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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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pebblethestone · 8 months

Text

The Worng Action ³

Vox x Reader /Alastor's sibling

Summary - making a meal for everyone, having a talk with the older deer, what next a TV appears?

Masterlist

One Wrong Action Masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.

Words - 1545

Warrings - swearing, cannibalism, cigarettes and mentions of blood and cannibalism

A/n - uh little later then I thought I would be posting this but it's done, it's not read proofed cause am always too lazy to do that, and I feel asleep before I got the chance to post it lol

─────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────────

Your eyes fall onto all the dishes that you've made for everyone still nice and warm to eat for tea time, making everyone a different dishes to what you think they would like the most.

Well you and Alastor are having venison you made his one just how he likes it, rare as you prefer yours more cooked, even though the both of you are not on the best of terms right now, he still is your older brother. And you wouldn't want to upset everyone by cooking sinners even though that is your special.

Clapping your hands together as you use your magic from some shadows to carry the plates to the dinner table. Watching as they head out the kitchen door. As the last one leaves you follow it.

“Y/n, this looks amazing, and everything looks so good!” you hear Charlie say as she walks with your lip forming into a small smile.

“Thank you, Charlie, would you mind getting everyone? And telling them that the tea is ready,” you say to her as you get to the table the plates get set down and the shadows disappear.

“I don't mind at all Y/n, I can't wait to try your food,” she says as she hurries off to get everyone to the table. Watching everyone come one by one and telling them where to sit so they had the right food.

As everyone is set you take a look at everyone's faces, as it looks like they like the look of their dish

“Well, on you go, have a taste” you say picking up your knife and fork as you start cutting into it.

“Oh, wow- this is so- delicious ” you hear Angle Dust say though eating with his mouth full, a little annoyed he likes it which you're glad about.

“well, Y/n I do dearly miss your food when I used to bring back parts that you wanted after I had killed someone” you hear him say as everyone stops what they are eating and turns their heads to you worried. As you choked on your food a little.

“Ahah don't worry you guys are not eating sinners, I wouldn't do that to you, I don't want to get kicked out of the hotel already, do I?” you say with a glare at Alastor. Pissed that he would mention that your ears were pinned back as the air around you crackles. watching his smile widen.

“well, Y/n I think that everyone is enjoying their food, and I love mine so much” you hear Charlie say seeing her smile as you calm down a little.

After everyone had finished their food they said thank you and how much they had enjoyed it.

“Am very glad that everyone enjoyed their meal I look forward to making more for the future. You all can do whatever you want now” you say as you watch everyone leave the table to go back to their room or to what they were doing before. Getting up from your chair you head to one of the back doors making sure no one's following you.

Opening a door, now standing outside at your back see a bench as you take a set on it a hand going into your pocket and pulling out a small case that holds some cigarettes, as you take one out before lighting it, sighing as you bring it up to your mouth, before hearing footsteps heading towards you.

“There you are little one, you just disappeared,” you hear from behind you, as you panic a little on the inside, you had promised him that you would stop smoking but it's a bad habit you did try, try your best let's just say that.

“Yes, I did need some time to myself Brother” you say calmly. Watching him take a seat next to you.

“Mmm, and I thought I told you to stop smoking, it is a really bad habit. But I guess you never listened to your brother anyway” he says

“And I thought I told you to butt out of my personal life,” you say. Watching as he holds his hand out knowing exactly what it is he wants you to take out the small tin case from your pocket and hand it over to him muttering to yourself as you do so.

“But Y/n I do miss, that gorgeous food of yours. Our mother would be proud” you hear him say from next to you as you are about to reply he's gone, making sigh yet again.

---

It's been about a week since that encounter with Vox, sitting in your room as you make up your bed making sure it was tidy, you loved Niffy but you didn't want her to clean your room. Hearing loud knocking coming from the other side of the door.

“Uh, Y/n you haven't done anything to upset an overlord or something like that have you?” you hear Charlie ask from the other side of the door as you take long steps to the door, swinging it open.

“What?” you ask confused

“Well, uh the TV demon is outside asking for you,” you rolled your eyes hearing about the TV.

“tell him am not here, and I've gone somewhere,” you say to hear as you're about to close the door Vaggie puts her food down to stop it.

“No Y/n you will tell him to leave, we aren't doing that for you,” she says her arms crossed over as she gives you a deadly stare.

“hmm, fine then” you say walking out with them as you walk ahead they follow after you chatting about whatever Vox wants to talk to you about. Getting to the door you see that it's closed you open the door.

“Y/nnn, how are you?” you hear him say as he stuffs flowers into your face, your ears twitching. The smirk on his face, so so annoying always with the charm you guess.

“Vox.... what a present surprise,” you say with a harsh glare as you lift your hand to move the flowers out your face to get a better look at them, a dark blue with an f/c rose sits in the middle surrounded by black roses. Your eyes soften a little but not much to be noticed.

“Well, how about we spend time together like old times?” you hear him say. As you're about to reply.

“How About no” you hear from behind you, of course, Alastor had to intrude, and you turn to face him.

“Alastor I have this handled, you can leave,” you say as he stays standing glaring at the TV his smile seems even forced more than normal. You move forward toward Vox, pushing him a little back as you both stand outside and slam the door closed in Alastor's face. Vox now looking a little concerned as he looks at you.

“I wanted to give these to you,” he says holding up the roses to you, taking the flowers from his hand as you take a closer look at him they ate real roses and no camera in sight. You click your fingers as they disappear.

“Thank you... i. Uh, I think that you should leave, and don't come back. We'll meet next week for our yearly deal and that's it.” you say. You didn't want to hear what he said he looked hurt when you made the rose disappear. You turn your back and open the door walking back into the hotel.

“So are they going out with the TV head?” you hear Angle Dust say on the couch you snap your head towards him.

“What did you. just say?” you say creepily calm your eyes Turning black as you try and relax he only said one thing no need to get over it. Noticed that Alastor had stayed standing at the door.

“Nothing toots, don't get your pants in a twist,” he says, your glare still on him deciding not to reply to the spider.

“Vox is not going to destroy the hotel won't worry, I'll talk to him when I need to. And I'll be heading to my room now” You walk passed them all to head up the steps.

Once you had gotten to your room unlocking the door and locked it again when you got into the room walked past a vase holding the flowers that Vox had given you as you flopped onto your bed.

--Flashback--

Sitting in a quiet little restaurant, a place you found, it was quiet and not a sinner in sight well ones that would cause havoc.

“Y/n! You're here” You hear a surprised voice from behind you.

“Well, why wouldn't I be? It would be rude to decline such a kind offer” you said as he quickly took a set from across you something in his hands.

“Well, uh this is for you,” he says as you move a bunch of black roses towards you. Making you smile you take the flower out of the vase sitting on your table and throw it onto the floor so you could put the roses into it.

“My what a gentleman you are, these are lovely," you say with a smile as you neatly fix the black roses up.

---

Part 4

---

Just leave a comment if you would like to be added to the taglist

Taglist - @hxzbinwrites @22carolina08 @queenlibra134 @decaf-nosebleed @n3tb0t @cyariika @lem0n-eater

#reader #x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel #alastor x sibling reader #alastor x sister reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor

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fandomzwriterk · 3 months

Note

Hey, hello! Can I ask a question about mk? How do the characters treat an extremely lazy reader? Like, extremely lazy, and indifferent to everything in the world?

From the characters, can I have Bi Han, Smoke, and Raiden?

A/n: ohhhh I’m glad you asked

Bi-Han

-> might be the worst out of the three of them

-> actively tries to get you up every day and not (according to him) “sit on your ass everyday while everyone else works hard”

-> might actually try and set up “traps” around base so you’re always on your toes

-> will forcefully pull you out of bed and throw you outside, even if you’re half dressed

-> according to him, every person needs to be ready for an “attack”

-> in this case, you were definitely not ready

-> Will absolutely NOT join you in any “activities” that would be within the realm of “lazy” like laying in bed all day, sharing snacks, or just staying inside all day

-> will get SUPER mad if anyone but him manages to get you outside for the day

-> has beat the shit out of Kuai for it too

-> he secretly would join you any day you decided to not go out, but pressure of being Grandmaster keeps him from doing so

-> will eventually ask you why you don’t want to join him in the Lin Kuei

-> eventually understands it not up to him, but he wants you to be safe

-> as a “joke” he sends initiates to “attack” you to mess with you

-> yes, he’s always watching but never lets himself meddle in whatever you decide to do

-> yes, he will also use you as a “punching bag” even though he swears to “go easy”

-> after he betrays his brothers, he forcefully takes you with him

-> practically keeps you hostage at that point but you don’t mind, it’s not like you’re in the mood to leave him anyways

Smoke

-> very understanding of it and your choices

-> will join you every once in awhile to do whatever you want

-> he never says anything to hurt your feelings even though he thinks you should join him on training

-> often sends Kuai or Harumi to check on you when he’s away

-> low-key wants to teach you his tricks anyways, mostly how to disappear and reappear

-> likes cuddling on a couch or bed or hell anywhere comfortable as long as it’s with you

-> sometimes you two watch a show or movie together

-> he will fall asleep on you or vice versa

-> either way, he doesn’t mind

-> literally sleeps like a cat when he’s around you and when he’s comfortable

-> in many cases, he falls asleep within five feet of you, even when you get up and walk around

-> will not hesitate to beat anyone who’s mean to you though

-> supportive through anything

-> often says “fuck it” to things to spend time with you

-> yes, he even says assassins need breaks

-> when you wake up, he’s definitely passed out with you in his arms much like a cat sleeps on your chest

-> idk why im comparing him to a cat but this is literally a perfect description of how my bf is

Raiden

-> is the one pulling you around with him everywhere you go even if you don’t want to

-> even though you might be lazy, he practices extra hard just to flex to the other men when you’re around

-> like Tomas, he indulges in whatever guilty pleasures you might have

-> much like Bi-Han though, he often pulls “pranks” on you with Kung Lao

-> secretly steals some of your things like snacks when you’re not looking, just because he is too proud to cave into eating them when you’re around

-> much like Tomas, he sends Kung Lao or Liu Kang to check on you when he’s fighting in tournaments

-> knows you won’t come to a lot of them so he often snags anything you have (ex a brooch/medallion/ring) to have it on him when he fights

-> whenever Kung Lao runs his mouth about you, he won’t hesitate to put him in his place

-> very peaceful and loves seeing you fall asleep anywhere so he can place his coat or top on you like a blanket

-> even if you’re not there, he thinks of you and wants to win even more when he does

-> HAS beat the shit outta Johnny for saying you’re lazy and boring

-> his guilty pleasure? Skipping “class” to join you on whatever you want to do

-> has been caught once or twice

A/N: I hope this was good I just went with what seemed in character for each guy… or maybe I’m just super impartial to Smoke cause he’s my fave and he acts so much like my bf (my bf is the oldest of 6)🤣🤣🤣

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johnsgunbelt · 8 months

Note

I am back again.

*rubbing my hands while sending you a sweet sweet ask*

Fem reader that takes Ghost to meet her Family even when they're Hella toxic, always berating her, judging her, making her feel as if she's not good enough.

When they see the behemoth of a man who has her back and won't hesitate to break theirs, they all scatter away with their tails tucked beneath them.

Major satisfaction for both Ghost and his sweet woman.

Please make it angst and have badass boyfriend Ghosty save the day.🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Family Issues - Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort,Angst,Fluff

It was no secret you hated your family. Your sister always tried to hit on every boyfriend you introduced, Your mom was emotionally abusive, and your father? Rarely around.

So when Ghost asked to meet your family you froze up and didn’t know what to say, of course he noticed. He asked why you looked upset and you sat him down on your couch.

“Well listen…My family isn’t uhm, functional and I just don’t think it’ll go the way you're expecting. I have no problem introducing you but you’re not gonna like it.” “Sweetie, trust me I won’t judge you for your family I know how you feel about ‘em.”

You smiled and rubbed your thumb over his hand. “Okay, I’ll call to see what day we can go over.”

You called around an hour later and sat outside on your porch smoking a cigarette. Your mother picked up, “What.” “Hello to you too, listen I have a boyfriend of a couple of years and he wants to meet you guys.” “Whatever, Saturday 5:00 I’ll make dinner.” “Great, love you.” But she hung up on you before she could even hear you say “Love you.” You put out your cigarette and just sighed.

You told Ghost and he marked it on the calendar and the day came before you even knew it. You sighed as you got ready to go over. And he decided to wear his mask but he did dress decently to go over. He waited for you by the front door as he saw you putting on some shoes. He smiled and gave you loads of compliments.

The drive was around 15 minutes and when you knocked on the front door your sister opened it and practically shoved you inside just to get closer to Ghost.

“Hey I’m Samantha, you can call me Sam-” “Ghost. I think I’ll just call you Samantha.” She rolled her eyes and he just walked in and made sure you were okay. He never introduced himself as Ghost unless he wanted to intimidate or he didn’t like the person, you assumed he didn’t like your sister.

You lead him over to the dining room table and sat down next to him

You both waited for your mother to come sit with you guys before you ate and she came in around 2 minutes later with your father and your sister.

“Hm, You must be the unfortunate one. I’m her Mother just call me Teressa though and this is her Father, Michael.” He shook both of their hands. Now mind you they didn’t get a good look at how tall he was or how buff he was. Hell they haven’t seen his face.

“So what unfortunate events lead you to meet my shithole of a daughter?” Your mom asked nonchalantly and you took a deep breath and began to get some food.

“Not unfortunate at all, In fact she’s a catch. Met her at a bookstore.” Your sister scoffed and looked at Ghost and tried to rub up on him and he glared at her.

“A catch? She’s a lazy pile of shit. Nothing special about this one.” Your father spoke up and then you just stood up to excuse yourself to the porch outside. And your sister was still trying to hit on Ghost but he was just not having it.

“You’re all fucking pieces of shit, Samantha has been trying to seduce me since I got here and she’s fucking hideous! You’re a mother, act like it, or don’t even bother trying to reach out at all. And you..How could you talk about your own DAUGHTER like that? You’re a horrible excuse for a father.”

Samantha ran off to her room teary eyed and it seemed like your father stood up to intimidate Ghost but he was 5'9 and Ghost is 6'4 and he stood up after your father. He immediately sat down and just kicked him out as your own mother started to cry as well.

Ghost walked out and found you giggling because you heard him sticking up for you and he took you to the car and drove you both to an ice cream place to calm down after the events that took place.

You were so grateful for him, and he couldn’t live without you. So it’s a win-win situation. You love him and he loves you…Just not your family.

I LOVED MAKING THIS AHHH!! Your requests never fail to impress me:)!

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thebearer · 1 year

Note

when teddys like two or three months you and carl are in a patch of him not being around and he comes home one day and she gives him no reaction or loves, and someone she sees frequently she is gummy smiling at them

oh this would wreck him. like the freezer scene has nothing on what this would do to him.

so the bear is doing really well. like really, really well, but they've got some competition. this new restaurant is moving closer and a little too close. they already tried to take marcus and syd, and carmen is stressed, falling back into his old ways. he feels like in a way he got himself here bc he had a baby and got lazy in a way- distracted, is more like it. as awful as that sounds, that's how he felt.

teddy's about six months and carmen's been at work non-stop. comes home late, if you go to the restaurant he barely has time for you, he's tightly wound and hateful- loses his temper quickly. richie tried to talk to him, tina, too; and he told them the same thing- to mind their own business.

you miss carmen, you do. but when you tell him that, he tells you he's here now- now being when he's practically collapsed in bed beside you.

it's the roughest patch the two of you had ever been through, and carmen doesn't even seem to realize it. until one day. the other restaurant got moved to the other side of the city- something about the building being mysteriously shut down for shoddy wiring (uncle jimmy had nothing to do with it!!)

carmen's feeling good. feeling like he can breathe again.

comes home early and you're surprised. he's happy and excited, but when he goes to teddy, she cries.

that tiny baby cry for you, just a little whine of sorts that she does when a stranger tries to hold her.

a stranger.

"teddy," carmen coos, trying again. "it's daddy, teddy bear."

teddy just turns into your shirt, whimpering and clinging to you. you watch carmen's heart break- the fall of his face, eyes widening into horrified realization.

"i think she's cranky, carm. it's her nap time-"

"she doesn't even know who i am." carmen's tone is hard- hurt.

"no, she's just a little sleepy, carmen. look, teddy, look," you coo, bouncing her lightly to coax her out of your chest. "look, baby, it's daddy."

teddy seemed to recognize the word, eyes lighting but she didn't relate carmen to that. blinking and looking around like she was looking for her dad. carmen's face crumbled, running his hands over his face to keep himself from sobbing in front of you.

you didn't know what to do, how to make it better. "i'm going to smoke." carmen rasped, voice tight with emotion, snatching his cigarettes off the table and going outside.

he called the only person he knew to. richie. breaking down, raw and emotional, begging him for any sort of advice on how to make it better.

"cousin, she's a baby. you got time to fix this. she won't even remember this-"

"-she doesn't even remember me." carmen sniffed hard, knee bouncing as his chest bubbled over with that familiar painful panic. "my own kid doesn't know who the fuck i am. what the fuck richie? what's fuckin' wrong with me. all i ever do is fuck everything up-"

"-hey, cousin, i'm stoppin' you right there, ok? let me be honest with you. this ain't about you, ok?" richie huffed. it was mean and cutting but it was true. "this isn't the time to be feelin' all sorry for yourself and shit, ok? you left your wife alone with that baby and you've been a real jagoff- like i said."

carmen hated it, hated that he was right, hated how he felt.

richie continued. "instead of sittin' in there like an asshole, why don't you go inside, take a few fuckin' days off, and get your shit together."

"cosuin, i-i can't do that-"

"- holy fuck, carmen. ok, let's try it again, alright? go inside. quit being a self loathing jagoff piece of shit, and take a few days off to be with your wife and kid, ok? i got the place for a few days." richie snapped.

"richie, we're booked for the next-"

"-look, do you trust me or not?" richie snapped.

"yeah, yeah, i trust you, c'mon." carmen muttered.

"then i got it, alright? if i need you, i'll call you, but for right now- your family needs you. if this was tiff or eva, i wouldn't even think twice about it. go be with your family, and fix this shit, you dumbass." richie huffed.

carmen took richie's advice. finding you in the bedroom, folding teddy's teeny tiny baby clothes. it made carmen sob. heavy heaving cries and mumbled apologies while he clung to you.

the next four days, carmen wouldn't leave the house. wouldn't leave your side or teddy's. he'd gotten her hesitantly out of the crib, eyes red rimmed when he cooed at her and changed her. she didn't cry this time, even giving him a tiny gummy smile that had him emotional all over again.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto x mom!reader #dad!carmen berzatto #dorothea “teddy” berzatto #dilf!carmen berzatto #richie jerimovich #bearblahs #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto angst

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arabaka · 28 days

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YEAH YEAH YEAH REIGEN SMOKING BAD YEAH YEAH YEAH but.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. reigen arataka x afab! reader. smoking (I don't smoke so don't make fun of me too bad if I got things wrong TT~TT). oral sex (reigen receiving). takes place before reigen meets mob.

Reigen walking up the steps to his apartment with a little more weight than usual.

Maybe this business thing won't pan out after all. Three clients the whole day. Man, my shoulder hurts. I need to smoke.

"I'm homeee." He calls out, though he's unsure if you're there right away because all the lights are off.

"Hereee." You reply with the same lackluster drawl, sprawled on the bed in your underwear and one of Reigen's old shirts. It was your day off and this is exactly how you spent it: lazing around.

It was a great day.

His... Was not. You hear it by the way the couch creaks under his weight as his body crumples to a seat.

"Hey..." You crawl off the bed, standing between his legs while he works on his suit jacket. Cupping his face in your hands, you bring his gaze to yours before asking, "Bad day?"

Nod.

"Want me to make it better?"

Nod.

He hates smoking inside.

Why doesn't he go outside, you ask?

Well...

The end of the cigarette crackles as Reigen draws in a breath and you hear the inevitable tap, tap, tap of the ashes shortly after. He's feeling better, the buzz of nicotine coaxing his brain to a relaxed state.

But what's really relieving his stress is the work you're putting in as you sit on the floor, in-between his legs.

His white shirt is crumpled above his belly button, exposing his happy trail. His belt unbuckled and pants unzipped, you have his cock in your fist and you're rolling your wrist at a lazy pace, but that's what he likes when he's had a long day.

The room is still and quiet; all that exists is you, him, and the smokey haze that drifts out of the room like his negative energy. His eyes, half-lidded, stop staring at the ceiling, instead focusing on you. How he can’t believe he gets to come home to you. How he’s lucky you’ve stuck around. How good you’re making him feel right now. His free hand rests on the top of your head, his hips softly bucking towards your mouth as a silent indicator: Faster.

You listen and listen well. The room is no longer surrounded by silence. You’ve started slurping around his cock, running your mouth up and down the slender shaft. Your head bobs, alternating just how much of his length you take. Sometimes you suck the tip and that really gets him groaning.

Another drag of the cigarette and the second-hand smoke assaults your senses. You close your eyes, starting to swirl your tongue around Reigen’s cock. It’s easy to lose yourself in sucking Reigen off. It feels just as good for you as it does for him.

“Just a little more… Just a little more…” He moans under his breath. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself but it’s hot either way; you start to rub your clit, the bundle of nerves pulsing even harder when his cock throbs in your mouth.

You’re too good for him. He thinks to himself after another puff. “I love you.” Reigen murmurs, watching in adoration as you get him off, working hard because you know he’s had a bad day.

“G-God…” Reigen grunts, head falling back on the couch as his hand leaves you to cover his face. You have him thrusting into your mouth now and you know he’s chasing a high all the cigarettes in the world couldn’t give him.

The cigarette is long put out by the time his body is on top of yours, the residual smoke still lingering in the air as he slots his cock in front of your pussy. Reigen doesn’t last long but you don’t mind. You rub yourself on his leg after he’s finished, sucking on his neck as he glides his fingers along your back.

Reigen’s fingers twitch. He kind of wants to smoke again.

But he wants to make you cum more.

#reigen #reigen arataka #reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen x y/n #reigen arataka x reader #reigen arataka x y/n #reigen arataka x you #reigen smut #reigen arataka smut #mob psycho #mp100 #mp reigen #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #mp100 reigen

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wheels-of-despair · 1 year

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Smoke Break Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Hellfire is holed up in your basement on prom night, but you can't sleep. Might as well drag Eddie outside for a smoke break. Contains: Excessive snoring, giggle fits, smoking, possible monster encounter, Evil Woman taking charge and demanding that I slap a MDNI warning on this baby. (Don't test me, ageless blogs, I'll block you.) Words: 1k

Somebody is snoring way too loud.

You lie awake in your dark basement, trying to remember who's where so you know whose pancakes are getting dropped on the floor in the morning.

Hellfire usually spent prom night in Grant's basement, but now that there was a girl in their midst, his mom decided she didn't want to set a bunch of teenagers loose in an unsupervised environment. So the anti-prom celebration was being held in yours this year. Very kinky stuff: pizza, an unreasonable amount of snack food, Carrie, Prom Night, whatever else was on the cheap horror shelf at Family Video, and a room full of nerdy virgins… plus you and Eddie.

The last movie had ended an hour ago, and everyone who'd made it through decided to crash. You'd snuggled up next to Eddie and slept for what you estimated to be half an hour before someone's loud-ass snores jolted you awake.

And by extension, jolted Eddie awake.

You both laid there silently for a few minutes, nuzzling into each other and hoping to get back to sleep. Every time you got close, another snore would rip through the room. It was comically loud; the kind of snore that should probably be accompanied by a cartoon saw and a log. Eddie must've realized this too, because soon, every snore would send you both shaking in a fit of silent giggles. Giving up on sleep entirely, you decide to pass the time a different way.

"You wanna go out and smoke?" you whisper.

"Yeah," Eddie answers, and you begin untangling yourselves and rising off the floor. You tiptoe through the pile of sleeping nerds until you reach the basement door, then slip out.

It's unusually warm outside, but half the appeal of a late-night smoke break is the cuddling. You sit next to him on the concrete garden wall. He slips his arm around your back once he lights up, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you pass the cigarette back and forth in the light of the full moon.

About halfway through, you start craving something else.

You begin drawing lazy circles on his pajama-covered thigh, slowly working upward.

"Don't do that," he warns, blowing his smoke away from you.

"Don't do what?" you ask innocently, nuzzling your nose into his neck.

"They'll hear us."

"Not if we're quiet." You plant a sweet kiss on his jawline and squeeze the inside of his thigh.

He sighs and stubs out his cigarette in the dirt. You've won. He turns his head for a smoky kiss, which you happily give him.

Once you've got him breathing heavier and kissing you with urgency, you pull away, slithering to the ground between his legs.

But diving right in would be too easy on him.

You pull up his faded Dio shirt and begin trailing soft, sweet kisses down his bare stomach. He begins to moan softly, hands gripping the concrete.

You palm him through his pajama pants, to see if he's ready, and his breath catches. Oh yeah. He's ready. You slip a finger beneath the waistband, and he forgets that he's supposed to be being quiet.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," his stream of consciousness flows between pants.

"Eddie," you hiss, pulling back and looking up at him.

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Do you want this?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Then shut the fuck up."

"Yes ma'am."

In silence, you start over, hiking his shirt back up and working your way back down his stomach with kisses. His breathing is rough, but he is capable of shutting up. You'll have to keep that in mind.

When your trail of kisses reaches the elastic waistband of his pajama pants again, you take the edge between your teeth, pull back, and let it snap on him. He jumps, then fumbles to help you out.

He moans when your mouth closes around him.

You release him and look up with a glare.

"Please," he whines.

You lift a hand to cover his mouth and get back to work, listening to Eddie's muffled moans. When he starts writhing too much, you remove your hand from his mouth and sink your nails into his hips to hold him still.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

And then, he does.

Wiping your mouth and rejoining him on the garden wall, you sit facing him this time. You wrap a leg around his backside, and he slumps into you. You chuckle and hold him, half-flopped over with his head on your shoulder.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He nods sleepily and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Think they heard us?"

"They probably heard YOUR loud ass," you tease, rubbing up and down his back.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"No, you're not," you chuckle, and he buries his face in your neck, knowing you're right.

You sit there quietly for a few minutes, just enjoying the alone time and the sound of crickets.

Then you hear something crunching through the woods in your direction. You both sit bolt upright, scanning the dark tree line in front of you with wide eyes.

"Uh… wannagobackin?" you ask quickly.

"Yup." Eddie jumps up and pulls you toward the basement door. Once inside, you lock both the knob and the deadbolt, then try to find your way back to your little nest without stepping on anyone.

Miraculously, you get there without waking anyone up… or so you thought. Still a little rattled from whatever kind of monster was on its way to eat you a few minutes ago, you cling to Eddie's side and stare into the dark, refusing to close your eyes.

"You okay?" he whispers. You respond by squeezing him tighter. He puts a finger under your chin and draws your face to meet his for a comforting kiss. "How 'bout now?"

"Not quite. Try again." You can feel him smile against you as he obliges.

"How 'bout now?"

"How 'bout you two are fucking gross," Grant grumbles from the spot you'd tried to isolate in the dark some time before.

"What was that, Grant?" Gareth chimes in. "I can't hear you, I had to shove my drumsticks in my ears."

"Come on guys, they're young and in looove," Jeff says in a singsong voice.

"Well, since we don't have to be quiet anymore..." Eddie lays a loud, wet kiss on your lips, and you laugh as everyone else pretends to gag.

Aside from the near-death experience, not a bad way to spend prom night in Hawkins.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #is it a demodog or a deer? who knoooows

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greyskyflowers · 8 months

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We know there's a lot of weird spots that the strawhats have traveled through and I was thinking about what things would be super creepy out on the open water.

And I thought the sea is always moving, right? There's almost always going to be the sound of waves and water, even if it's quiet. There's almost always going to be the sway that comes from being at sea, the smell of salt, the harsh line of the horizon, etc.

But what if there wasn't? What if the water goes silent and the ship goes still? What if the horizon disappears in a night that's too dark to be normal and the moon is the only light but it sits in the sky more like a gaping hole than the usual nighttime companion?

Dark

Quiet

Still

Something where Luffy and Zoro are out on the ship in the middle of the night, the moon too high and too bright but everything much darker than it should be. The water and sky around them is all a wrong sort of black.

Luffy sits ridged on the figurehead and the frown is clear from the lines of his body even though he's facing forward. Zoro standing on the deck right behind him, the muscles of his back drawn tight and he has his hands on his swords. They're both almost swallowed by the dark.

The moonlight cuts across the deck in a harsh, sterile light.

Sanji leans against the mast towards the back, the very edge of his shoes teasing the cut of the moonlight. The red glow of his cigarette lights up his face just enough to see the harsh slant of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. The smoke is white as it leaves him and then gets swallowed by the dark.

Robin off to the side, arms crossed and hip resting against the side of the deck. She looks like stone in the low light, shoulders back and a blank look on her face.

All of them hyper focused on where the horizon should be, but is instead it's just endless, wrong dark.

Everything still and silent. The water doesn't move and there's no breeze.

The world is holding it's breath.

Quiet.

The only sound is their heartbeat in their ears and shallow breathing that's almost soundless. Chopper clings tight to Nami who's pressed side to side with Usopp. Franky and Brook are both on the other side of the room, keeping watch and braving the edges of moonlight that come through the little window. They're motionless, Brook blends into the shadows and leaves only the occasional white bone for the moon to catch. Franky is especially menacing and huge in the near nonexistent light.

They don't go out, terrified of making a noise that would break whatever silence is currently blanketed over them, terrifed that they'd make Luffy and the others lose focus and take their eyes off whatever they're watching or waiting for.

They stay curled up and silent against the wall that separates them from the moon and the night. It's dark inside the cabin but it's softer than whatever is outside. It's almost comforting, like children hoping a blanket keeps away the monsters.

They stay like that all night. When the first splashes of color spill across the hoizon it seems like a blanket has been ripped off. Suddenly air comes easier into their lungs and their muscles relax enough to flex fingers that had been clenched for hours and roll shoulders that had gone tight.

Zoro is back to his normal napping spot of deck, chin already dropping down to his chest and swords laid across his lap.

Luffy is still on the figurehead but he looks like he's humming to himself and looking towards the horizon with ease.

Robin is sitting down on the stairs, tired but relaxed as she leans into the morning breeze.

Sanji is already making his way towards the kitchen with a lazy stroll, the smell of his cigarettes lingers over the ship.

They don't ask.

Chopper scampers over to Zoro and carefully nudges the swords aside enough that he can climb onto his lap. He finally relaxes as Zoro wraps an arm around him, he's in one of the safest places on the ship.

Nami lets Sanji flutter around her longer than normal, sitting beside Robin who also seems content to indulge their cook a little extra today.

Usopp tails Franky, being careful on where he looks even though he knows there's no risk of him seeing anything terrible anymore. Franky asks something and Usopp launches into a story, eyes brightening up and a smile back on his face.

Brook goes to sit near Luffy and starts to play something warm and welcoming to greet the day.

It never happens again, at least not like it had that night.

Sometimes Luffy or Zoro seem to stare off at the horizon with a sharp intensity, but it breaks quickly.

Sometimes Sanji stands on the deck and smokes until there's a pile of ash at his feet, brow furrowed as he looks out over the water until he seems to blink and break himself out of it.

Sometimes Robin sits on the deck and wears the face she make when she's working on a puzzle, going though everything she knows and trying to make everything fit together.

That endless dark and haunting moon never reappear though. The dark only brings stars and the moon glows like a warm candle.

#idk what this is #i just wanted something creepy and this popped into my head #one piece #luffy #zoro #sanji #nami #usopp #tony tony chopper #brook one piece #franky #nico robin #strawhat #mugiwara crew #straw hat pirates #au idea?#setting sail with greyskyflowers

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klipkillakai · 9 months

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imagine~

18+ minor dni! ageless accounts will be blocked with a quickness 🩷🪽

smut/black!fem reader/ plug!könig/ pnv nd some other stuff but nun too crazy

okay but imagine..

your on your phone scrolling through insta and you get a text from your plug

-kö 🌀❕

-ma i got some new stuff i think you’ll like want me to pull up?

‘you softly smile at the next nd think about it, and realize you running low so you reply’

-yea, pull up

-bet, i’m getting gas rq u want sumn?

-yea get me the purple skittles 😌

-aii

‘you click out the messages and get up, quickly washing your face and going to your vanity to do a lil makeup, it’s not cause you like him or nun (🤭) it’s cause you wanna look.. presentable’ (riiight)—

‘while your putting on your lipgloss you get a text “i’m outside” and you hop up and put on your cute pink slippers and not even bothering to take your bonnet off because it looks cute anyway, you grab your water bottle and you walk out your apartment and out to the parking lot and you see könig’s matte black hellcat parked, you walk up nd tap on the window and he unlocks the door and you slip in’

“hey” you smile softly

“hey mama” he says in a soft raspy voice and he looks up from his phone lazily throwing it in the cupholder and looking at you and your belly tingles when he looks at you with those tired eyes, he reaches in the back and grabs a bag will all the stuff in it and he opens it and you take it upon yourself to connect your phone to the bluetooth and play some music, brent fiyaz to be exact (🤭)

“aii so i got some new cart flavors for you, nd these new edibles i think you’ll like”

“ooh show me the cart, my shit has been tweaking lately”

he hands it to you and it’s a pink bat wit hello kitty printed all over it like stickers and a fresh new cart already loaded up— he clears his throat a bit

“i know you like that hello kitty shit” he says nonchalantly but inside he feels all warmed up nd shit because of that pretty smile on your face

“aww this is so cute.. thank you kö” you lean towards him a press a small kiss to his cheek, something you always do, könig always looks out for you so it’s a way to show your appreciation— once you pull away you and könig have a moment when you both stare into each other eyes and you watch as his eyes lowers to your lips for a second before snapping back up to your eyes, könig slightly leans in before licking his lips and pulling away— “let’s smoke a lil bit”

“mhm” you hum, trying not to show that you definitely wanted him to kiss you, but your deciding to chill a bit, play it cool..

a little while late you and him are smacked and y’all are jus talking and listening to the music, jus like you always do, but today something up his lowered red eyes is driving you crazy, and the lazy slumped smile on his lips is making you wanna crawl over the seat and do sumn—

“i can’t believe you’ve never had a boyfriend y/n”

“why? i mean like in highschool i was a little awkward” you say slightly embrassed, he rolls his eyes a bit

“nah i would’ve fucked wit you” you smack your teeth

“why you lying.. i hate when people lie” you say referencing rollie and slightly laughing at that

“nah i swear” “he says moving a lil closer to you with a slight smile on his face”

“it’s those eyes mama, you got pretty eyes” he whispers as he leans in even more and so do you

“yea?” you whisper “yea” he whispers back before capturing your lips in a soft kiss, pausing and kissing you again, longer this time, is hand grabbing your jaw and kissing you deeply, your breathing gets a bit heavier and he softly bites your lip pulling away for a sec “so fucking pretty baby” and kissing you again—

the rnb melodie’s playing in the background setting the mood and the soft rain hitting the car, he slides his other hand down to your waist and pulls you over the console and sets you in his lap, he sits up a bit and grabs your waist with both hands as he kisses down your jaw, groaning at your sweet smell and shuddering when he feels your hands slip up into his hair at the nape of his neck and scratching softly with your acrylics—

you let out a soft moan and you feel his tongue run over the spot he was sucking on before he pulls back a bit and unzips your pink sweater— “i’ve wanted to do this for so long baby” he kisses your chest right above your pretty nipples “i think about you all the time pretty girl, your pretty fucking smile” he sucks on your nipple— “these pretty titties” he says slightly muffled and continues to suck and tease them and all you can do is whimper and take it, you roll your hips and you moan when you feel his hard dick “you see what you do to me ma? huh.. it’s all for you, you know that? hm?” he says kissing you again and tugging down your shorts”

“i’m- i’m a virgin.” you say and he soft looks up at you

“we can stop anytime you want- you cut him off “but i want you to be my first” you look down at him with trust and he smiles and kisses your lips “not in here baby, ion want your first time in my car, let’s go upstairs”

you quickly get upstairs and könig picks you up and carries you to your room and he sets you down hovering over you, he goes down your body pressing soft kisses before he presses a soft kiss under your belly button, with a hello kitty charm dangling from it “i like that” he whispers and he tugged your shorts down and places your legs in his shoulders.. “so fucking wet baby, all this fa me? hm?” he presses soft sloppy kisses all over your pussy and clit, he sucks on it softly, spreading it with his two fingers and holding your thigh back with his large hand—

“k-kö fuck.. pa~ i can’t” you shudder not knowing what to say, this overstimulation is new to you and you feel the pressure building up in your stomach already, just like when you touch yourself alone

“don’t worry baby ” he whispers looking up at you as he slips two fingers into your sopping cunt and your back arches, you let out a pornographic moan and you twitch softly as his fingers begin pounding into it, it starting to feel sore you reach down and rub your clit and you bite your lip

“pa i’m gonna cum” you whine and kisses your inner thigh “you can cum baby, i wasn’t gonna let you leave with only one anyways” you moan and when the pressure reaches its peak you clench around his fingers and he groans, watching you shudder and moan as your thighs twitch, his thumb brushes over your clit and your legs shut automatically from the sensitivity and he slaps your thigh and spreads them open “nah baby, i’m not done”—

he sits up and unbuttons his jeans not even bothering to pull them all the way off and reaches behind him and tugs off his shirt revealing the array of tattoos on his chest and torso, he palms the large bulge in his boxers and squeezes it before pulling it out, you shudder when you look at the heavy thick cock, this tip such a pretty pink and glossy from precum, he jerks it softly and pulls you closer to him and he taps his cock on your clit and places it on top, showing how far it’ll reach when inside—

“it’s not gonna fit” you whine and he spits on your clit “imma go slow alr?” you nod and he rubs his cock yo and down your folds before softly putting his tip in, you whimper and he pulls out before going back in a little deeper this time, you repeat this process until it’s all the way in and your squirming

“fuck ma” he shudders and looks down at your stretched out pussy and spits on it before slowly rolling his hips in and out of you and slowly picking up his pace, your back arches and you look up at him while he looks back making direct eye contact, he leans forward and kisses you while giving you slow deep strokes and your currently trying to fight off letting this man to give you a baby, he draws back a bit and he speeds up looking at you for conformation and he begins pounding into you, you mouth slightly opens and you feel that pressure start to build up again, it starts to feel too fast and too much and you place your hand on his belly “pa~” you whine and he moves your hand away “nah mama take this shit” you softly whimper and he leans forward as whispers your ear as he pounds into you “you can’t take it? huh? it hurts.. hm? i’m too big for your pretty pussy? i don’t care” he says with a soft shudder after you clench around him, he presses wet kisses on your jaw and neck “look at you.. all fucked out.. eyes rolling back nd shi.. that feel good baby? he says as he goes back to the slow deep strokes.. “words mama” he says as he grabs your jaw and presses kisses to your lips “mhm.. y-yes” it’s all you can’t say.. it feels to good and your so lost in the pleasure—

he pulls back again and wraps your legs around his waist and he holds down your torso and pounds into you and you begin to let out lound moans and broken sobs .. the euphoric feeling starting to be too much, the pressure being to much and you feel tears rolling down your cheeks—

“fuck- fuck- fuck” you sob “i’m gonna cum_ i’m gonna cum fuck haa~” you whine and he speeds up

“there we go.. let it out pretty girl, let it all out, cum all over this dick baby” he leans down and kisses you sloppily and his eyes roll back and he grunts.. putting he head in the crook of your neck feeling himself boutta cum too, he thrusts he sloppy and rolls into you and you feel yourself release and soon after he lets out a loud moan and cums inside of you.. and sloppily fucking it inside you— “fuck” you whimper “damn” he grunts and you both let out a lust drunk sigh, he sits up and slowly pulls his dick out while staring at it, he bites his lip a bit and gets up grabbing his shirt and wiping off some of the cum pin your pussy, you flinch a bit from the sensitivity and you softly smile—

he finishes and he climbs back up the bed and kisses your head-

“i’m get you some plan b tmmr so don’t worry about it” you snuggle closer to him and smiles

yea cs fuck them kids “you both laugh and he laughs wraps his arms around you kissing you one last time before y’all fall asleep”

| a/n |

y’all 😁 did i eat??? orrrr i think i chewed a bit, i’ve been realized how hard it was to write smut, so i have a much bigger appreciation for all the fic writers nd smut writers ily!! but it’s my first time ever writing smut and y’all it wore me out 😩 but i was giggling the whole time! anyways! hope y’all liked it ❕😌🪽

peace ✌🏾.

#könig x black reader #black reader smut #konig x black reader #könig smut #könig x you #plug!könig smut #smut #cod smut #black fem reader

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hunnysnoops · 6 months

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˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Two: Favour

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I used to think about myself like I was a talented liar.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: You’ve been avoiding Kyle like the plague but when tragedy strikes the track team, you find yourself needing to ask him for a favour. You know what you have to do but you don’t want to do it.

Warnings: Vulgar language+humour / underage smoking / injury

MASTERLIST

The weather had gone straight back to shit just like you predicted. You prayed that track practice would be cancelled due to the roaring sky overhead but god ignored you, turning a blind eye and offering nothing more than your coach nagging at you.

Rain wasn't any nicer to run in than overbearing and dry heat, it made you feel like a wet dog every time you had to wring your hair out or shake the droplets off your skin. It was no light sprinkle, the rain pounded down on the ground like bullets. It was so heavy that it felt like pebbles, it wasn't often that it rained in Colorado due to high altitudes but when it did, it came down hard and unwavering.

You had thought it to be a little dangerous running on turf in this weather but coach Dawsey blatantly denied any objections, sending you for another loop around the track the second you had a complaint. You were just glad that you didn't have soccer that day and wouldn't be going home covered head-to-toe in mud.

"What?" Tolkien asks you, it had been a little difficult to hear with his own breathing and the sound of rain on turf while the two of you were running cool-down laps around the outside of the track, it’s not like you needed them with the way you were freezing in the run. It was like coach Dawsey wanted the entire team to get sick, what was supposed to be a cool-down lap was working better to keep you warm.

"I said what time is it?" You repeat your question, using the heel of your palm to wipe your eyes. Each breath, huffing in droplets of rain where they rested on your lips.

"I dunno," He shrugs, "I left my watch in my bag," Everyone had either left their bags in their lockers or cars or like you, had been too lazy to do either and took the menacing odds of putting it under the bleachers and praying that whatever was inside wouldn't face water damage.

You let out a groan, at this point, you couldn't even feel your legs, they had gone numb beneath you. The sky above you was grey, it was only 4:30 in June but it looked like angry clouds had swallowed up the sun. "If the purge ever becomes legal, I'm headed straight for Dawsey." At your words, both you and Tolkien glance to where the pot-bellied coach is, timing the unfortunate guys doing hurdles, over and over again. He really had a way of actively pinning teammates against one another.

"Poor Adam," Tolkien says between heavy breaths. His tee shirt and basketball shorts are plastered against his ebony skin, you aren't much better off; your hair had been weighed down so heavily with water that it kept slipping from what you had tied it up in, so you gave up all hope and let it down to stick on your neck, flyaway hairs glued around your face to frame it. You were far from the point of caring about what you looked like, the only thing on your mind was going home and getting dried off.

"I would feel bad for him if he wasn't so whiney," On the other side of the track, Adam, a brunette guy in your grade, was extremely muscular for such a lean guy, the perfect build for track. You could've sworn that his parents had put him on steroids as a kid with how defined his muscles were, you had been on the track team with him and Tolkien for six years now.

Adam wasn't the friendliest but he was fast, so you didn't mind his shortness of conversation as long as he brought another medal to the trophy case. He is clearing the hurdles in comparison to the rest of the guys in the same heat, he made them look like paralyzed turtles.

Tolkien shrugs "Yeah but we need him to win the relay," The two of you ran past the long jump team, each and every one of them is covered in sand without fail. All of them look uncomfortable, sending you knowing glances. It was an understanding that all of you wanted to drown Coach Dawsey in the steeple chase pit.

You had been wearing Tolkien's hoodie since the rain started, it was definitely slowing you down with the extra weight it had while wet but you preferred to be slower than usual as opposed to having your white tee shirt turn translucent under the rainfall. You tended to stick together during track practice since you were on the mixed relay team together, you also liked to think that you were considered friends; not just because you ran at similar paces but because he enjoyed your company.

Disregarding Tolkien's last statement, you push some hair away from your face "I should've skipped with Red." Red was the fourth person on the mixed relay team, making up for a pretty solid roster though you tended to skip practice when she felt like it.

"I was going to but you begged me to not leave you alone."

"Because I'm not a bum who signs up for extracurriculars and skips them, don't tell her I said that," You retort "I'm trying to be a good influence." You were nearing where the hurdles were set up and Dawsey blew his whistle repeatedly, before flailing his arms rapidly and singling out one boy for having a quarter centimetre of his toe over the starting line.

"If you're trying to be a good influence maybe stop smoking your body weight in cigarettes and weed."

You narrow your eyes, giving him a firm chop in the side of his midriff. His eyes go wide and he stops in his tracks to fold over, one hand clutching where you hit him, the other supporting him on his knee to keep him standing up. "Oh my god," You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to smother a laugh “I did not mean to hit you that hard."

"Nah, you're fine, I just need a second to catch my breath," He takes a deep exhale, waving you off. You stop next to him, standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do so you just wait for him to keep moving.

"Hey!" A gruff voice calls out, travelling over the tumping rain "Is he dying?"

"No," You answer for Tolkien "He's good."

"Then get back to running!" The balding man screeched, you were surprised that the adhesive of his toupe hadn't fallen loose under the drizzle.

"Fuck you, porky," You say hooking one arm under Tolkiens to try and get the lanky boy to stand back up straight.

"What was that?" Coach narrows his eyes at you.

"I said 'I'm on it'!" You yell back, lies seeping through the gaps of your teeth. Tolkien shrugs your arm away from him, giving you a quick thumbs up before he carries on with his quick-paced steps, albeit breathing a little heavier. You were sure that Dawsey had to be putting you through some form of child abuse. "What a dickhead," You mutter to Tolkien, eyes still trained on where Dawsey focuses all of his attention on Adam.

"I'm surprised you're not used to him by now," He says "Then again you're not the most tolerant person."

"I'm totally tolerant, I love gay people."

Whatever remark Tolkien was about to say was quickly forgotten when all eyes fell on Adam. The brunette boy's heel had skidded and slipped as he jumped a hurdle, he threw his other leg out to try to catch himself. Instead of landing on the flat of his foot, his heel rolled and he was quickly sent backwards onto another boy, Emmet, Adam's calf bending in unnatural ways against the turf.

Then came the inevitable snap like a plastic ruler, the bone in his calf had broken completely in half. The impact of the stumble caused the ivory to poke through the muscle and fat of his leg. He lay on the wet surface of the track with a sickening cry, Emmet pinned beneath him screaming out in pain. Two up-and-coming track stars down in the span of thirty seconds.

"Adam!" Coach Dawsey sprinted faster than he did to the fridge toward Adam, crumbling to his knees. While the coach was focused on Adam, you were terrified for Emmet. Adam's elbow went straight into his ribs when he tumbled back into him. Emmet was frantically trying to push Adam off of him, which was no easy feat since his entire body was muscle.

"Fuck!" Emmet finally scrambles out from behind him, keeling over and clutching his torso. Everyone gathers around to watch the mortifying scene, both you and Tolkien stand at a loss for words.

"It'll be okay Adam," Dawsey sounds like he's being brought to tears, if there are any, they're washed away by the rain. He peals off his 'South Park Athletics' baseball cap like he's paying respects to a dead person, the front of his toupe comes up when he raises the hat, unknowingly exposing the peak of his shiny bald head. "We're going to get through this."

Coach tries to brush away some of the hair that had fallen onto Adam's face but the boy quickly slaps his hand away "Don't fucking touch me!" He spits "Someone call an ambulance!" Next to you, Tolkien gags at the sight of the mangled leg and split skin.

"You heard him," Coach Dawsey rises to his feet, trying to ignore the fact that his star runner's bone was sticking out of his leg in a mangled mess "Call an ambulance!" He yells, accusatorily at the group of teenagers in a circle surrounding him.

"You're the only one with a phone on you, dumb cunt!" You call out from the back of a crowd to be sure he wouldn't scope out it was you who said it.

He feels around in his pockets and surely, you're right. He made everyone leave their phones in their bags during the duration of practice. He quickly dials 911, while the line rings he looks at the crowd with furrowed eyebrows "Whoever said that, reveal yourself."

Everyone stays silent until an operator picks up on the other end.

After Chrissy drove Emmet to the hospital and Adam was rolled away into the safety of an overpriced ambulance, something else was worrying your mind now that their health was guaranteed- who was going to replace them?

"Tolkien, I have a proposition," You had taken an unnerving b-line away from Heidi and found yourself at Tolkien's table where he sat with the rest of his friends, you were already drowning in axe body spray and aftershave but you needed an impromptu meeting, dragging Red to come with you so you didn't have to face all of that testosterone alone. "Come over here," You swiftly gesture for him to come sit at a vacant table with you and Rebecca.

You spent the entire night wide awake on caffeine pills, trying to figure out who to sub in for Adam. The mixed relay team before he got injured was perfect down to every minute detail, now you were short of your fastest runner, leaving you, Tolkien, and Rebecca to fumble around for a replacement since the coach was mourning the loss of his shooting star, who was indefinitely out for at least six months. It didn't help that Adam had taken Emmet down in the process, now you were missing two great assets.

Tolkien looks back at his friends who watch him with confused and unwavering stares before pushing himself away from the table with a sigh. Leaving his lunch tray behind, he slips into the empty table next to Red and across from you. "Yeah?"

"I need you to ask Kyle to join the track team," You say, though it was difficult enough to humble yourself down into admitting you needed Kyle. He ran faster and more consistently than almost every sprinter on the team, you had plenty of girls to sub in for you and Red though with Adam dragging his sub out with him, you were left with no replacement aside from Spencer Hollis who was the other alternate and opted to go on a road trip with his friends and come back only for exams so he was out of the question with the track meet in two weeks.l

"Kyle?" Red furrows her eyebrows, tone suddenly switching "That's your solution? He's not even on the team."

"He's really fast though," You begin to plead "I've known him forever and trust me, he is one speedy little fucker, I swear on my life."

"Not swearing on much," Red shrugs.

"Why am I asking him?" Tolkien asks.

"Because you're friends with him," You were on the verge of pulling out the list of pros and cons of having Kyle on the team you had spent Thursday night making. "Guys, I begged the coach to let this slide and it was really embarrassing so can you please ask him? He said that he'll let Kyle join if he comes to the next practice and does well."

"You're at his house all the time, just ask him tonight," Red was nowhere near as invested as you were, hence why she skipped track all of the time. She wasn't worried about getting slow or lazy, she counted Coach Jackson's soccer practices towards track and ultimately figured she didn't need both to stay fit. Red always sent you to track practice with excuses for why she couldn't make it.

"Why are you at his house all of the time if you hate him so much?" Tolkien sits still, trying to piece together any sense. When you were frantically texting him the night of Adams's stumble, he suggested putting Scott in his place. In your not-so-humble opinion, Scott was way too slow for the 4x100 relay. You scribbled around in your notebook, trying to work out his run times which you meticulously memorised and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't work no matter where you placed him in the relay.

"Because their parents are swingers," She says this with such ease, made sense with how much she teased you about it. You would've complained if you didn't poke fun at her for worse.

"They are not swingers," You address "They are just good friends that hang out a lot and in turn, I have to hang out with Kyle a lot."

Red and Tolkien cast one another a side glance before Red turns her attention back to you. "Do they 'hang out' a lot without you guys around?" She softens her tone in a somewhat condescending way, the same way you would talk down to a child.

"They're not swingers," You emphasize, choosing to ignore the insinuations of you and Kyle which almost made you gag. "Please, Tolkien, we need this but don't tell him I said that."

"It's not really a proposition if you're just asking me to do something for you," He points out.

"It totally is, it's a plan of action," You say "Action which we need to take so we don't lose or get disqualified," There had been rumours of college scouts attending the track meet and you were in desperate need of getting a scholarship if you didn't want to be in student debt until the day they buried your cold body.

"Just put Scott in," Red suggests and you give her nothing more than a cold glare.

"Next person who says that is getting anonymously cyberbullied for the next year," You say, pointedly at the two of them before running your hands down your face, nearing defeat "Why did it have to rain?"

"Maybe it was divine intervention," Red says, nonchalantly "I think Dawsey wanted to sleep with Adam or something and that was god saving him from getting molested by a divorced PE teacher."

"He's weird but I don't think he's a pedophile or anything."

"You two are as fast as him and he doesn't give a shit about you," Red points out, one eyebrow raising slightly "Really think about it." Your mind began to wander to the way Dawsey always had a hand on Adam's back, how he always put him in the most ideal lane, and how he almost cartoonishly sprinted to his rescue when hit leg split.

"Maybe you're right." From the look on his face, you can tell Tolkien is calling back moments of Dawsey being a little too touchy with Adam.

"Or maybe coach just likes him more because he's a straight white guy and I can safely say the three of us are not," You draw the pair's attention back to you "Point is, he's out, Emmets out, Spencer's out, Scott is not even in question and we need Kyle."

"You need him?" A small smile begins to play on Red's face. In the past couple of years, Red had taken to a more grunge type of style, causing her to look like Kurt Cobain's lost daughter who fell into a vat of bright red hair dye, which was currently growing out, exposing her dark roots.

"Nuh-uh," You say almost instinctively, absentmindedly folding your arms. "I didn't say I need him I said we need him, like collectively because we're totally pwned if we don't coerse Kyle onto the team."

"And we're one hundred percent sure Emmet can't run?" Tolkien asks "I thought he just got hit in the stomach."

"I asked him about it and he told me cracked his ribs and it hurts to breathe or something, I dunno but it's super fucking gay." Your eyes shift to Red "Not in a derogatory way but in a lame-

"Yeah, we know," Tolkien stops you in your tracks.

"What a pussy," Red says, she isn't really tuned in, she's moved on to watching street fights online while partially listening to the conversation "It always hurts you to breathe and you're still running."

"That's what I said," You exasperate.

"It really shouldn't hurt to breathe," Tolkien says "Might be a little on the nose but you really need to stop smoking."

Red disregards this completely, "Ask Kyle next period or Tolkien could just text him." looking up from her phone to you "Or 1 could just text him." You and Kyle had texted each other a total of six times, this was no exaggeration, it was exactly six times.

Oct 11th, 2020

Kyle Broflovski: Is Ike at your house?

You: Ya

July 21st, 2023

You: Do you know where Kenny is?

Kyle Broflovski: No

Kyle Broflovski: I thought he was with you

You: K he's not

"I can't ask him, I can't even breathe around him without gagging," You complain "Because authentic gingers have this really specific and pungent smell, like every single one, without fail."

Tolkien eyebrows are raised, wrinkles forming on his forehead "That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"What does a ginger smell like?" Red put her phone face down on the table, suddenly intrigued.

"It's stagnant and a little musty, not like body odour musty but more like an old second-hand bookstore that has mildew and black mold-

"I can't help but feel like we got off topic here," Tolkien abruptly cuts you off again for the second time that day "So can we just agree on Kyle so I can eat my lunch?" At this, you and Red nod, with no sense of disagreement "Okay, cool," The very second Tolkien stands up from the table, the bell begins to shriek, signalling the end of lunch hour. He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking woefully at his unfinished tray of food.

You had been entirely too stiff when Biology class rolled around, more aware of Kyle's presence than usual. Fate, or perhaps the whims of the teacher, had decreed that you would be seatmates for the remainder of the semester. However, there was no friendship to be found between you, only a simmering animosity that hung in the air like static before a storm.

As the teacher droned on about cell structures and molecular biology, you and Kyle remained steadfast in their resolve to ignore each other's presence. You exchanged no words, no glances, only the occasional rustle of papers or the tap of a pencil against a desk.

Despite your mutual disdain, there was an unspoken understanding between you – a silent agreement to coexist in the same space without acknowledging each other's existence. And so, you buried yourself in their work, diving into the intricacies of biology as if it were a shield against the discomfort of your shared proximity.

You knew what you were supposed to do, but that didn't make it any easier for you to swallow your pride and ask Kyle for a favour. It was hard enough to admit to yourself that you needed him if you wanted to win the mixed relay which you had spent the entire year anticipating. With a deep breath, you replay how you'll ask him over and over again, being sure that you don't sound desperate.

"Kyle, have you ever thought about joining the track-

"Nope," He answers before you can even finish your sentence. Kyle doesn't even look up from his work as he says this, leaving you to stare at the side of his hooked nose before quickly looking down at your paper.

"Okay," you mutter under your breath, you were so quiet that you weren't sure he even heard you. The minutes ticked by, marked only by the rhythmic scratching of pens and the occasional sigh of frustration, you fell back to silence and didn't press him any further.

"I did everything I could," You greatly over-exaggerate the eleven words you had shared with Kyle in biology like you had gone to war asking him to join the team, in your mind, you had. Now you were picking at a basket of curly fries in a diner where you complained about your excruciating dilemma to your Bebe.

"Everything?" Bebe quirks an eyebrow, taking a sip of her cherry coke, glossed lips pressing around the red and white straw. When she lifts them, there's a sticky residue of glitter on the straw "What does this entail?"

"It entails Kyle being a dickhead."

"Yeah, I'm sure," She says, not an ounce of belief in her voice. She leaned back in the red leather booth. Bebe looks beyond beat (for her standards), she haphazardly tied her curly hair into two twin braids, mismatched elastics. She had been wearing nothing more than sweatpants and a tank top when you left her house, forcing you to surrender your hoodie to keep goosebumps away from her bare arms. "Should we go to Clyde's later?"

"Why would we go to Clyde's? It's almost ten," You furrow your eyebrows "I don't really wanna spend my Friday night third wheeling."

"You won't be third wheeling, it's not like we're dating or anything-

"Yeah, but it's worse to third-wheel two horny people who aren't even dating," You had a gut feeling that any day now Clyde and Bebe would become official, Stan was now taking Wendy's time back up, Nichole and Tolkien seeing each other on the low, and you were suspicious of Red and Heidi, now Bebe was going for her elementary spark. All of your friends were abruptly falling in love and no one gave you the memo, leaving you in the dust.

"So what better things did you have planned?" She steals a fry away from you, dragging it through the ketchup.

You shrug "Get high and look at pictures of Snoopy."

"That's more of a thing you do with Red," Bebe said. Despite the statement itself being true, you could tell she was trying to deviate from you to go see her new fling.

"So you're tyna ditch me now to go hang out with Clyde?" You fall short of the amusement that Bebe's trying to portray.

"What? no," She says this like your statement was incredulous "I'm just saying that you would have more fun smoking with Rebecca."

"And you'd have more fun banging Clyde?" You weren't sure if it had been the nagging feeling that all of your friends were leaving you in the dust and making time for better things or the fact that this wouldn't be the first time Bebe cancelled your plans to hang out with someone else but something about this conversation was irking you.

Her face drops "Why are you being a dick?"

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

She wouldn't admit to it but it was true. Not that Bebe necessarily had strife with you, more so she tended to fall on the fickle side of things and being around you so much had put her into a rut. "I'm not," Bebe wrangles her mind to sedate this before it blows up "Sorry, can we please just drop this?”

Silence stretches between the two of you, if it weren't for the chatter of other customers and light buzzing of decrepit ceiling lights, it would've been utter stillness. Her icy blue eyes were peering into your soul, your hoodie hanging limp off her narrow shoulders.

You didn't necessarily want to leave it alone, you weren't one to lie down rather than win an argument but today your internal chemistry had been tweaked; for a moment you thought about letting it go, being rational and not provoking, which was so hard since it was what you were so good at. "No," You answer "I don't think we should drop it."

You can see the look of annoyance creep up on Bebe's face "Why?"

"It's better to talk about it-

"This always happens though," Bebe begins "I say something, you say something, and then we don't talk for a month so I don't think it's better to talk about it."

"Maybe there's a reason we fight all the time," you point out. There were at least one hundred reasons why you and Bebe fought all the time, mainly because the two of you fed into each other's agitation, putting the two of you together was like leaving a lit candle in the woods.

"I'm not here to psychoanalyze this, let's just go and get stoned." She pulls the final trick from her sleeve, pot to put this to sleep.

Bebe was the match to your kindling, the fuel to your fire and that's why you had been so off and on with her since middle school, you were like that annoying couple who kept breaking up and then exhausting everyone by getting back together.

As much as you want to argue until your throat turns dry as sandpaper from yelling, you also want to get high and laugh until your lungs burn. "Sure, okay."

It goes quiet for another minute. Followed by another and another until you both accept that there's nothing more to say, you pay the bill and begin the trek back to your car. While the rain had subsided it was as cold as ever, always an unwelcomed familiarity that came with living in South Park. Even with summer inevitably approaching, the nights were still frigid after rainfall almost to the point where you could see your breath.

Bebe had stolen your hoodie and left you shivering on the walk to your car. The diner parking was something outrageously complicated where you had to download an app and pay online, to which you were lazy and in being lazy, parked far away in a faraway spot. This had taken far more time to find the spot, park, and walk to the diner than it would've been to get an app and pay the three dollars.

You had clutched the pink bottle of pepper spray that was hooked onto your carabiner tightly in your hand, never too sure of who would try to get one on you while you found your way through the dark streets.

Finally, after what seemed like a century of stumbling blindly through darkness, you made it to your car, parked in front of a locksmith. The street lamps were dim, you supposed it was nice that you didn't have light pollution in town but you hadn't even noticed the oddity on your car until Bebe pointed it out.

"What's that?" She squints her eyes before turning on her phone flash to inspect.

There it was, unmistakable in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp: a bright yellow clamp securing your car's front wheel. "Oh no, no, no!" Your exclamation cut through the eery quiet of the night "Fuck!"

"Oh, shit," Bebe mutters, immediately beginning to rapidly type on her phone, the blue light illuminating her tanned face, you heat the loud ding of a notfication.

Your hands find their way to grip your hair "What the fuck!?" You shout, louder than intended, your voice echoing off the surrounding buildings, the emptiness of the night amplifying your distress. "I don't have any unpaid parking tickets, what the fuck?" You repeat, mind running wild with how your parents would react. Your phone had died a little over a half hour ago so you were choosing to use that as an excuse to delay telling your parents.

"Look, you parked in a bike lane," She gestures out. Surely enough Bebe was right, you had and you were also inexplicably screwed over.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You knew Bebe wasn't to blame for your car being immobilized but a million thoughts were tangling into a jumbled mess inside of your head.

"I didn't see either," She looks up from her phone to where you frantically pace the sidewalk "Not my fault you parked in a fucking bike lane and didn't notice."

Your eye catches a slip of paper wedged into your window shield and immediately you reach for it.

This notice is to inform you that your vehicle has been clamped due to a violation of parking regulations or outstanding fines. The clamp has been securely attached to your vehicle's wheel, rendering it immobile. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MOVE THE VEHICLE OR REMOVE THE CLAMP.

Reason for Clamping: [illegal parking]

Location of Clamping: [Maplewood Street, v2ah60]

For instructions on release please dial +15392848788

Thank you for your cooperation.

You wave the notice around "Bebe take a picture of this, my phone died and I need the number," To this, she just stares at you blankly "Please!?" You insinuate. Panic is etched clearly across your features.

"Jesus, just relax," The irritation is obvious in her voice as takes a picture with a blinding flash not just of the slip of paper but of you holding the notice, eyes squinting from the sudden bright light and hair messy from nearly ripping it out due to stress. She looks at the picture she took and giggles.

"Fuck off, can you be serious right now?" You're too busy thinking of all the ways your dad will execute you rather than the harsh tone you were using with your friend. He didn't speak to you for a week when he found out you were on birth control, you couldn't imagine what he would do when he found out that you had a fine.

"Sorry?" She sounds like she's actually taken offence to your words. "I'm trying not to be stressed since you're two minutes away from tearing your hair out."

"Because you don't have to worry about your dad turning you into taxidermy," To others, this may have sounded ridiculous but you had no doubt in your mind that your father would take such extremities. "Can you please be mature about this?"

Bebe's eyes widen slightly, eyebrows raising "You want me to be mature when all you do is bitch and moan about Kyle like we're in the fourth grade?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." You snap. You weren't the most rational person, now desperately grasping for someone or something to shift the blame.

"You can't get all pissed off when this is your fault," Bebe crosses her arms, physically getting defensive, the phone still clutched in one hand "You're the one who parked illegally."

"Because you told me to park in front of the locksmith!" You gesture towards the building you were now arguing in front of. The building itself looked haunted, the run-down locksmith shop stands like a forgotten relic amidst a row of bustling businesses that were kept with the care that this shop was definitely missing. The windows, clouded with grime and dust, offer only glimpses of the dim interior beyond. Some are cracked, their fractured panes held together by strips of weathered tape. The exterior itself was hideous, a bright yellow paint dulled by the passage of time that had orange patterns of keys and locks all over it, a sign above hung that read 'chipper locks' You didn't imagine that they got much business.

"You listened!" She deflects the blame like a game of tennis

"No, I said I didn't want to park here because it's sketchy and I was scared a crackhead would hide under my car and slash my Achilles tendon when I got back in but you told me to stop bitching about it!"

"You're the only person on earth that would worry about something so fucking irrational, shouldn't you be stressed about finals instead of having nightmares about serial killers you made up in your head?"

"I didn't make it up in my head," You defend "It's all over like everything." It did quickly become a fear of yours since Nichole sent you a video about traffickers hiding under cars and slashing women's tendons, all she said was 'that's crazy lol' but it instilled terror in you and made you glance under your car before getting in no matter where you had left it parked.

"You're insane," She mutters, so quietly that she hadn't expected you to hear.

Unfortunately for both of you, it didn't fall deaf upon your ears "I'm sorry?"

"It's okay," Bebe waves you off.

"No, I'm not apologizing," You furrow your eyebrows "You just called me insane, what the fuck, Bebe."

"Not in a bad way," Bebe hugs herself to try and fight off the cold. She doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of every word she spat out at you.

"How is there possibly a good way to call someone insane?"

"I meant you're insane in a wild kind of way, like a party animal," She tries to climb out of the grave she was digging for herself. "Like, wow, this girl's insane," Bebe mimics in a deeper voice, trying to portray some frat guy referring to you like you are the life of the party.

You stare at her, mouth slightly agape as you process the situation. "You know what?"

"What?" Bebe tucks a flyaway strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, her messy twin braids swaying slightly in the wind.

"You're a fucking cunt," You spit, pointing a finger at her in an accusatory manner, eyes narrowing. The words fell from your mouth like venom puncturing skin.

Whatever Bebe was expecting you to say it wasn't that. She's genuinely taken aback and it's clear across her face, her eyes widened in disbelief, pupils dilating as if trying to take in the enormity of what she had just heard. The muscles in her jaw slackened, her lips parting slightly in a silent gasp. "Yeah?" She raises her voice "You're a little bitch."

"I don't really care," The two of you had an almost impressive way of taking things from zero to one hundred with little build-up between.

"Do you care about anything?" Bebe's expression shifted subtly, betraying the undercurrent of annoyance coursing through her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a silent indication of her displeasure, while her eyebrows drew together in a slight furrow, hinting at the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

"You'd probably know if you weren't too busy trying to get dicked down by Clyde," You retort, the muscles in your jaw tensing up.

"At least I can get laid, you just wallow around in your own loneliness and get all bitter about happy couples for whatever fucking reason."

You completely breeze past the fact that she's right and scramble for something to say "You wanna be an author and you can't even read the ingredients list on a can of Coke," Though you tried to maintain composure, there was a flicker of impatience in your movements, a subtle stiffness in your posture that spoke volumes.

Her brows arched upwards, forming a perfect curve of incredulity. A flush of colour rose to her cheeks, a telltale sign that you had hurt her. "You're such a dick," Bebe says and a hush settles over you "You know your now a good person, right?"

“And you think you are?"

For another time, the conversation fell into a lull. For a long while, you stood there in the cold, breath mingling with the frosty air, until a familiar car rolled to a stop right next to yours. It was Clyde's black Chevrolet.

"You texted Clyde?" This might've been what hurt you the most, more than any other sentence uttered that night.

"Yup, sure did,” Bebe turns away from you to open the passenger door "You have a huge pimple on your face by the way, it's literally the only thing I can focus on when I look at you, it's fucking disgusting."

Your hand reaches for the small bump on your cheekbone on instinct "It's a spider bite, actually," You're correct this fact makes you seem high and mighty "Because I sleep with my window open."

“Oh my god," Bebe mutters, wrinkling her nose.

"Does she need a ride?" Clyde asks eyebrows furrowed as his eyes shoot between where you stand on the pavement and Bebe climbing into the passenger seat.

"No, she's fine," Bebe answers for you, shutting the door. Inside the car, Clyde says something to her that you can't make out, just muffled mutters. In just seconds you hear the ignition start and watch as he glides down the road.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as a surge of newfound anger washes over you. As Clyde's car pulled away, disappearing into the darkness with Bebe at the wheel, the cold seeped into your bones, matching the icy chill in your chair as you stood alone on the deserted street.

"You're a fucking asshole, Bebe!" You shout after them though it's futile, you know she can't hear you, but it doesn't stop you from holding up your middle finger and cussing her out. To passersby, it probably looked like you had something in your system "And you're wearing my hoodie!"

You run your hands down your face, nearly scraping the soft skin with your fingernails as you pace around in a small circle. You were left with a car rendered immobile, a dead cellphone, nine dollars on you, and a home forty minutes away in walking distance, better start moving.

Glancing at your car and the long dark road ahead, you quickly unlocked your car, hopping into the driver's seat and rummaging around in your compartment for a little bit of relief. You dig deep into the console box for a box of stale cigarettes you had forgotten in there, still it was better than nothing. You yank one out and let it rest between two fingers while you bring a lime green lighter to the end to ignite it.

The tip glowed bright orange as you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke into the cool night air. You lock your car, tucking the lighter and pack of Marlboros into your pocket, snatching the notice from your windshield for the phone number and begin the trek home.

While it was only an eight-minute drive, the walk was more strenuous. You wished that you had some heavily padded parka to wrap around yourself though you had nothing more than the heat radiating off the end of your cigarette, in your other hand you grasped to the pink bottle of pepper spray for dear life, the car clamp notice tucked under your arm.

As childish as it was, you found yourself almost fighting back tears, that familiar feeling building in your throat like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to fall through the gaps of your teeth. You were sure that you deserved to be deserted on the damp streets, truthfully you didn't expect Bebe to show you any form of mercy after what you had said to her and you had proved to be correct on the matter.

It was moments like this where you were sure there was nothing worse than making friends.

Maybe you would be a hermit for a bit, head straight home after track and soccer, then lock yourself away for the summer until you've reinvented yourself into someone a little more agreeable.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the chill of the night air nipped at your cheeks, but you pressed on, fueled by the knowledge that there would be a hot shower waiting for you at home. That almost cancelled out the idea of telling your parents you were getting charged for illegal parking and then explaining a fabricated lie to them that you smelled like tobacco because the man beside you at the diner was smoking. What a delinquent you were.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted like smoke on the wind, swirling and shifting with each exhale. Memories and worries danced through your mind, fleeting and ephemeral, like wisps of smoke disappearing into the night sky. You were so close to subbing in Scott for the relay even though you had been so opposed to it since it would guarantee a loss but if Tolkien wouldn't ask Kyle then you would have to accept the fact you were bound to lose since you were cursed with a team that only signed up for track to skip school on the day of the meet and hang around the concession stand.

The quiet peace that you had lost in your own thoughts was quickly broken when you picked up on the navy blue car slowing down as it approached you. Your cigarette burns to the filter and you drop it to the ground, smothering the fizzing embers out with your heel as you watch the car for a brief moment before quickly turning and quickening your pace. Praying to every god you didn't believe in that this wouldn't evolve into something more.

When you speed up, so does the car. You're even more aware of your surroundings now, the mace firm in your grip, you kept one thumb on the top preparing yourself for the worst. "Hey!" A gruff voice from the car yells, he rolls his window down, you can't make out his face and you aren't sure that you want to.

This is all it takes for you to move from your fast walk to a run, ignoring the cold air eating away at the tip of your nose and the sharp burning in your lungs. The man from the car yells something else but your heart is pounding too loud for you to hear anything off in the distance.

Your senses suddenly heightened, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of your neck. You felt a surge of unease wash over you as the sound of an engine revving filled the air, growing louder and closer with each passing moment.

Instinctively, you hastened your pace even further, your heart pounding in your chest as you cast a nervous glance over your shoulder. Its headlights pierced the darkness like beacons of warning.

You knew you had to act fast, figuring that whoever was chasing you was the type to slash tendons and the streets were absurdly empty aside from you and the man in the car. With a desperate glance around you, you spotted an alleyway up ahead, a narrow passage shrouded in darkness. Without hesitation, you veered off the main road and plunged into the shadows, heart pounding in your chest as you raced for safety.

With another glance around, you finally stopped to catch a breather, trying to swallow up all of the air you could and think of what to do next, it felt like wild horses were racing through veins in the form of adrenaline. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and your shaky breathing seemed to devour every last rational thought you have.

You renavigate your way home, trying to avoid the sketchy road where the man in the car was likely waiting to pull you in. You emerge from the ally on another street, clear of any cars, with a deep sigh, you light another cigarette, leaving you with an empty box that you toss into the nearest garbage. The nicotine had soothed you, the notice was now crumpled up into your pocket wedged next to your dead cell phone and your carabiner hung off one of your fingers, keys and mace clattering against one another.

Still, you were anxious despite the cigarette smoke loosening your tightly wound nerves just a little. You stayed hyper-aware of everything around you, walking as fast as you could before it classified as a run and being sure to remain silent so you could hear everything around you.

"Wait, man!" You hear a voice off in the distance and turn to see that navy blue car once again. You were ready to take off until you noticed something in the dim light of the street lamps. The face of a guy around your age, a straight nose and dark hair, Stan Marsh.

You pause as the car pulls beside you and you see the other faces in the car, in the back sit Cartman and Kenny, in the passenger seat is Stan's right-hand man and your least favourite person, Kyle. "Oh my god, I thought you were a pedophile!" Your voice picks up with agitation.

"Why?"

"Because you fucking trailed me with your car at night and yelled at me on an empty street!” You look past Kyle and directly at Stan where he sits by the wheel. You take one more long drag of your cigarette before snubbing it out on the pavement. Kyle wrinkles his nose at the smell "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gives Kyle a little nervous glance before looking at you "Wendy said something happened with Bebe and we saw you and figured-

"That you would make me think I was going to get kidnapped?" You almost want to drag him out of his seat and sucker punch you for scaring you so badly.

"Hey," Kenny chimes in from the back, he's smiling at you, a fresh scrape across his left cheekbone. "I texted you and you didn't answer."

"So-uh, do you want a ride?" Stan asks "Because you'll get kidnapped for real if you keep walking."

"We don't have room," Cartman adds where he sits behind Kyle, stretching his legs out with what little space Kyle had given him.

"Because you're taking all of it up fatass," Kenny points out "Sit in the front."

"I don't want to be in the same car as a junkie, she'll probably stick us with needles and get us all addicted to heroin." Cartman was well bundled up on this chilly night, a grey hoodie and flannel hanging overtop.

Stan ignores this comment "So?"

You think through Stan's offer, even though it was a nightmare situation to be stuck in a vehicle with Cartman and Kyle he was likely right when he said you would get kidnapped for real. South Park wasn't the safest town despite how it was portrayed on travel pamphlets and blogs. While the residential area was good for kids to play in, the main streets were a little crude. "Yeah, sure," You mutter "Please."

Cartman lets out a loud groan as the boys reorganize themselves to accommodate you. Kyle ducks out of the passenger seat and out into the chilly night, to your surprise, he isn't wearing his hat, his red curls hanging loose. Cartman hauls himself into the passenger seat, uttering complaints the entire time.

You wait for Kyle to clamour into the backseat but he doesn't, he just stands by the open door, waiting expectedly for you to get in. When you realize that you're meant to be sitting in the middle you almost want to protest but decide against it, Stan was being nice enough offering you a ride when you barely knew him aside from being Wendy's boyfriend.

The very second you buckle into the backseat, Cartman begins to cough dramatically. He's heaving on nothing, exaggerating the slight smokey smell that lingered on you. He claws at his throat "It's so hard to breathe," He mumbles like he's choking.

This must be what hell feels like.

“Why were you walking?" Kenny breaks up the sound of Eric wheezing. Wordlessly, you reach for the crumpled slip of paper in your pocket and smooth it out as much as possible over one of your thighs before handing it to him. His eyes visibly brighten as he reads it a small smile splitting across his face "Illegal parking," he lets out a low whistle "I love myself a lawbreaker," He hands the notice back to you.

Kyle subtly looks down at the paper, he didn't finish reading it before you fold it up and tuck it back into your pocket. He's interested but he won't admit it, so instead of pressing the matter, he trains his eyes to watch the concrete sidewalk roll by out of the window.

You're crammed between the two, your thighs touching theirs, Kyle tries to make himself as small as possible while Kenny carelessly man-spreads, his leg almost overlapping yours. "How long are you going to be grounded for that one?" Kenny asks.

"I'm trying to get it settled without them finding out," With aptitude you peek at Kyle whose eyes meet yours before deviating. You didn't think he would go snitching on you but it still worried you. He had far more blackmail over you than you had on him, you were still clinging to things he did in freshman year while it seemed that every month you had a new secret to keep from your parents.

"Good luck with that," He says, also staring out the window though he didn't do it to avoid you "You got the money to pay for the fine?"

You find yourself glimpsing back at Kyle, using this question as a scapegoat to clear yourself before he even gets the idea of telling either of your parents "Yes and I will pay the fine as soon as possible, from this point moving forward I am going to be a law-abiding citizen, I vow to never park in a bike lane again and not to steal prozac from my dad," You indirectly address Kyle, he can tell what you're trying to do based on the way you keep shifting your eyes to look at him. Kyle looks at you, he doesn't say anything but you understand him clearly 'What the fuck are you doing?'

"Okay?" Kenny says, sounding confused "That's cool, I guess, good for you."

"Hide your Advil, Stan," Cartman peeps up, watching you from the rearview mirror "Crash is on a crime spree, she might steal your mom's jewelry for drug money too.”

Growing too tired to say something snarky in return, you just lean back in your seat, eyes half-lidded as you listen to Cartman besmirch you. Everyone in the car had accepted this to be a regular occurrence. At first, when everyone in your grade greeted you by calling you Junkie, Crackhead or something along that line you wanted to hug your mom and cry but you quickly grew desensitized to it after two weeks, it just felt like another nickname.

Stan cranks his stereo up to drown out Cartman's incoherent complaints. It's some metal band that you had never heard before playing faintly while Kenny shows you pictures of his roster on his cheap phone that he had spent two paycheques purchasing. "So where were you guys headed before you picked me up?" You ask, purely to try and make polite conversation, feeling immensely out of place with the four of them all together.

"We were going to Stans for game night," Kenny says, still scrolling through his stickers on Snapchat "You wanna come?" Truthfully you hadn't been hanging out with Kenny as much as you used to, you still smoked pot every now and then but it was rare for the two of you to sit down and actually do something together or go out somewhere. You were too preoccupied with track and soccer and all of your friend's drama, their secrets piling on you like fines.

Cartman whips his head around to look at Kenny with fury in his eyes. "Nah," You draw out, scrambling for an excuse "I should probably just go home and repent for my crimes against the state."

"Kinda hot," Kenny nods absentmindedly.

Conversation faltered as you struggled to find common ground, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. Every attempt at small talk fell flat, each joke met with forced laughter that only served to highlight the awkwardness of the situation. You could've sworn you were more socialized than you were acting. “Man, I love track and field, what an incredible sport to have on a college application,” This time you aren’t as discreet with your subliminal messaging to Kyle, turning your head to look at him completely. He doesn’t say anything.

With each passing mile, the silence grew more suffocating, pressing in on them like a heavy blanket. You fidgeted nervously, your eyes darting from one face to another as you searched for an escape from the uncomfortable tension.

Stan sped over a speed bump, you reached your hands out to grab something on instinct, hand gracing Kyle's leg for the briefest moment, still you retract it and look at him in horror.

Clasping your hands together in your lap you anticipate each passing second as Stan neared your street you felt relief wash over you like a baptism. "Right here," You say and Stan slows the car by your front yard, the lights are on in your home casting a warm glow into the velvety black night.

Before the car even comes to a full stop, Kyle opens the door, wanting this to be over as bad as you do. With haste, he unbuckled his seatbelt and took a step out with his lanky legs. His green eyes watch your every move while you shimmy out of the middle seat, taking in a deep breath of clean air that didn't smell like car freshener and body spray. "Thanks for the ride," You give Stan a tight-lipped smile, ready to walk away until Kyle opens his mouth.

"When's the next track practice?"

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows "You're joining?"

"Yeah, Tolkien asked me to," He says and the space between you fills with silence.

The soft expression on your face quickly morphs into something a little more vicious "So Tolkien asks you to join and you jump at the chance?" You say, snarky.

Kyle seems unphased "I actually like Tolkien."

"Yeah, I know, You probably explore each other's bodies." You brush past him fighting the urge to just walk into your house, maybe it was because someone had replaced your calcium with mercury or you were just tired but today someone had messed with your internal chemistry "Uh, thanks though, it's on Tuesday." Finally, you had gotten that win you were chasing all day.

A/N: oml sorry this took so long, I had no idea where the plot was going but we’re good now so the other chapters won’t take so long.

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