steve Harrington was sophomore year. In the hallway before Click’s class. You were cramming everything into your bag, but struggling with your history book when you heard it coming.

Tommy Hagan’s stupid laugh.

Your stomach sank, eyes glued on your things and trying to ignore it. He was in your science class the year before along with his ditzy girlfriend Carol and they always made sure to get a spot in the back just to make out.

“Need some help?”

When you finally looked up at him he’d stopped right in front of you, the grin on his lips sharklike as Carol smirked out from under his arm. Another boy you didn’t know was standing just behind them wearing a stupid member’s only jacket, half unzipped, and had hair that sat perfectly in place. Too perfect.

“That looks heavy, hm?” Tommy said grabbing your book, voice all saccharine sweet and sharp around the edges. Flipping through the pages he pulled a face, clicked his tongue and weighed it in his hand, then made a show of dumping it on the floor. “Whoops. Sorry!” he half-laughed and your cheeks burned.

“Bite me, Hagan,” you snapped back, bending down to grab your book, and it only made his grin grow wider.

“Ooo. She’s fiesty today, Stevie. I like it.”

And then he chimed in. Stevie. The had-to-be-douchebag that everyone called 'King Steve.'

“Probably on her period,” he said scoffing a laugh, all confidence and bravado and the look on his face was so smug. Thought he was so clever and funny and when you finally turned around it was to take the two steps up to him in one.

“Really? My period? So original.”

It made him swallow hard. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he blinked back the flicker of surprise glinting in his eyes. He took a quick glance at Tommy like he didn’t want to disappoint him and then hardened his expression. Crowded down over you and nodded.

“Explains you being such a bitch.”

And it took the air from your lungs. Stuck in your sides sharp like a knife and you felt your throat tighten as Tommy and Carol snickered, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction. Not here.

“Yeah. Bet you wish you had an excuse for being such an asshole,” you cut at him and it pulled an Oh shit! out of Tommy as he doubled over laughing, Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Your feet couldn’t carry you away fast enough as you shoved your book in your bag and turned to leave, but you refused to run. Refused to let them see weakness, and as Tommy yelled down the hallway after you about tampons you raised a middle finger high in the air to punctuate just how much you hated them all.

Eddie met you in the bathroom after that, the one nobody used on the other side of school, and you told him everything. He let you have the joint he had tucked behind his ear for emergencies, listened to you and told you they weren’t worth it. Especially not Steve. Because even though Tommy started it, Steve was the one who dug in. Could have left it alone but didn’t and that was what really got you.

How obvious it was he knew how shitty they were being, but went along with it anyway because he had to maintain his status. Had to uphold how ‘cool’ he was and keep the line in the sand drawn between him and ‘the freaks’ like you.

So he wouldn’t get a second chance.

And he wasn’t worth your time.

Not then and sure as hell not now.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART ONE OF A THREE PART SERIES, PART TWO AND THREE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

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

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.��� 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[alastor-simp]

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

[xyziiix]

𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘌𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘈 𝘊𝘙𝘖𝘞𝘋 ~ 𝘑.𝘗 & 𝘚.𝘙

PAIRINGS: Captain John Price X Female!Reader X Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

WARNINGS: SMUT - this is pure porn u guys - MMF threesome, unprotected P in V (wrap it please for the love of god) spanking, ROUGH GHOST, Price being an arsehole, being fucked over a desk, Eiffel Tower 😏, oral (m!receiving), creampie, kinda degrading.

A/N: I heard your pleas you little horndogs. You ask and you shall receive. (Sorry it’s a lil rushed and — surprise surprise, not proof read yet)

[could be read as a part 2 to ARDOUR, could also be read by itself)

It was Price that had noticed it first.

Of course he had. He was regardful. Observant.

He noticed it first a few days after you’d returned to base from Urizakstan. The way the Lieutenant’s eyes would linger on you when you were talking or just suddenly appeared — breathing life into the room, as you usually did. And it wasn’t just in a way one would be respectably paying attention to someone whilst they were speaking or doing something to gather their attention — No. it was the way his eyes — ones that always seemed devoid of emotion — would follow your body when you moved around, would watch you like a predator stalking it’s prey. Price recognised the look in his eyes.

Because that’s how he also looked at you.

While the situation you and Price were in was… delicate — and would definitely rouse misplaced reactions by the people in your place of work — he thought the idea of another man looking at you the way Ghost did would’ve angered him. Made him jealous. Irrational.

But for some reason it didn’t irk him as he thought it would.

And it wasn’t long after that he figured out Simon knew about you two. Perhaps the way Ghost seemed to be more observant and more silent than usual when the two of you were normally interacting with each other in front of the task force — keeping it strictly professional while you weren’t in the privacy with only each other. So that’s how Price figured he knew. Why would he be acting odd — even more than usual — about the two of you simply talking in the same room as everyone? It was like he knew a secret, a dirty secret.

Turns out he did.

In that battered down, sad excuse of a safe house in the Urzikstan dessert, it turns out not everyone was asleep that night while your Captain decided to fuck you.

You two had hidden it well — he’d give you both credit for that — so it was safe to say it had genuinely surprised him when he saw the sight in front of him that night. He was careful. Quiet. Like a ghost. Sticking to the shadows and moving silently — which was very surprising considering the Lieutenant’s looming height.

He had heard the noises — your noises — and it was obvious they were trying to be muffled. At first, he’d immediately thought of danger, that’s why he had been cautious to approach instead of just bursting into the room.

He remembers the feeling of his chest tightening in realisation when he saw what he saw. Price’s back was to Ghost — laying on his side on the ground. He couldn’t get a good look at your face, but he could see the glow of perspiration from the moonlight shining through the thin glass pane window and onto the dewy skin of your bare leg draped over Price’s thigh. Even just the silver of soft skin and the sound of your singing being trapped into the Captain’s palm had Simon hard, his pants tightening in his groin area — other than that he remained completely silent, even his breathing seemed nonexistent as he just watched the two of you. He didn’t even touch himself either, just watched. Like he thought if he looked away for a moment then the image of you like this would be gone.

But now it had been burned into his memory. The sounds you made. The soft and supple flesh of your thigh. And even the way your dainty hand had grabbed onto Price’s arm when he made you come. He wondered if you’d make those noises for him — except he wouldn’t muffle them with his palm. No. He’d want you to let everything out, every scream, every cry, every wanton moan while he fucked you dumb with his cock.

Price had brought up his observation of the Lieutenant one night a few weeks later. Both of you basking in the afterglow of sex in your rooms in the barracks.

“Simon.” He started simply, and you had turned to look at him quizzically.

“What about him?”

“Think he knows.”

Somewhere between then and now, you had discussed the possibility of this. To say you were very surprised when Price was the one that suggested Simon fucking you was an understatement. It wasn’t that Price wanted to be sexual with Ghost — as sexy as that would’ve been to see — he liked the idea of watching him fuck you. He couldn’t explain why, but just something that had been brewing in the back of his mind.

You had told Price that he wouldn’t have wanted that — that he was a closed off person who was hard to read, how could John have possibly conjured up that assumption that Simon was attracted to you?

Well, your captain always liked proving you wrong.

Because here you were, bent over the expanse of John’s desk — the desk you’d already had the pleasant experience of being bent over, laid atop of, and sat underneath while you sucked his cock as he sat in the desk chair — only this time it was infact, Lieutenant Simon Riley plowing into you with his intimidatingly large cock.

His grip on your hips was borderline painful — but it hurt so good. You worried he may make the desk topple over with how hard he was thrusting into you. You’d never been this stretched open before — feeling the too much, too full feeling of his dick inside of you, the blunt head of his length kissing the plug of your cervix with each steady but strong buck of his hips.

The masked man’s gaze was set of the globes of your arse, how the flesh rippled when his hips met yours, how every time it did so he got a glimpse of your little puckered hole — fuck, he wanted to fuck you there as well. But, he didn’t want to push his luck just yet. The only noises to be heard in Price’s office was skin meeting skin, the sound of your small cries and whimpers of ecstasy. You tried to stay quiet, you really did, but it was rather pathetic — your moans eventually interjecting through the room.

That’s when Price had changed his mind about just watching you. He had been painfully hard the last 15 minutes from having watched you already come on Ghost’s cock, your eyes glassy and lips red raw from biting them as you gripped onto the table for dear life. You didn’t even register him standing in front of you until you heard the sound of metal teeth being zipped open as well as the buckle of his belt.

“Gotta keep you quiet, love.” He excused with a chuckle while sliding his cock between your lips.

You really did have to keep quiet. And though the door was locked anyone walking by would’ve heard you — being fucked by your lieutenant while your captain watched.

You tried to focus on hollowing your cheeks around John’s cock. But you were utterly cock drunk, already feeling another powerful orgasm building in the pit of you abdomen while Simon continued to fuck you. Price had obviously noticed you struggling — as the bastard seemed to notice everything, he’d smugly remind you — so he had gathered your hair, using it to lift your head up as he started to fervently fuck your throat.

If you thought you felt impossibly full then you were beyond stuffed now, your jaw slack as John fucked your face and your pussy stretched almost painfully wide around Simon’s cock.

Ghost let out a prolonged, raspy breath when he felt you squeezing his dick in a vice. And in return, one of his hands left your hips in order to collect both your wrists with his single, calloused palm, pining them to your lower back as he fucked you impossibly harder, his pace quickening a little. His other palm landing a smack to your sore asscheeks — a crack of palm meeting flesh sounding in the office.

“Look at you, eh?” Price spoke, his tone annoyingly steady despite your mouth gliding up and down his cock. “Being fucked by your superiors. What would everyone make of you?” He asked with a gruff chuckle — and obviously you couldn’t answer.

About several moments later you felt yourself tumbling into another fierce climax, all but crying around John’s cock as your abused cunt squeezed Simon pitifully — which rewarded you with another slap to your rear, the skin red raw.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon grunted lowly — that adding to the short list of words he’d actually spoken this whole time.

Your arse hurt, your wrists hurt, your jaw hurt — your fucking pussy hurt — but you didn’t want it to stop, ever.

John pulled his cock out of your mouth, his dick coated in a mix of saliva and precum. His hand still buried in your hair — keeping your head up. Your neck hurt as well.

“Such a good girl.” Price praised as he bent his knees a little to see your face better, a smug smile curling his lips at the tears staining your flushed cheeks. “He makin’ you feel good?” He asks, there’s an edge to his voice.

The Lieutenant — being so full of surprises tonight — pushes his hand under you. The rough pad of his thumb cruelly flicking your clit. Your body seizing forward, a sharp cry escaping your lips while Simon still held your wrists pinned behind you.

When your eyes had widened at the overstimulating sensation, John had mirror your expression — but mockingly. “You like being used like this don’t you?”

You could only moan in response — unable to form a coherent thought let alone sentence.

Price tapped your cheek, your eyes focusing back on his smug face. “Asked you a question, love.” He reminded you. Arsehole.

“Yeah-“ you managed to babble out, your words shaking in tandem with your body, John’s smile curled into a Cheshire Cat grin — his goatee lifting.

“Yeah, you do.” He repeated.

Neither men had lasted much long after that. Price had gone back to fucking your face while Simon was relentlessly pounding into you. Your third orgasm was — quite literally — breath taking, it felt like your skin was on fire, yet numb at the same time. You definitely couldn’t feel your legs. Ghost came first, burying himself all the way to the hilt before spilling hot ropes of come inside of you with a groan — so much that it leaked out of you in a dribble of pearly white, you had let out a pathetic whine when he pulled out — the empty feeling had you quivering around nothing.

Price came a few moments later, filling your mouth with his salty spend before you swallowed it all. It tickled your raw throat.

Ghost had left soon after, not that he was ignorant in checking up on you, but because he knew that wasn’t his place to do so — not yet anyway. He had helped you up from the desk though, soothing his hands up and down your waist before Price took over. He had shared a look with you — his eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t.

@tapioca-marzipan @kanyewestburnbook @darksxder @louve-barnes @emodanoriddler @imonmykneessir @nightingal3-tales @ghost-2513 @fruitymoonbeams-blog

I tagged the ppl who commented on ARDOUR, if your name isn’t in grey then it wouldn’t let me tag you x

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