#whiskey x tango

[guiltyastiva]

I will never get over the fact that Ziva is pregnant at this exact moment and neither of them have any idea 🫠

GIF: @harmandmac’s!

[cozy-fantasy-corner]

Band of Idiots Pt. 5: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Sneak Peak)

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Summary: It’s Steve’s 21st birthday, and the night takes a wild turn

Walking alongside Steve and Bucky, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the carefree days of our youth. We were all more than grown now, life having beaten us all down. Today was a welcome reprieve from the daily hubbub of work and domestic life. It was Steve's 21st birthday and the excitement was palpable in the air. 

The events of that summer day in 1934 felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the laughter and ease of the present. We had settled into a rhythm. Bucky and I kept our love reserved around Steve, but over the years there was a shift. Something bubbled under the surface of our trio. Perhaps tension, no. It was softer than that. 

I threw up a silent prayer to the Virgin Mother, pleading for tonight to just be about celebrating Stevie. No nonsense, just liquor and laughter and a little bit of dancing. Okay, maybe more than a little. How lovely it would be, dancing the night away with my lover and my dearest friend. All I could do is hope. 

[theinconveniencing]

okay I was on tumblr for this but remember when I was so nervous to go to dinner with my grandparents that I distracted myself by learning the phonetic alphabet

[trashmouth-richie]

this comes from @serasvictoria with this ask the prompt words were: pillow, caught, crush

18+ no minors, angst leading to smut, vulgar, eddie talks about his dick and steve’s 😌

2.1k // eddie x fem reader

your ex hears you’ve moved on; is he ready to let you go?

send me a prompt!

“Don’t be a dumbass.” 

Ringed hands were folded together, glistening from the makeshift dramatic lighting in Gareth’s basement. 

In the summer, Hellfire moved locations from one member's place to another, rotating every Friday to a different place. A new aroma to tickle one’s nostrils upon entering whichever home was the designated spot for the evening, to host Hawkins very own hell bound teens. 

Some homes were kept nicer than others, while Eddie’s trailer smelled like stale cigarettes and bong water, the Sinclair’s living room was pristine with updated furniture, smelling of warm vanilla and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air. 

Gareth takes another gulp of Mountain Dew, wiping the lime colored beverage from his lips. Belching on the spot. 

“Why would I lie about that?” 

Eddie shifts in the folding chair leaning forward— the chain from his waist clinking on the metal, “whatever man, don’t fuck with me.” 

Gareth grins, hands up in surrender, “listen dude, I’m just telling you what we saw,  no need to shoot the messenger.”

What Gareth and Jeff had seen weighed heavy on their minds. They had even contemplated on keeping it secret. The two couldn’t decide if Eddie should know or if it would hurt him— in the end Gareth opened his big mouth and blurted it out, in the most repugnant way imaginable. 

The painted tin container used to hold dice was crushed under the weight of Eddie’s fist as he hammered it onto the table. 

Jeff shook his head, sucking in a breath between his braced teeth, looking away from the soon to be manic Munson. 

Eddie’s temper ran hot when it came to one thing—and one thing only, you. 

Raking his fingers through his scalp, he kicks the back of his chair upon standing, ragged breaths in and out, eyes to the ceiling. You still had a hold on him, it had been months—and the only one who seemed to not be able to move on was him. 

He chuckled, pinching the inner corner of his eyes and shaking his head, “one of you take over as DM, I gotta go.” 

Bounding up the stairs before he could hear any bitching from his two longest standing friends, the carpeted steps squished under his quickened boot steps. Stealing a cookie from an iridescent colored decorative plate on the kitchen counter, Eddie stomped out the front door and to the paved driveway, starting his van with a flick of his wrist, pedal to the floor as he reversed onto the street, running over flower beds in his wake.

—

The daffodil warmth of the sun was high in the sky, a small stitch of wind blew the blades of grass gently, feathering the soft pages of your book every so often. 

It was a perfect summer day as you laid out on your driveway, ass parked in a tiny kiddie pool from your youth, blue in color, the flimsy plastic circle was filled with cool water straight from the hose. 

A few shots of spiced whiskey danced on your tongue and tangoed with the carbonated bubbles of the mixed in Coke, fizzing with each slurp from your straw, you don’t have a care in the world. 

Admiring your freshly painted nails in the pastel bubble gum shade he had picked out— it was a stark contrast to the ruby reds you had been accustomed to— but those days were long gone, and things were finally starting to look up for you. 

It had been four months since Eddie broke things off, claiming he needed ‘space to find himself’ and although you spent a majority of that time wallowing in ice cream containers and mopping up tears when you saw a brown set of curls, or heard the jingle of a chain wallet— you moved on. 

He wasn’t from Hawkins. Didn’t know of Eddie at all, and you preferred to keep it that way. You were never ashamed of the boy you loved for so many years, the only embarrassment you felt was the night he ended things like someone would end a call after placing an order for pizza. 

Like it meant nothing to him, like you meant nothing to him. But that was then, and you were happier now.

So when you looked up to see Gareth’s wide eyes staring in shock was not at all how you imagined your date would go. You had been caught red handed by his best friends, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found out. 

Toes twirling in the water you bobbed your head along to the music playing on the portable radio, sunglasses perched on your nose— not a single care in the world. 

Until the music turned to something more familiar.. the screech of guitars and aggressive tempos, you could practically feel the warmth leave your skin as the dark cloud of Eddie’s van cast its shadow on your skin, parked in your driveway like he belonged here. 

By the way he tore around the corner and through the stop sign— you knew he was pissed. The clunk of his rings scraped against the paint as he reached through the window to open the door—still broken. 

“I don’t smoke anymore Munson, but if you’re offering freeb—”

“Who is he?” he interjected, in no mood for your joking tone. 

Sucking your drink until the ice clinks together at the bottom—whiskey making you ballsier than you ever had been—you finally answer, “Who is who?” 

He crosses his arms, trying to stay calm, although all he wanted to do was scream, “the guy, cmon princess, don't play dumb with me.” 

Staring at him you can’t believe the audacity of the boy standing in front of you, coming here, demanding to know what’s going on in your life when he’s the one who practically skipped on his way out of it. 

instead of stomping around and causing you a scene, you simply ignore him, “you’re in the way.” 

“Huh?” 

Pointing with a lazy finger to the sky you watch as his eyes follow, “don’t tell me you came here to bitch me out, you’re wasting your time.”

He leans in over your body so close that you can see the chocolate color of his eyes, eyes that you'd lose count of the times you’d stare into them. 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he is.” 

“Okay.” You say nonchalantly, unbothered. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah go ahead, stay. ‘s long as you want,” you push yourself up from the pool, standing in a string bikini that matched your nails, “I’ll be the bigger person here, and I’ll leave.” 

Water dripped down your thighs as you walked to the front porch and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut and twist the lock upon entry—but a dark boot prevents your dismissal.

Rolling your eyes you try to kick his knee to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge, and you huff in annoyance. 

“Pretty sure this is harassment.” 

You ignore the way he walks in your house like he knew his way around, even though he did, your house was a second home to him for years.

Shutting the door with dramatic flair, Eddie leans into your space, inches from your nose, “just answer my question sweetheart— and I’ll be on my happy little way.” 

“You’re deranged if you think I’m telling you anything.”

He cocks his head and laughs like a jerk, mocking you.

“Thata more than likely, but I know better than anyone,” his eyes undress you, fingernails skating across your thighs, “how much you like it.”

You turn and shout over your shoulder, “go home Eddie— I’m not in the mood for this!” 

He barrels around you, demanding your attention. 

“Aww you’re not in the mood?” his voice dipped to a gravelly bite of anger as he put his hand over his heart, “my sincerest apologies to your feelings baby…but I somehow don’t give a fuck about your little feelings when I find out from Gareth that you were sucking some guy’s dick in the Starcourt parking lot.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment and Eddie’s eyes are glassy, coated with pain. You never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to look at you the way he is right now. 

“Ed—” 

He smirks.

“I think it’s cute…honestly, still doing the same shit you did with me…” he moves to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I’m flattered.”

“Get out,” you bite back, making to shove him to the door but you’re no match for him. 

“D’dya swallow for him like you did for me?” 

“Get..” 

“He bigger than me?” 

“…out!” your shoves are fruitless against his broad shoulders.

“Last I checked Harrington was the only one who had me beat… unless you’re fucking him too.”

The slap startled him, but he knew he deserved it. The torment in your eyes was fueled by his words and he fucking hated himself for making you feel that way. 

He was hurting too, body shaking with rage and swallowing tears the whole drive here. But, when your tears fell on the apples of your cheeks— all his pain turned to gloom. 

“I’m sorry— I— That was a dick thing to say.” 

“Do you think getting over you was easy for me?”

“I don’t know.” 

“It wasn’t.. and truthfully I don’t think I am yet, but what fucking choice did I have?!”

“Babe—.” 

“I loved you, Eddie… I still fucking love you. Why isn’t that—”

His large hands clutch your cheeks, warm lips press into yours with a magnetic force you had forgotten about. Eddie’s tongue tasted like the tobacco spice of a camel, and a subtle hint of mint, and you devoured it like you were starved. 

He whispers and groans how he was so stupid, a real dumb mother fucker, and that he never should have ended it. 

Accepting his apology—for now—you pull him towards the couch, heels rocking on the carpet until they hit firm on the plush sectional, still lip locked with the man you swore, that you hated to your friends but your pillow heard a different plea ever since he broke your heart.

His arms wrap around your waist, fingers daintily pulling the string from your bikini bottoms until the soft fabric hits the floor.  His Hellfire shirt joins them before you both collapse into one another on the cushions, Eddie’s hair draped into your face hiding you both away from consequences and the reality of bad decisions. 

He breaks away from your lips to lick up the slope of your neck, and your head angles back in ecstasy. His body temperature was like fire against your skin, curling your legs around his back you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie grooaned, grinding into your naked cunt, his tongue kitten licking around your neck, working his signature hickey into your skin, “my angel.”

You moan feather light in his ear, fingers twisted into his curls. His hand works down your front, sliding between your slick folds with skills you swore only he possessed. 

He played your body like a guitar, knew how to tune you up, the proper way to hold you. A true expert of his craft— your pretty little noises would harmonize from the simple touch of his fingers, your sweet cunt clinching onto him like vice. 

“Missed that sound,” he chuckled, his bangs pushed up from the angle on your neck as you came undone, “so pretty like this… drunk on how I’m making you feel.” 

Your eyes were pinched shut, chest heaving from the breath shattering orgasm you haven’t had since you got dumped by him. Nobody came close to the way Eddie could do it.

Kissing him square on the mouth, you twist your tongue with his, massaging them together as if a flame could spark from the pink wet muscles.

Intimacy with Eddie felt like home, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer when you were freezing. A cup of soup to soothe an itchy throat. 

He melted into you, collecting each gasp you choked out with a kiss from his lips, doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on his face when your breath was stolen from his pistoning hips. 

New— but entirely the same, your bodies fell back into each other like no time had passed and he made up for what was lost, twice. Each time your cries rang out like music to his ears— his favorite song. 

You slept now, adjusting to his arm wrapped around you, a kiss to your forehead, and a new plea in your pillowcase— for Eddie to stay, forever. 

[jyoongim]

OMG,I need so bad a alastor x fem!,argentinian,tango dancer Reader 😭 🇦🇷💕💕

Where they are drunk dancing together, Reader has a beautiful dress and they end up in a room (nsfw)

From an Argentinian follower 🗣️💕

OMG HIII BABES!!! I APPRECIATE YOU SO MUCH!!!!1

Note: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT TANGO DANCING BUT I LOVE BALLROOM DANCING!!!! Listen to Habanera!!!

Argentinian Fem!reader x Alastor

The lounge was lively tonight. Sinners were twirling about on the floor as the tempo of the music filled the air.

It was dance night.

You sipped on your peach prosecco as you bobbed your head to the beat of the music. “Why dont we give it a go my dear?” Alastor asked, grinning as you whistled at a couple who twirled by.

You laughed with a shake of your head “Us dance? Oh Alastor i dont think we are in any condition to keep up with anyone.”

The two of you had been sitting at the bar chatting, drinking as you looked at couples filling the dance floor.

He hummed, taking a shot of his whiskey.

“I think well do just fine c’mon cherie ” he slipped his hand around yours, dragging you to the dance floor.

When the two of you took to the dance floor, the other couples looked in awe as Alastor gathered you to his chest, one hand on your waist and the other clasping your hand.

You giggled as he led you into the steps of the tango.

Your red dress twirled around you as he spun you around.

Alastor’s lips softly skimmed your neck as he waltzed you in a circle, lanky legs guiding you into a swift dip.

The tempo of the music mixed with the liquor in your system had you buzzing as you floated around the dance floor.

Step. Twirl. Spin. Dip. Spin. Step.

You flashed a bright smile at an onlooker as Alastor dipped you low, your back perfectly arched against him as he held you.

Your hands fell on his around your waist as he lifted you in the air.

A laugh escaped your throat as you matched your dancing to the speed of the music.

The music was starting to die down as the two of you panted as he pulled you back into him, a smile stretched across his face as the crowd interrupted into cheers.

Existing the dance floor, you expected to go back to the bar and cool off. All that dancing had you riled up, the feeling of Alastor against your body and sensually touching you had your mind reeling.

Instead of the bar, Alastor tugged your hand to lead you into a room off to the side.

You blushed “Don’t tell me all that dancing did something to you Alastor?” You asked teasingly, causing the red demon to growl as he pushed into the dark room.

A closet.

Before you could make a snide comment, lips were on yours, feverishly kissing you.

Oh

Your hands curled in his suit, pulling him against you as his hands pawed at your dress. Alastor trailed his lips down your neck, teeth nipping at your damp skin. You gasped, eyes fluttering as he sucked at the skin.

He tussled with the ruffles of your dress, giving your legs some room to hook around his waist as he hoisted you against the wall.

Your arms curled around his neck, hands finding his undercut and scratching his scalp.

His hips pressed into your yours, crotch rubbing against your clothed cunt as he grinded into you.

He peppered your exposed collarbones in kisses as his hand dipped under your dress, a finger curling into your panties, slipping into the heat of your center.

A soft sigh escaped your throat as he curled his fingers into your heat. “A-Alastor”

He let out a purr at you clenched around his fingers.

”Normally I would ravish you in the comfort of our bed, but I fear I just couldn’t wait for such” he said, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

The sound of his belt and zipper alerted you to his next move and soon you gasped as his cock entered you.

”oh mi mierda” you whimpered as he started to thrust into you.

Your claws dug into his shoulders as he grunted into your shoulder.

”You’ll have to be quiet darlin. Wouldn’t want to have someone find us like this now would you?” He drawled, snapping his hips into yours, jolting you against the wall.

The tiny space filled with the scent of sex as you moaned into his neck, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

But that was difficult when his dick was hitting that sweet bundle of nerves inside you.

Your belly tingled as your orgasm approached.

This was exhilarating!

Sharp claws kneaded your ass as he pulled your hips to meet his rough thrusts.

You were pretty sure his dress pants were stained with how wet you were.

Oh you felt bad for cleaner when you send them off.

His thrusts were getting sloppy as he neared his release.

Alastor’s voice reached your ears in a low hiss “You going to cum cherie? Hmmm. You going to cum on my cock?”

You nodded as you locked your ankles, toes curling in your shoes as he bounced you on his cock.

Your cunt clenched and fluttered as your orgasm rolled through you, milking his cock as his hips stuttered.

Your mouth opened to moan loudly, but Alastor slammed his lips onto yours, swallowing your whimpers as he cummed inside you.

He sighed, grunting as he pulled out of you, cock slapping against you as he lowered you onto your feet.

Your legs felt like they were filled with static as you clung to him, panting from your high.

You winced feeling his cum drip down your thighs as you fixed your dress.

Alastor snapped his fingers to rid of the stain on his pants, purring he pulled you back for a soft kiss, giving you a smile as he pulled your sleeved back on your shoulders, brushing against the bite marks on your skin.

”think we’ve had enough fun for tonight why dont we go home and get cleaned up?” He chirped, wrapping an arm around your waist leading you out of the closet.

Dress for reference!

[imaginesheaven]

Bar owner!Reader x TF 141

Friendship headcanons

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, a bit of angst?

This literally turned almost into an Oneshot *haha* I couldn’t help myself ;D Enjoy~

Your bar “Tango Down” is known by almost every soldier and police officer. It is the ultimate spot to meet for drinks after a hard work day or mission. Since your bar has a very good reputation you are also known and well respected.

Of course, the Task Force 141 visits frequently when they are not away for a mission. “Hey, (Y/N)”, Price greets as he enters the bar firstly. To hear his voice once again brings a big smile on your lips, “Look who’s still alive! The usual, boys?” They give you all nods as they take their places on their usual table.

Years ago, when you first opened your bar Price was one of the first customers you had. Still to this day he is your favorite and most frequent one. After the Task Force 141 was built he brought them to this place, where you all grew extremely close with time. Even grumpy Ghost has a soft spot for you.

“Good to see you all. How you are doing?”, you put the drinks down on the table. A flash of fur whizzes between your legs right into the loving arms of Soap. “Bloody Jesus, Cougar! I wish this freaking dog would love me as much as he loves Soap”, you roll your eyes playfully annoyed as the soldiers cuddles your “scary” Belgian Malinois named Cougar.

“Sometimes I believe you are only here for Cougar”, Soap shrugs his shoulders grinning like he isn’t even sorry for stealing your dog away every single time he steps into the bar. “We brought you a present”, Gaz can’t contain his pure joy as he holds out the bottle of Whiskey. “Thank you so much! That goes directly into our cabinet for special events!”

Price started this tradition years ago when he started to visit your bar regularly. Every time he came back from a mission you got another expensive and exotic bottle of alcohol like Whiskey or Wine. John was and is still incredibly grateful to have you at his side after hard missions talking to him, pouring drinks and keeping his mind occupied with happy thoughts. The Task Force 141 keeps this tradition still going. Here and there when there is a reason to celebrate you pop open one of the bottles with them.

“Don’t worry, love, at least Ghost, Gaz and I are here for you”, Price puts his hand on your shoulder smirking as you take a seat with them. Soap is way too distracted to follow the conversation at all. He keeps playing with Cougar. The two of them have an own tradition. Soap gets Cougar after every mission a new toy to play with him.

It’s usually very calm and quiet in the bar due to the high number of soldiers and police officers. They can keep everything in order for you if you need it, but you are actually able to sort it out on your own. Just like this evening…

“What is going on here, Kick?”, you ask your bartender. He rolls his eyes annoyed, “Just a round of men making trouble. They keep talking trash about the soldiers.” You let out a whistle to call Cougar to you, “We take care of it.”

“Guys, your time is over here. I don’t tolerate little boys talking bullshit about real men”, you stand your ground against the five men. They might be taller than you, but it doesn’t intimidate you at all. They start to laugh, “How about no? What will you do?” Apparently, the leader of this little gang takes out a handgun from the back of his jeans.

Without flinching you grab his hand aiming the gun at the ceiling punching with the other against his throat. That leaves him choking for a few moments as you take the gun apart leaving it useless at the table. The guy doesn’t have enough yet trying to grab you. Quite painful you twist his arm as you push his face against the surface of the table. “Leave. Now”, as you let go of the men they bolt out of the bar scared for their dear life.

For a second the silence is deafening in the bar until the Task Force 141 starts cheering. They others follow suit very fast, but you wave them off with a red dust on your cheeks, “Stop it, please.” You store the gun behind the counter, “Drinks on me for everyone … BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP CHEERING!” Within a second everything is back to normal.

“Stop messing with my jukebox, Soap”, you have your back to the machine as you prepare the drinks, but you are sure he is already on his way to turn on a certain song. Soap loves messing with you and getting on your nerves playing one song over and over again until you lose your bloody mind.  

He looks at you with his puppy eyes, “Come on! It’s my absolute favorite song!” Smirking you roll your eyes and make your way towards the table with new drinks. “What did we just witness? You absolutely wrecked this guy”, Gaz stares at you in disbelief. “You were in military, right?”, Ghost recognizes a soldier when he sees one and you were for sure one. You let out a sigh, “Yeah, Special Forces for a few years.” Price raises his eyebrows surprised. “Don’t you dare to take a look at my file, John. That’s the past”, you wink at him grinning. Sometimes you could read him like an open book.

“Enjoy your drinks, boys!” The team shares a brief glance. Every time they are at your bar they learn something incredible new about you. It is like you are a never-ending pit of surprises. It makes them wonder what person you have been in the past. Especially John Price. He might have a look into your file nevertheless.

The night comes to an end. You keep sorting out the rest of the bar alone as the light goes out suddenly. The little hairs on your neck start to stand up and your senses tingle to warn you from the oncoming danger. Upstairs where you live above the bar you can hear Cougar barking. You already brought him up so he can rest. Now you realize your mistake. He would have protected you.

A hand grabs your neck from behind as the first punch lands. The fist collides with your stomach and the pain leaves you breathless. You can’t see their faces in the dark but you are more than sure that these are the troublemakers from earlier. They keep beating you. The pain is just overwhelming until the darkness takes over.

Captain Price enters the bar followed by his team. To his displeasure you are not behind the counter to greet them with your usual bright smile. “Kick, where is (Y/N)?”, Soap asks the bartender. They all feel that something is very off and they don’t like it at all. Even Cougar can’t be seen anywhere.

“(Y/N) is upstairs. Recovering. I’m not sure about company, but I guess you can try”, Kick knows it would be useless to tell them you don’t want to see anyone. They are going to make sure you are okay and no one will stop them. Price makes his way upstairs followed by the others.

They can hear Cougar barking at them coming up the stairs. “It’s okay, Cougar, it’s just the boys”, you say calmly to the dog as you pet his soft fur. Cougar greets them happily when they come through the door. Of course, the dog makes his way towards Soap to beg for some scratches. After a few head rubs Cougar is satisfied and comes back to your side placing his head onto your leg. You have never seen the dog that clingy, but he is ready to protect you with all he has.

John seems cool, collected and focused on the outside, but on the inside he is raging. Just like the others. Your face shows the last remnants of the beating. A black eye, a bloody, split lip and so on. They don’t even want to imagine what bruises your clothes are hiding. “It’s okay. It looks probably worse than it actually is”, you try to downplay the truth, but all of them can see it in your eyes. These troublemakers broke you a little bit and no one was there to protect you.

Ghost takes a step forward and grabs your chin softly to take a closer look at your face, “This is absolutely not okay. They made it personal.” Without a further word he let go of you giving Price a short nod. They know what they have to do.

“Wait! Please be careful. All of you”, you grab Price’s sleeve to keep them from leaving. There is no chance you can stop them at all. You just want them to come back to you safe and sound. John gives you a reassuring smile, “Of course, love.”

With that they went away to deal with the problem. None of the men told you what they did to the troublemakers and you never asked. They would literally give their life to keep you safe. After that everything just went back to normal.

“Johnny! No!”, you try to pry the beer bottle out of Soap’s hands as he reaches over the counter. “You have to be faster than that, sweetheart!”, he celebrates his achievement and takes a gulp from the beer. “No jukebox for you for a whole week! It’s like I’m dealing with children!”, you give up laughing. Price shrugs his shoulders, “Now you know how I feel.” You lean against the counter watching the boys. Gaz and Soap try to out beat each other in darts, while Ghost gives Cougar some head scratches hidden beneath the table. No one should see what a softie he turns into around you and Cougar.

This is literally perfection for all of you.

   Bonus

“Isn’t that the owner of your favorite bar?”, Laswell hands Price the file after he bugged him for weeks, “Are you sure that’s right?” John shrugs with one shoulder not really interested in getting a lecture, “Yes, just making sure who’s serving me drinks. I’ll take that with me.” He leaves Laswell’s office with the file under his arm. John is going to take his sweet time to read through your past.

Laswell leans back in her chair dialing your number, “He got your file, (Y/N).” She almost can hear you grinning through the phone, “Almost everything is classified so John won’t learn much about me. He just could have asked, you know? Thanks for letting me know, Kate. Greet your wife!”

[junkdrawerfics]

Giddy Surprise

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You can't convince me Jasper doesn't miss having horses -> You have a surprise for Jasper. A furry, hay eating, clippity clop kind of surprise.

Word Count: 1082

Warnings: None, no beta, barely edited, I was really tired writing this, but I hope it's okay!

---

You are practically buzzing with excitement the second Jasper sets foot through the door. He can feel it all the way from the entryway. You don’t conceal it either, waiting impatiently for him in the living room, all but bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Hey Jas,” you greet him with an absolutely giddy grin.

“Hello, darlin’.” He presses a kiss to your forehead like he always does, lips twitching into an amused smile. “How was your day?”

“Good, good, I have something to show you!” Patience really never was your specialty. Not when it comes to Jasper at least.

Originally, you had a big plan to reveal your surprise. You were going to pretend to read when he got home, let him get comfortable after a stressful day around humans, and then suggest going for a nice, mid-afternoon walk. That’s when you’d take him to his gift, and boom - surprise!

That plan went down the drain as soon as you heard his car pull into the driveway.

“What do you want to show me?” Jasper asks, already knowing you won’t tell him, but it’s worth the little conspiratorial look you give him.

“You’ll have to wait and see!” 

You take his hand and drag him into the woods, twisting and ducking between trees along a barely worn path. Jasper, being the patient saint of a man he is, follows along without complaint, content to just soak up the electric warmth of your excitement. You can’t even get a word out, that giddy smile never leaving your face, and Jasper can’t bring himself to look away.

He’s always loved the vividness of your emotions. Even when you were human, they would fill a room, your happiness like sunshine bursting through the heaviest clouds, your sadness like the weight of the air before it rains. He never could understand how one person could feel things so strongly. Not only that, but you’ve always been so unwaveringly positive, always smiling, always trying to love others the best you can.

Like this. He can’t imagine someone other than you being so excited about a surprise. Jasper doesn’t even care what it is. Your overwhelming joy is so pure, so contagious, he finds himself getting swept away in it, smiling like a fool.

It’s only when a familiar scent drifts past him that he drags his eyes away from you. You glimpse over your shoulder, catching the flash of recognition on his face, and your excitement only builds.

A few more feet and you break past the trees into a large field. Jasper comes to a sharp stop beside you, eyes going wide at the sight before him.

“Surprise!”

In the middle of the field stands a little stable, rustic and simple, with a gated fence stretching around the pasture. Right beyond the fence stand a small group of horses, grazing on the long grass without a care in the world.

You turn to Jasper expectantly. He looks completely stunned, lips parted, eyebrows shooting up. It almost makes you laugh, since he kind of looks like an adorable goldfish, but you smother it behind your hand. This was totally a good idea.

The idea started sprouting when Jasper first told you about his past. You remember the night, back when you were human. It took time to earn Jasper’s trust, but it was worth it, because that night he shared all kinds of stories about his childhood. It was the night you learned of his love for horses growing up, and how much he missed them.

So you got together with Emmett and Alice to design and build the stable. Emmett did most of the hard labor (you bribed him by promising to get Jasper to fight him again, since he was still petty about losing the last one), while Alice jumped at the chance to design the whole thing. Meanwhile, you focused on finding the perfect horses.

“The tan one is Whiskey, the appaloosa is Tango, and the chestnut one is Juliet,” you start, pulling the shocked vampire closer to the fence, “I was going to get just one, but when I was doing research, it said horses need friends, so I got three! It felt like a good number, and this way, we can go riding together!”

Jasper’s jaw clenches and unclenches rapidly.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say.

When the two of you reach the fence, one of the horses lifts its head, ears swiveling towards you. For a moment, Jasper expects it to start running, as most animals do when they sense the predatory aura of a vampire. As soon as the horse lays eyes on you though, it gives a low snort and trots right over.

Right to him.

The moment the horse nudges its nose into his chest, something shifts in Jasper, like magic. The vampire loosens up, gold eyes practically glowing as he lifts a hand to rub its muzzle, the motion so natural despite the hundred of years he’s gone without being near one. The horse leans into his touch, head almost flat against his chest, ears flicking to the side as Jasper scratches his neck. A small, easy-going smile pulls at the blond’s lips, and you’re all but starstruck watching him. 

It's quite possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

“Do you like them?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Jasper chuckles, ruffling the horse’s mane as he looks over at you, eyes warm, “Darlin’, this is the best surprise I’ve been given in a long time.”

You light up, “Really?”

He takes a step away from the horse, much to its displeasure, and wraps his arms around you instead, pulling you close. You stretch up to curl yours around his neck, humming happily when he leans down to kiss you. It’s soft, overwhelmingly soft, filling you to the brim with a fuzzy warmth. 

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m certain no one has ever gone to such lengths for me. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You are very welcome, mister. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you.” You give him another, chaste kiss, soaring on cloud nine. “Now! Why don’t you show me how to ride? I think they’re itchin’ to get out of the pasture!”

“It would be my pleasure, ma'am.”

Safe to say, you end up falling off a few times. Apparently the whole vampire grace thing doesn’t apply to riding massive, moving animals.

---

This came to me so randomly, and I loved it, and I don't think I did it justice, but I needed to just write it! I might re-do it, we'll see!

[leonw4nter]

This Whiskey or Your Love?

Vendetta!Leon x F!Reader

TW ! graphic mention of getting stabbed, blood

Relationships in this line of work are always bound to be tragic, whether the relationships formed were that of friendships or ones that were more than that. You and Leon knew this too well so you two never gave a label for whatever was between you two. Even something as simple as sharing a whiskey flask after a long day was intimate, your lips connecting to where his was just moments ago. Or those late night sparring sessions, urging the other to come at them with a practice blade and engage in a tango consisting of lunges and blades; you observed that there is a sense of familiarity with these sessions, both of you familiar with the manner of how the other gripped their knives or what side the other preferred when it came to offenses, an interesting sense of familiarity with your partner. Most of all, you loved when you always took the chance to protect Leon. You are familiar with your partner and his tendency to throw away his life for the sake of preserving that of others’ so the opportunity for you to cover for him and protect him when he couldn’t always felt rewarding; he always made sure others were fine and never took time to check if he was fine so being the one to ensure his safety made you feel at ease.

The pursuit of that feeling at ease and eagerness to protect Leon is what led to your demise, your body skewered with several spikes of an Anubis BOW. Your partner was preoccupied with several other infected, he barely registered an Anubis behind him. The damn thing was right behind him, its sharp and bony wings about to dive straight into him. You were near him yet you were in pain, your rib having been shattered and you could bet that one of your bones were probably poking against a lung yet your legs still worked so you ran. You ran to be the barrier between Leon and the BOW, arms extended to your sides for maximum coverage for Leon. You closed your eyes and for a quick second, you felt fear. This was not how you imagined you’d die, you wished you’d die of old age and be surrounded by loved ones but here you are: death by impalement in front of the man whom you love but never called a “boyfriend”. You were afraid not just because you were going to die but because you’re probably going to leave him alone in this ruthless world. Last minute, you decided to shove Leon out of the way before moving yourself away from the monster too but it seemed that fate had already decided long ago for you. Leon managed to finish off the last of the zombies before he turned to you, his back to the ground but his gun trained on the thing behind you when he heard a gasp. You were facing him, body caging him but he noticed spikes– 3 of them protruding from your abdomen and chest. With a sickening squelch, the Anubis retracted its spikes before diving them back inside your body, carmine blood spilling forth from your mouth and dripping down your chin. You could not even keep a proper grip on your gun, the overwhelming pain of everything taking your consciousness away from you. Your eyes closed and your hearing was dulling but you swear you felt the most painful jab to your heart not because that stupid thing stabbed you again but because of the sheer sadness Leon had in his voice when he called your name. You heard the sound of gunshots and screaming next, the spikes retracting from your body before you fell to the ground and lay in a pool of your own blood. You forced yourself awake when you felt Leon gently shift your body, applying pressure to two of the three stab wounds. You rubbed your eyes, trying to get them to focus on Leon but then you regret that you did; his face is all red and covered with the muck of the Anubis, a bad bruise forming right under his eye but most of all he’s crying. He’s cried in front of you many times but never as hard as this.

“Don’t talk,” Leon says with a shaky voice. “You’re losing a lot of blood but you’ll be fine, I promise.”

He continues to apply pressure with shaky hands but stops when he feels you groan, realizing that he accidentally pressed on a cracked rib. There is nothing he can do but cradle you and cry harder, your body beaten and snapped beyond saving. To keep you alive in this condition as you wait for back-up would be pure torture for you, pain overriding every single thing you can feel. To let you die in this situation is the kindest act Leon can do for you.

“Yeah, I’ll… be fine.” You softly whisper as you raise your arm, a bloodied hand coming up to cradle his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch, not caring if he’s smearing your blood on his face. He doesn’t even smell the strawberry perfume you always wear now, the metallic scent of your blood filling his nostrils instead.

“Why did you do that?” Leon asks.

“You… you do so much for the world, Leon… It’s my… t-turn to… do some…thing for you…” You barely choke out.

You two stay silent for a bit, Leon brushing the matted hair away from your face and tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’m not used to being without you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be used to being without you.”

Oh, Leon. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the world.

“I’m… sorry… Leon,” you inaudibly apologize. Each breath was becoming increasingly difficult, causing a rattling noise to emit from your throat.

“I love… you. Always… have… I’ve got… so many words for you… but I can’t right now… because… I’m feeling a… little tired…,” you plaintively whisper to him.

“I love you too, Y/N. I regret not telling you sooner, I hate how I have to tell you this right now but I wished I had mustered up the courage to ask you to be mine. I should have tried instead of being afraid.”

“You can… always… wait for me… in the next… life… you know,” you sigh with a small smile. Leon never exactly believed in anything after death; if it’s the end then it’s the end, he thought but for you, he wished that there is something after death just so he could be with you.

“How long will I wait for you until we can be together again?” Leon quietly asks.

“Live… live… your life… while waiting for… me… make use… of it.”

Your hand relaxes but your eyes stay fixed on him, the lids not draping over lifeless irises. He takes your hand again, only for it to limply fall back down. He gently closes your lids with a blood-stained thumb, holding you close to him and gently swaying you back and forth as he cries into the leather jacket he gave to you, still wrapped around your lifeless body. He felt many different things at this moment: agony, resentment, desolation, and many others that he had no names for. Such a lively person didn’t have to die this way, he did– him and his vice of turning to alcohol, him and his vice of never letting people into his life. You were his greatest love and the center of his most impossible dreams.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Y/N wouldn’t want you to live like this!” Chris exclaims as he sees Leon passed out on his dining table, surrounded by several tall bottles of whiskey and empty packets of hangover relief pills. Claire had also come over, cleaning up around Leon’s apartment; when the siblings had come in, the apartment was dark and the smell of booze lingered heavily in the air. Claire turned the light switch on and saw Leon asleep on his table, head resting on his arm whilst his right hand was still curled against a heavy-bottomed glass filled with the amber drink. Immediately, Chris gently shook Leon awake which earned him a displeased look. Chris was more concerned by how Leon looked than the glare he received– his hair was matted and messy, his stubble unshaven for several weeks, with the heavy purple eye bags that hung on his eyes. His lips were dry and crusty and the wounds that Leon was instructed to bandage were not covered up with gauze, the stitches slightly red.

“Forget about Y/N,” Leon slurs. “She’s not around to see me look fucking pathetic.”

Chris stayed silent for a moment, Leon’s reliance on alcohol to deal with his grief reminding him of himself from years ago.

“Leon, you’re going to kill yourself soon if you don’t stop this.”

“Sounds real nice.”

He takes a deep breath before he takes the glass from Leon’s hand and pours the drink in the sink, setting the glassware on the counter.

“Y/N told you to do something with your life. Are you seriously going to stay in this cycle of getting drinking and getting drunk until we find you dead? Because I’m sure as hell that Y/N doesn’t want that!”

Leon stays silent, gaze fixed on the empty bottles in front of him. Chris’ words sobered him up real fast but he still itches for the relief of the burning sensation the whiskey gives to him as he takes a swig. He doesn’t even realize that a tear has wet his cheek before dropping down into the wooden table beneath him, Chris getting up from his chair and engulfing him in a hug. Before he could even think of stopping it, his tears stream down endlessly as he sobs into his shoulder. This is all Leon’s done ever since your funeral: drink, get drunk, and cry but to cry in the company of a friend makes him feel a lot less alone. He feels another figure hug behind him, realizing that it’s Claire. The comfort of her touch causes his breathing to slow down, his body becoming less tense with her soothing words.

“Leon,” Claire says in a firm but gentle voice. “We’ll get you to therapy and stay away from alcohol for a bit. You need help.”

Before Leon could protest,  Chris faces him and gives him a nod.

“Yeah. It’s for your own good and trust me, I’ve been here before.”

With a sigh, Leon decides to get his life together. It won’t be easy and sure as hell won’t be smooth but for you he’ll try. Helping the Redfields clean up, he takes a trash bag and takes all the garbage before starting a shower in what feels like ages while the siblings start on a decent meal for him.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It’s been months since he’s started seeing a therapist and he feels a lot less shitty than he did. Occasionally, he feels the urge to go get himself a bottle of alcohol but he fights the urges and gradually, those urges have gotten less strong and he feels proud of himself for overcoming this. Of course, he still misses you and he sometimes cries himself to the thought of you, your lifeless body still appearing in his dreams but therapy has been helping him cope with your loss a lot better than he previously assumed. He’s already got a dinner reservation with Chris and Claire to thank them for the help they’ve given him, along with the patience to listen to him every time he talks about you.

Leon finally finishes fixing his hair, fixing his suit and making sure he looks presentable before finishing up the look with a small spritz of cologne. Leon looks at himself in the mirror, looking better than he has in a long time. He smiles at his reflection, feeling a lot more confident than he has. His gaze falls to your dog tags on his bedside table, a painful memory resurfacing in his mind but he sets that painful feeling aside because he’s going to see you today. Even better, he’s got a basket ready with candles, your favorite sweets, lunch, flowers, and a Valentine’s Day letter (with songs listed down that he thinks you’d love).

“Looking good,” he tells himself as he admires his suit from different sides.

Taking the basket, he makes his way out of his apartment and into his car. Setting his radio to a station that plays sappy romantic songs, he pulls out of the parking lot and makes his way to the cemetery you’re buried in. As much as he wants to stay in and feel a little sad, he decides to celebrate Valentine’s Day since it’s one of your favorite holidays.

After a nice 30-minute drive he finally arrives at the cemetery. Taking a pink teddy bear and his picnic basket out of the passenger seat, he makes his walk to your grave that is buried in a more private corner of the entire place. He finally spots your grave and sets his picnic blanket down before taking out pink candles, lighting them up before he takes the contents out of the basket.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other,” he softly tells you. “I miss you. Everyday.”

It’s true; each passing day, his love for you doesn’t change and instead grows and extends to places he didn’t know love could touch.

“I got you sweets and a bear, though I’ll have to bring the bear home after this. No alcohol since I’m on a sobriety journey so you’ll have to bear with me on this one.”

He sets your bouquet of flowers down and lines up the sweets around your grave.

“Hope your ghost stays full with these.”

He suddenly remembers the letter he wrote the night before, fishing it out of the bottom of the basket. Much to his confusion, he can’t find it anywhere though he’s sworn that he placed it inside before leaving. He looks back at your headstone before he looks around, making sure that no one’s around to possibly take from your grave.

“I’ll be back, I just have to find something.”

He walks back to his car and looks around, looking for the letter. After a few moments, he nudges against something and the letter falls out along with an old picture of you and him from several years ago. You and him are wearing sleek suits, smiling brightly at the camera during the portrait awarding ceremony; the President decided to award a portrait for you and him as his token of gratitude for saving his daughter a while back. He remembers how you walked up to the photographer and asked him for a casual picture with you; Leon had a small smile on with his arms crossed while you were beaming bright, your body slightly leaned against his. The sight of you being so full of life caused tears to brim at his waterline, wiping them away before they could ruin the photo or his letter.

“You’ve still got some tricks up your sleeve I guess,” he quietly mumbles to himself. He takes the letter and the photo along with him, keeping the picture in the inside pocket of his blazer as he walks back. He looks up and sees a butterfly, fluttering right above him before disappearing and flying off into the wide open sky.

NOTE - I was literally rushing to get this done but I think this turned out pretty well. I tried to make chewy rice balls with my friend at his house yesterday and it turned out rock-hard 😭 We threw it to the wall and it literally bounced off and it sounded like we threw a pebble 😭😭What's worse is that this is a project and the teacher in charge for this subject is a culinary major... sir I hope you won't be disappointed 💀 Anyways, that's all for my fic and thanks for reading it!!!!!! Also thanks for 201 followers, this means so much to me, I <3333333 UUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are from @plutism , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[morallyinept]

MISTLETOE KISS - A Post-Outbreak Joel Miller Christmas One Shot

Summary: At the Tipsy Bison Christmas party in Jackson, you and Joel share your first kiss together under some mistletoe.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.7k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - None, it's just you & Joel smoochin'.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Well, here we are, the last story in my 12 Days of XXX-Mas stories with some of the Pedro Boys. I hope you've enjoyed reading them all, and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, lovelies. 🖤

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

His lips drag against yours gently, that bottom plumpy one catching on yours and feeling fleshy and wet.

The occasional click of your intense osculation is like music to your ears, all your senses fine-tuned and solely focused onto the delicate smooch he plants on your lips - you’re in the Joel Miller zone wholly.

It’s taken a while to get here; to this exact point.

To be standing in the Tipsy Bison with Joel’s enormous hands gently cupping the side of your face.

Two souls thrust together in a small commune, each with your own horrific stories clinging onto your backs for the ride, and both feeling the pinching fear of something new developing between you both, even though you're terrified to indulge.

Months of a slow burn, exchanging longing looks, crafting small slices of conversation into something shapely and whole.

Gentle, tentative steps in your mutual attraction and shared pain from the last twenty odd years hunkering down and surviving the end of the world.

Terrified to misinterpret or assume. Terrified to lose it when you finally find it.

Slow, nudging movements have brought you both here; sharing a few words mumbled at one another when you discovered you were neighbours. Then company on occasion, with shared food becoming regular nights together as you baked him some treats and he poured you some whiskey.

And now, here, your first kiss together. Not in private, but for the whole commune to see and bask in.

Longing glances as you passed him working on frames for the new houses to go up in the commune, sometimes you brought him a sandwich. And he'd share it with you.

Then an offer of a drink at the Christmas party; a mutual hope that you both would want to attend and sway each other out of the lonely house and into the cheery atmosphere.

Joel had looked up and seen the mistletoe hanging over the bar where you both stood, partaking in the Christmas traditions that had come out of the apocalypse unscathed, and with that festive warmth the season still brings.

The tree in the corner is a little bare, and sure the tinsel is scraggly and thinning, but it’s still magical nonetheless. 

It was a small, shy peck as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, blushing across his large nose. But as he pulled away, that magnetism had brought you back together again, unable to repel your polar opposites. 

And now his deft hands cling onto your face; the pads of his thumbs gently resting on the bottom of your eye sockets and his thick, calloused fingers wind inside your roots behind your ears. You can feel him scritch and rummage about in there as he pulls you closer onto his mouth.

The soft whoosh of air expelled from Joel's nostrils as he breathes out on a satisfied hum, warms your philtrum and upper lip as his tongue explores yours; swooping and swishing around it in a gentle, yet tantalising tango that you never want to end.

The affectionate massaging of your head around his hands as they dance upon your skin, tingles. Like falling into the universe, tumbling about utterly weightless and with your final destination unknown, you're floating... lost.

Time is a commodity that no longer exists; a melting clock on a canvas. It stops and there is just... him. You. Together.

It strokes, brushes and slips around yours; a gentle tussle in which he emerges the victor when he suckles on it gently, sending you whizzing off into the greater depths of space, never to be discovered again as you fall into the sun, burning up into dust, Icarus style.

Only Joel, holding tightly onto you now around your waist, pulling you closer into the gravity of him.

You reach up around the back of his thick neck - the skin feeling uniquely soft in its roughness there in the nape - stepping up on tip toes as you cling onto him, your head swims with bubbles and wanders off into fields of gold.

There’s no-one here, only him.

The festive gathering tinkles around you both; people swarming in and out and drawn into other’s orbits as they drink and make merry on this night filled with schmaltzy Christmas tunes from era’s gone by.

But their noise, instead of amplified, is drowned out. Their presence melts away into the walls until there is just only the sound of him, the feel of Joel's heart thrumming against yours in your rib cage; the whiskey cadence of his taste inside your mouth drawing you into the cavernous vortex of him.

In your dreams, he can hurt you; in your dreams he only exists for a fleeting few moments before you wake up and shake all memory of his face free from conscious thought.

For a while, he only existed there, in a make believe world where anything can happen and the horrors of the world are bleached away temporarily.

Only in your wildest dreams can this happen in its physicality, surely? It’s far-fetched, absurd... impossible.

But even the word impossible has possible in it, right?

He’s just a man, he holds no mystical, pussy-taming powers; he’s insignificant, miniscule amongst the eight billion people who inhabited this watery planet until it was picked off to a measly scarce number... so, why him?

Why is he the one the reach out to you and pull you close into his personal space and share it with you, share his unabiding warmth and plant his lips on yours and make you forget your name and how to breathe?

It’s just a kiss, right? No kiss can ever make you feel like this, surely? That’s some movie bullshit right here.

But yet, you feel him scorching all over your soul and leaving powdery imprints on it long after it’s reduced to ash.

Your body is buzzing, your toes even throb inside your worn out shoes as you feel his hands clutch tighter around your waist and pull you closer into him still.

Pressed up against him, packed in tight against that stacked chest of his wrapped in soft, bobbling plaid, that you run your hands up.

You’ve always wondered what this would be like to experience again, feeling that it would never happen because eligible bachelors have now been replaced with repugnant, violent men in a repugnant, violent world.

Mourning the experience of that first kiss with the man of your dreams... that wondrous face you’ve dreamt of coming into close proximity with yours, and you think about nothing else now except how he tastes.

If Joel Miller were a taste, what would his flavour be exactly?

The freedom before work, bills, responsibilities; stresses, adulting, heartbreaks... surviving and enduring.

He tastes of a playful innocence; some sepia nostalgia somewhere from inside your childhood - a happy memory that’s taken up root in your amygdala to stay forever, even though it’s a bit hazy now.

Like a fuzzy camcorder video from the late eighties; a carefree moment when all that mattered in the world was the pure, unadulterated freedom you felt back then.

The time when the only thing you had to worry about was how far up that tree you could climb before your siblings, or how fast your bike could go down that hill making you scream wildly with a giddy thrill of the wind whipping inside your ears.

He tastes of Morello cherries, sweet and tart with a slight hint of tobacco and caustic rum. You can taste the coolness on his tongue from the ashen amber whiskey and how it leaves that heady alkaline on your taste buds that flirts with you to be dizzy with him, getting punch drunk off of him.

He wears a cologne of a perfectly balanced scale of handmade magnolia soap and musky sweat. He smells of the winter; the crystal dew in cobwebs frozen over in the bushes and the harsh nip of the cold. Creased leather and boot polish. Wooden splinters and sawdust.

He smells of heartbreak, but he’s yet to tell.

From the hint of his fingers getting too close to the mound of your ass, and his other hand stroking behind your neck now, you’ve known men like him before. They’ve left their imprint on your skin, the scars across your heart, but he’s not a bad egg bred from the same batch.

No, he’s more like a lovable rogue; a cheeky scamp once upon a time, but one now that protects your pumping organ rather than stomps all over it making it bleed and pop under his heavy boot.

He’ll tell you stories one day soon about his Southern charm. You don’t know anything about him, not really, but you’re certain you know this about him - even if he’s no good, even if he's done bad things in the name of survival, he tries his best to be good, decent.

And a man that tries, is a man that wins.

Joel wraps you into his arms furthermore; arms that are abnormally thick and enveloping. A strong cocoon to protect you, to hold you tight when the going gets tough; home is in his arms.

He’s so tall; unequivocally unwavering and statuesque as you take him all in. 

Quiet and seemingly shy, he stumbles around his words when put on the spot and likes to fill the gap with uhms and aahs through gruff mumbles.

But he was the rowdy one amongst friends decades ago, and those who knew what really went on under that lurching frame. His height makes him stand out, a lonesome, snow-capped head streaked in silver, but he doesn’t want to stand out for all the wrong reasons.

He’s self-assured and a wallflower all rolled into one; a bundle of shitty self-loathing, an aggressive drunk at times, and yet he loves hard like a soldier shot in battle; he’ll push on through the pain. 

The things that turn you on and leave you panting into his mouth for more as you buck and contort with him pushed deep inside you. 

He’s a grump, an asshole at times and doesn’t indulge in a fight for fight’s sake. But will if he needs to.

But all these things about Joel will be learned and witnessed in time, the same as he'll be educated about you and all your foibles and quirks. The things that make you tick.

Joel Miller feels like a corona, scorching and blazing into you; a man who is a man and a boy all rolled into one handsome face, aged through years of toilsome survival.

A man that could take you down a dark alley and fuck you up against the mottled brickwork as it grazes against your skin, and equally lay with you in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, spending hours with his face nestled between your legs drawing your pleasures out of you into his eager, skilled mouth.

Joel Miller is both a lover and a fighter, and exudes intense passionate in both. 

He’s an enigma shrouded in further mystery, he’s a cheap, paperback book with no pictures; a crumpled IKEA instruction guide in gobbledygook, but you understand him nonetheless.

His kiss reveals all his secrets, and yet gives nothing away in equal measure.

A vector of himself; cocoa powder eyes that tell a thousand truths and a thousand lies, and you’d be none the wiser about any of them.

But this, his kiss, tells you all you need to know for now.

Nothing else right now matters as you live in the present with him, not the past, nor the future. Just in the here and now, between his lips.

It’s a kiss that blooms, a kiss that ignites and starts something between the both of you; something that neither of you know where it will ultimately lead to, but you’re both eager enough to cling on for the ride.

Joel draws back and you can see his eyes; the inviting, deep browns and you’re swimming in them. In the centre they seem a little hazel, maybe a possible fleck of gold here or there under the Christmas lights.

He blinks with dark, fluttery eyelashes, smiles with feminine, plumpy heart-shaped lips and blushes a little around the apples of his cheeks mottled with pores, as his arms stroke up and down the sides of yours.

His cheekbones are dusted with a fluffy scruff, greying in its patchiness. A rugged moustache sits atop his lip and you can still taste it on your lips, feel the tickle from the tingles and the soft scratch that silk caterpillar leaves. 

You remember his voice, remember how he sounded as he caught your attention and offered you a drink before the night got underway. That gravelly tincture bouncing in the undertones of his Texan accent; he sounds acutely Americanised, those Southern pebbles roll around his mouth on certain vowels, there’s no mistaking them and their wonder as they spill out like liquid gold at your feet.

Even his voice renders you to your knees in subjugation of him, your pussy waving a white flag utterly enthralled.

Who is this man? Who is he, really?

What are the things that he finds the most funny, and what makes him so fucking mad that he’d punch his large fist through a wall?

What are the things you could do to him that would make those entrancing eyes roll into the back of his head in abject pleasure?

Your mind swims with the possibilities of grilling him about that over decades old whiskey and late night cuddles on the beaten couch, before you get the chance to see those peepers indeed roll into the back of his skull as though being possessed by an other-worldly entity. 

But this is just the beginning.

This is just the first step into a maze of uncharted exploration. There are mountains to scale, valleys to peak, and ledges to stand on precariously as you both contemplate the consequences of jumping off together or singularly.

Would he catch you, or let you fall to your death and stare down at your dead body with indifference as you bleed out?

Is he the villain or the hero - or both?

His rough, warm fingers thread into yours; an unconscious action that his brain has no say over. You feel them tangle inside your own as you glance down at them, weaving and stroking with a satisfied awe.

They’re obscenely thick like the rest of him, and yet strangely delicate as they loop and lace with your own, thumbs stroking over knuckle hilts.

Would you fall in love with him, or would he simply take you home and fuck you senseless and leave in the morning without a word?

And there doesn’t need to be a viable reason for that, does there? You don’t need to psychoanalyse and connect the dots.

But that’s the most wonderful, yet incredibly agonising, thing about a first kiss with someone; someone new.

It invokes all these thoughts, questions, could-be scenarios, when in reality you should just close those yammering thoughts off and just enjoy being on the receiving end of someone’s affection, because they want to share this moment of intimacy with you and no-one else.

Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s feeling and emotion, maybe it’s brazen lust disguised as love at first sight. Maybe it’s-

You’re attracted to each other through chemistry and pheromones. He has a pretty face that you want to sit on; you have a great ass he’d like to fuck one day.

Maybe it’s just that, cold, sterile science?

Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter.

Joel presses his lips onto yours once more, this time the kiss morphs into something else; something else unrestrained and jerking against the leash to get free.

You feel it travel all over your skin, across the fine hairs on your arms, down the nodules of your spine; between your legs as it throbs heavily.

You nip back on his bottom lip, tasting him all over again; your hands working up his broad back, your chest crushed painfully tight against his own. He’s tall, so tall you still have to tiptoe, but you don't care.

It’s all nonsensical and fades away once more as you lose yourself into him again.

You break the kiss to breathe and take a beat to take one another in. Faces nuzzling with stolen breaths, clamouring heartbeats. With your foreheads pressed so close together, you both resemble Cyclops with only one eye to the other.

He smiles at you contentedly, his scuffed face relaxed and unreadable at the same time. And it’s utterly euphoric to inhale him in, to touch him and hold him in your hands, finally.

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” you say in a voice that is still lost somewhere inside his throat.

Your legs are like jelly; weak and wobbly as you try not to pass out in his strong arms holding you upright against the weighted shield of his body.

Joel smirks, revealing a dimple you’ve never seen until now, and his eyes flick up to the bud of mistletoe hanging over your heads and smiles.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” Joel replies in a deep, haunting drawl.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[hrefna-the-raven]

The hunt

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

Summary: you were sent to retrieve a precious item, but so was the most notorious bounty hunter in the Wasteland...

(this happens before Cooper ended up in that grave)

Words: 1143

Warnings: swearing

Notes: I had a female reader in mind while reading this but it turned out to be quite neutral so I guess it could be read a gender-neutral as well 😊

Chapter 1 - The plan

The blistering sun burned down on the dusty South Californian wasteland as he entered the ruins of a long deserted town. Tugging his cowboy hat lower to shield his eyes from the blinding sunshine, he instinctively reached for his revolver, drawing it from its holster as he sauntered towards you.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?", he asked with a grin, aiming his gun at you.

You had spotted him the moment he entered the ruins, but hiding was never your style. Your curiosity got the better of you, eager to finally meet the ghoulish bounty hunter whose reputation preceded him. Lifting your gaze from his gun to meet his eyes, you rose to your feet, a mischievous smirk painted across your lips.

"A beautiful face, a wicked sense of humour that provides for good company and", picked up the shotgun propped against the adjacent wall, "a loaded gun if you decide on becoming a problem."

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing the shotgun before returning your smirk.

"Now, ain't that a welcome you could take as a compliment and a warning. Well, you can rest easy, darlin’. I ain't lookin’ to turn this into a bloodbath."

"Neither do I. Would be a shame to rid this world of the legendary Cooper Howard.", you winked at him as you put your gun back.

The ghoul chuckled, holstered his revolver, and tipped his hat while taking a step closer to you.

"Now ain't you a charmer? And one who's done their homework as well."

"Oh when a pre-war celebrity as dashing as you becomes the most renowned bounty hunter of this unforgiving wasteland, one simply must take a closer look."

"Don't go makin' an ol' ghoul blush with your pretty words", he teased.

"As if one could see the blush on that red skin of yours", you chuckled, "so what brings the most feared bounty hunter to this lost place?"

You were intrigued by this man out of time. He lived in the pre-war era, a world that was so different from the one you were born into, wandering around for two decades while he was forced to watch the world crumble and slowly rebuild itself, for better or worse. It begged the question what all this would do to a human's sanity and yet he didn't strike you as mad, quite on the contrary, he possessed something that you'd describe as old world charm paired in a deadly combination with one of the sharpest minds. His expression took on a slightly more serious edge, his gaze fixing to the edge of the ruins.

"Well, I’ve been tracking a caravan, you see. They’re supposed to be passing through these parts sometime soon. I’m looking for a specific item they’re carrying and since this ain't exactly a common route, I'd bet my wrinkly ass you're here for the exact same reason."

"What a coincidence", you laughed, taking out your flask, unscrewing the lid, "that item wouldn't happen to be a crate full of well preserved bottles of the finest pre-war whiskey?"

You took a sip and tapped the space beside you on the wall, gesturing for him to join you before extending the flask towards him. He nodded appreciatively as he accepted it. You were clearly a hunter just like him but your kindness caught him off guard, it was a rare occurrence in the harsh reality of the Wasteland, especially among gunslingers. To him you seemed like a rare but quite intriguing specimen, beauty and charm in a passionate tango with deadly cunning, a single dionaea muscipula thriving in the desert and he was the fly irresistibly drawn to it. This was exactly why he usually kept his distance from others but around you his resolve seemed to crumble, enchanted by the brightness and beauty of your soul.

"Quite the coincidence indeed", the Ghoul murmured, "I wonder how you by this information? If I'd had to guess I'd say that prick Dom Pedro hired one too many for this job."

"Given my additional instructions to kill a certain ghoul should he happen to cross my path, I'd say you're spot on. So what shall we do about this?", you asked, turning towards him, away from the gun as you kept your hands on your lap.

You pokered high on this one, knowing damn well it was a huge risk to admit your instructions to eliminate him while having no intent to do so, it made you vulnerable in front of the Wasteland's most fearsome bounty hunter.

Cooper lit a cigarette, a faint glow casting an eerie glow on his ghoulish face as he puffed on it, studying you with a combination of intrigue and admiration. You had made no move to actually fulfill that part of your contract, another thing that intrigued him about you, another contrast to every other bloodthirsty fucker he met in fucked up ruined world and maybe this was exactly what he needed.

"Well now, ain't that a question for the ages. The way I see it, we got three choices here. First, we could settle this like every other idiot in the trade and see who's left standin'. Second, we could team up and increase our chances of snatchin' that shipment, shared profit of course. Or third...", he took a long drag on his cigarette before throwing it to the ground.

"We get the item, return to dear old Dom and fuck him up gloriously", you offered with a mischievous grin.

Cooper's smile widened as he nodded in agreement. He'd risk a lot but not shooting you straight away but there was this feeling, buried deep down within him that urged him to trust you, a faint notion of the same tingling he had felt so long ago, back when his skin was still smooth and life was less complicated.

"Now you're talkin' my language. Ain't nothin' more exciting than a well-executed betrayal. Besides ol' Dom deserves what's comin' for him. So what do you say? You in?", he asked, extending his hand towards you, his eyes locked on yours.

"Hell yeah", you chuckled and shook his hand, "pleasure doin' business with you, Howard."

The way his name fell from your lips stirred something within him. For over two decades, nobody had called him by his real name, everywhere he went he always simply the ghoul, the notorious mercenary who drifted from place to place, leaving chaos and bloodshed in his wake. However you were the very first person in a long time who seemed to see something different in him and the fearless yet teasing way you talked to him had this undeniable hint of respect, dancing around the borders of genuine affection. He sighed and got up as the sounds of chatters in the distance rang to his ears.

“Our target's approaching, let's get goin'.”

Chapter 2 - The bounty

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[george-weasleys-girl]

Second Chance Soulmate Pt.2

Season of Love Event

Start here:

Summary: George debates the wisdom of getting into another relationship

Warnings: a few curse words

~•~

"When are you planning to ask her out?" Fred asked, rummaging through a mountain of paperwork.

"What??" George snapped up from his own pile. "Who??"

"Y/N," his twin rolled his eyes. "The bookshop girl."

"What makes you think I want to ask her out?"

"Oh, I dunno," Fred answered with an absent-minded air. "Could be because you're over there every chance you get... "

"Mira loves the place," George interrupted. "She'd probably live there if I let her."

"Perfect! Mira already likes her. So, that's one hurdle you don't have to worry about."

"I. Said." George reiterated, enunciating each syllable. "THE. PLACE. Not the owner."

"Don't give me that crap," Fred huffed. You know as well as I do, Mira talks about her all the time. I'm surprised she hasn't talked your remaining ear off." Fred argued.

George leveled his eyes at his twin. "Just get to the point."

"Oh, I am, Georgie boy," Fred grinned. "You're avoiding reality. That's the point."

"Oh?" His brother leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "And what reality would that be?"

"That Mira likes Y/N. A lot. And so do you."

George's shoulder sagged, and he heaved a heavy sigh. "So what if I do? I've already fucked up one relationship. I'm not about to give a repeat performance."

Fred scoffed. "As I recall, you weren't the only one in that marriage. It takes two to tango, you know."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't a bad dancer," George mumbled and bowed his head back over his paperwork, completely ignoring his twins exaggerated sighs and eyerolls.

~•~

One month after the divorce

"I don't know what to do," Carlee sighed. "I've tried everything, but nothing works."

George looked down at his daughter, who lay curled up on his lap. "She eats fine when she's here," he glanced up at his ex-wife, then back down to Mira. "Why won't you eat for mummy?"

Mira shook her head and buried her face in his chest.

"Can she stay with you?" Carlee blurted out. "Just for a while... until she's eating properly again."

George didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Of course. She can stay as long as she likes."

Mira looked up and beamed at her dad.

~•~

"As long as she likes" turned out to be two years, and counting with Mira spending every other weekend with her mom, though it was supposed to be the other way around. That's what they'd agreed upon in the divorce. George thought it'd be best. A child should be with their mother. That's what everyone says anyway.

But Mira had other ideas.

He knew it hurt Carlee that Mira chose him over her. And, honestly, he was never really sure why. Whenever he asked her about it, Mira would only say, "You're my favorite. But don't tell mummy." It was a phrase that put him on cloud nine every time he thought about it. And he wasn't going to question it, lest his daughter think too hard on the matter and change her mind.

~•~

Present day

George sighed and poured himself a hefty shot of whiskey, wishing his daughter was here right now. Of all the days for Fred to zero in on his brother's sad single status, he had to pick today. Though, knowing his twin, the timing was probably strategically planned. George had just dropped Mira off at her mother's for the weekend, a long weekend, no less. Carlee was taking her to visit family, and they wouldn't return until Tuesday.

"Damn it, Fred," he muttered. "You knew exactly what you were doing today, didn't you?"

~•~

After downing the first shot, George poured himself another and headed upstairs. Kneeling next to his bed, he pulled out the box that held a few mementos from his marriage, including a photo album. He hadn't thought about it in months. But, tonight, with his twin's words haunting his mind, the past came rushing back. He took a heavy swig of whiskey and cracked it open.

Except for a few photos with only her and Mira, Carlee had left behind all their pictures. "I have what I want," she'd told him. "I don't care what you do with the rest."

For the first few months, he couldn't bear to look at them. But as time went on, it became easier, and eventually, George began the long process of sorting through them, saving his favorites in this photo album. The rest he burned in a fiery Unbonding ritual.

George's fingers traced over their smiling faces. It was all there, his and Carlee's time together. From beginning to end.

Their very first picture as a couple, taken in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Standing in front of the joke shop on the day of the grand opening.

Sitting with Fred as he recovered in the hospital after the war.

Dancing at their wedding.

Making funny faces on their honeymoon.

Both of them smiling, misty-eyed as they held Mira for the first time.

And so many other moments in between.

George sighed and took another swig. Once upon a time, they were happy and so very much in love. Then, bit by bit, over the years, it all crumbled into dust.

He turned the final page and smiled wistfully at the last picture. It was taken on their last vacation as a family. He and Carlee stood on the beach, smiling, standing side by side, their arms around each other's waist as Carlee held a giggly and squirmy Mira. They looked like the perfect little family.

A little over a year later, his world fell apart.

~•~

"You should burn every photo that doesn't have Mira in it," Fred had argued the night before the burning ritual. "Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll never truly let Carlee go."

George, of course, ignored his twin's suggestion, reasoning that he should at least keep some for Mira. Carlee was still her mother, after all. He shook his head and chuckled at the memory, then closed the album and slipped it back in its box under the bed. Fred was annoyingly right about a lot of things. But that was not one of them.

He did let go of Carlee. And though it had been a long, painful process, George's heart no longer ached for her. He no longer dreamed of a reunion. Even now, looking at those pictures, he didn't miss his ex-wife, so much as he missed having a partner.

Y/N suddenly flooded his thoughts, and he couldn't hold back the smile that spread across his face. Everything about that woman sent him flying over the moon. The way she always lit up whenever he and Mira came into the store. The way her hand would brush his when she showed them the newest books. The way she would always make a point to stop and chat with him whenever they saw each other on the street.

And her laughter.

He knew all her laughs. From her delighted giggles when reading to Mira, to her unrestrained belly-laughs when he told her one of his stupid jokes, to the occasional snort that sent an adorable bright pink blush blossoming across her cheeks.

Dear Merlin, he could so easily fall head-over-heels in love with her.

If he wasn't already...

George's heart clenched painfully, and his knees wobbled beneath him. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. How could his stupid heart go off and fall in love without him noticing? He wasn't ready. Not yet. What if he and Y/N got together and it didn't work out? No one needed to tell him that love doesn't always last forever. He'd experienced it firsthand.

Even so, he was tired of being alone and lonely. Mira helped. Of course she did. But she could never fill the gaping hole in his heart that yearned for the love of a partner. Despite what he told himself, George so desperately to be happy and in love again. And he had no doubt that he and Y/N would be happy together.

But for how long?

That was the question.

Two years? Five years? Ten? Twenty? His parents' neighbors, once regarded as "perfect for each other," recently divorced after 21 years and three kids.

~•~

George collapsed back onto the bed, suddenly bone-weary and soul-sick. The future terrified him. Too many possibilities. Too many what-ifs. It damn near destroyed him when he and Carlee split. Another heartbreak like that might end him once and for all.

Part Three

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1Lellykins @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe

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@moonatician @lunacurlclaw @sierraluvzz @min-aaa @now-that-we-dontalk @lillisummers @lovesanimals0000

[guiltyastiva]

I think the reason there wasn’t a #Tiva appearance in this episode is because it was primarily a tribute to Ducky/David, and they didn’t want to detract attention from that.

Because, let’s face it — seeing Tiva on screen together for the first time in 11 years… it will make fans go FERAL. And this just wasn’t the episode to do that in. Of course, we wanted it, we always do. But this episode honours a wonderful man and a wonderful legacy, and a Tiva appearance right now is neither the time or place.

However, I’m not ruling out the possibility that seeing Tiva on screen might happen this season. I know I’m always hopeful every year, but I had a dream about them last week by which Tony called Ziva “my wife”… and then Michael made his appearance last night…

I feel like the stars are aligning to bring something wonderfully Tiva (in a good, happy way — NOT in a Truth or Consequences way), and I have this little feeling in my gut that we may see them on screen in season 21. After all, Tali will be 10 this year… won’t she? 👀

[minisugakoobies]

Covert Affairs | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, angst, enemies to lovers, Spies!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: drinking, bantering, a little dirty dancing - tango style, a very charming Jungkook in a tux, kissing, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up), fighting (hand to hand), weapons - guns, mentions of blood and bruises, allusions to torture (interrogation), mentions of war

Word Count: 4.3k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: The five times you cross paths with legendary spy Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: This is for the anon who sent me a request for Spy!JK vs Spy!Reader - I tried to keep this to a drabble, but, well, it had a mind of its own. 🤷‍♀️ I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to @minttangerines @herecomesjoon and @reliablemitten for helping me with this one! 💜

The vibe here was inspired in part by "The Bagman's Gambit" by the Decemberists. This ending is unlike most that I've written before. I would love to hear what you think about it! 🥺👉👈 Please don't be shy, my inbox is always open. 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

The first time you meet him, it’s by accident. 

You’re late to arrive at the dead drop. It’s not your fault - there’s a crash on the Tower Bridge and your taxi is trapped behind it. By the time traffic starts moving again and you make it to the library, locating the flash drive your handler left behind, you learn that your target is likely already on the move, and you rush back to your hotel room to change.  

It’s another honeypot scenario. The woman you need to seduce is a scientist who holds a lot of secrets, state and otherwise, that your country desperately desires. She tends to frequent a pub a few blocks from your hotel at the same time every week. She never leaves alone. You pour yourself into a tight little dress, tuck your handgun into your clutch, and make your way downtown, heels clacking on the pavement at a determined pace. 

You’ve done a dozen of these missions. It’s rote by now. Locate the target. Hook them with your attention, your flirtatious words, a few light touches. Convince them to leave with you. Back in your hotel room, offer them a drink laced with a special ingredient, one meant to loosen their lips, and get them talking. And once you’ve obtained the info you need, leave them there, to wake up alone, confused and with one hell of a hangover. 

Couldn’t be easier. 

Except tonight, thanks to the accident, you discover that your mission might be a little more difficult, because your target is deep in conversation with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

He’s tall, dark, and handsome, that classic trifecta. Brown eyes shimmer brightly as he gazes at your target, brushing a swoop of jet-black hair off his forehead. His pretty pink lips part as he smiles, revealing slightly large front teeth. One hand clutches a tumbler of some amber liquor while the other is slowly skimming the scientist’s forearm where it rests on the bar. From the flush that graces her cheeks, you know she’s enjoying the man’s company. 

That’s fine. You like a challenge. 

Sidling up to the bar, you position yourself across from the two of them, with the man’s back to you. The bartender greets you and you strike up a conversation. You’re sure to laugh a little louder than you typically would, to gesture a little more freely, to do anything you can to catch the target’s eye. Thankfully, the bartender is into you, returning to chat between serving others, and it’s not long before your laughter turns her head.

Using your peripheral vision, you see the target glance your way a few times before you finally look at her. Tilting your head, you hold her gaze for a moment, then lift your whiskey in her direction before taking a sip. A drop of liquid beads down your chin, and you wipe it away with your thumb before bringing it to your mouth and sucking it into your parted lips, all while never breaking eye contact. 

Overkill, perhaps, but it works. 

The target leans over to the handsome man and says something in his ear, then slides off her barstool. She’s already tipsy, bumping into another patron as she makes her way over to you. You gesture to an empty seat beside you and fall easily into a mindless back-and-forth with her. A little banter, a few brushes of your fingertips against her skin, and a couple more cocktails seal the deal. She’s yours. 

The handsome man has been watching the two of you since she left his side. You’re accustomed to the gaze of others when you’re working a honeypot. Usually, it’s a look of jealousy. Often tinged with lust. Tonight, you see both in his intense stare, but there’s something else there. Something that feels different about the way he observes you. It’s not until you’re guiding the target out of the bar and you pass by the man, getting a closer look at his face, that you realize why. 

It’s him. The Mole. 

So named not because he’s a sleeper agent, but because of the identifying mark on his face, nestled right below his lower lip. He’s a legend in the world of espionage, known for his supposedly astonishing abilities. Practically a myth, said to be able to dodge any enemies, infiltrate any organization, and capture any target. 

Well. Not this time. You lead the scientist down a labyrinthine route to your hotel, ducking down alleys and doubling back a few times. She’s too drunk to notice you’re walking in circles. A quick glance at your reflection in a storefront window shows you that he’s just a step behind, so you take the target by the hand and dash across the street, ignoring the swearing of the drivers as they slam on their brakes. 

On and on, he tails the two of you until you’re finally able to lose him by ducking into a restaurant. The scientist merely laughs at an irate chef as he hustles the two of you out of his kitchen and through the back door. You’re glad she’s enjoying herself. It’s not until you’re locking your hotel room door that you relax your grip on the handle of your gun.

In the early hours of the morning, just as the sun breaks over the city, you’re on your way to the airport. The information you obtained is already on its way to those in charge, already helping your country to assert its power. The taxi comes to a stop at an intersection, and when you glance at the traffic passing by, you think you catch a swoop of hair blowing in the breeze as a motorcyclist zips by, but you blink and he vanishes.  

The second time you meet him, it’s a trap. 

The museum gala is in full swing as you enter. The gown your handler sent you for the occasion fits like a dream, hugging your every curve, a daringly long slit up one leg giving all the other attendees a glimpse at the silky skin underneath. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server, you stand at the top of the stairs and survey the room. 

Tonight’s mission is to intercept an official who is planning to defect. The informant who tipped you off doesn’t know who they’ve been in contact with, only that they’re very disgruntled with your government and ready to blow. You are to stop them before they meet with their liaison and spill any of your government’s precious secrets, and get them to reveal their connection so the rest of your team can apprehend them. Your handler’s voice crackles in your earpiece, alerting you that the target is currently spinning around the makeshift dance floor, so you quickly toss back your drink and descend. 

The night sky shines through the glass ceiling in the atrium as the couples on the dance floor sway. There’s a string quartet providing the music tonight, and as you weave your way around, the band strikes up a tango. The voice in your ear commands you to look to your left, and you spot the target with his arms wrapped around some poor young thing whom you vaguely recognize from social media. A hotel heiress, perhaps? Doesn’t matter who they are, you just need to cut in, but as you step towards them, your path is suddenly blocked by a handsome man in a tuxedo. 

“There you are, darling! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” his smooth voice purrs. It’s been a few years, but you recognize him immediately, glancing at the tiny mole beneath his mouth as he grins. His dark hair is slicked back, but there’s that swoop again, cascading into his warm eyes. “Come on, let’s give everyone a show.” His right arm is around your waist before you can react, left hand taking yours. And he steers you away from the target as he leads you into the tango. 

“I’m sorry, I think you must have me confused with someone else,” you declare, trying to pull away, but he swiftly tugs on your arm, spinning you back into his embrace. 

“Oh, now, don’t play shy! I know it’s been a while since London, but I remember you. Probably better than our mutual friend does,” he smirks. 

“London? Now I know you have me mistaken.” 

He doesn’t respond, placing a hand on the back of your neck and guiding you down into a low dip. You move instinctually, following his lead without hesitation. He’s light on his feet, dancing like he breathes, naturally, an innate rhythm flowing through him. 

You’re practically horizontal at this point as he eases you down, then he snaps you back into his arms. You let out a tiny huff of surprise as his mouth connects with your ear. “I couldn’t be more sure. You’re unforgettable.” His hand cradles your back as he pushes you forward, stepping in time to the lively beat. 

The voice in your ear goes haywire. Your dance partner is obviously the target’s contact. And he’s trying to distract you. But as your handler insists that you make a hasty retreat, it occurs to you that as long as he’s distracting you, he can’t abscond with the target himself. 

So you tango.

Lifting your leg, you hook it around his, and slide down his tall frame, dragging your hand slowly down his chest. His eyes lock on yours as you sink lower, and there’s a brief flash of something in his expression that sparks a heat inside you. As you rise, he clutches your thigh tightly, rough hand gripping the soft skin exposed there, and shuffles backwards, taking you with him.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he says, as you lean against his chest, letting him carry you across the dance floor. 

“Is that so?” With a coy smile, you slide around him, running your hand across his shoulders. “I guess you’ve got me all figured out.” 

“I do.” His gaze is earnest, eyes so wide you could almost believe none of this is an act. 

The target still has that young socialite in his clutches. You catch a glimpse of him over the handsome man’s shoulder before he spins you around, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you flush to his chest. He nudges your arm up and runs his hands down the silk of your bodice as you close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments. 

“Then tell me. Tell me about myself.” 

He twists, bringing you chest to chest again. The two of you part the crush of revelers easily, drunken donors happily ceding command of the dance floor. 

“You’re someone who is clearly devoted to their cause, which is why you’re here tonight.”

“Yes, supporting the arts is very important to me.”

“Mmm. I’m sure.” He pauses, lost in thought. “You enjoy a challenge.” 

You nod. “Never back down from one.” 

“God, I hope not.” His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he studies your face. “I’d say you’re pretty used to getting your way.”

“Am I that obvious?” He tries to steer you to the left, but you simply throw your weight to the right and he is forced to go along with your momentum or topple over. He lets you take the lead with a loud laugh.

“Just a little, darling.” You wonder how many targets he’s seduced with that smile. It’s very charming. Undoubtedly effective.

“And just how do you know all of these things are true?”

He shrugs. “I can just tell. I have good instincts, and I trust them.” He cocks his head. “Don’t you?”

You merely hum.

“You really impressed me in London, you know. No one’s ever given me the slip like that.”

“That’s rather surprising, given how easy it was,” you inform him, lips curling into an arrogant smile. If he’s not going to pretend, neither are you. 

He laughs again, and your smile broadens at the high-pitched giggle that tumbles from his lips. “I see. Well, wear that badge with honor anyway, because it will never happen again. I’ve got my eyes on you now.” His gaze roams over your body, the mirth on his face replaced by a hunger so intense your breath stutters. 

This time, when he spins you away, he releases his grip on your hand, and the voice in your ear yells that now is your chance to slip away, that the two of you are being watched by unknowns, and they’re closing in. The handsome man’s team, most likely. The trap has been sprung. 

Instead, you return to his waiting arms. 

“You can watch all you want, darling,” you whisper, nose nearly touching his as he holds you close. “I don’t mind. I’ll still win in the end.”

“And why is that?” he murmurs, peering at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Because,” you lift your chin, lips brushing his ear as you raise your hand behind his back, throwing a signal towards the camera on the ceiling, “it doesn’t matter if you find me, you’ll still have to catch me first.” 

The klaxons of the fire alarm suddenly blare to life, bright lights flashing as frightened screams erupt. His head snaps up in shock, and you immediately twist away, slipping behind him and kicking the side of his knee hard. He goes down, only for a moment, but it's long enough for you to dash away. Finding the target, you shout a lie about the contact sending you to meet him instead, and lead him away from the crowds surging towards the exits, heading instead for the backup plan rendezvous point. 

You try to fight the temptation to turn around, but as you reach the edge of the atrium, you glance over your shoulder. The swoop of hair bobs in the crush of bodies swarming to escape to safety. And then it’s pulled under. 

The third time you meet him, it’s a close call. 

“Attrape-la!” 

The shouting of the bodyguards behind you startles you into action. You smash through the crowds of ravers letting loose under the flashing strobe lights, leaving a wave of bruised bodies and cursing clubbers in your wake. 

Of course you’d been made. You should’ve expected that to happen, given that everything else tonight had gone so smoothly. Too smoothly. The painstaking lengths your country went through to orchestrate tonight’s little agent provocateur scheme paid off. Honestly, it hadn’t taken much to tempt the Prime Minister’s black sheep scion down into the catacombs below the city, promising him all the lurid delights his wicked little heart could desire.

And how he indulged in all of those delights, as you watched, the golden heart-shaped pendant dangling around your neck capturing every image. You were too far underground to transmit the photos via satellite; once you returned to the safe house, you would upload everything from the tiny chip safely ensconced within the necklace.

So the scion basked in his decadence and you snapped every second and it was all going perfectly to plan, until one of the young man’s bodyguards recognized you from a previous encounter, from back when he was in the army and not in the employ of the world’s most spoiled libertine, and you ran. Through the partygoers, down the antechamber, back into the tunnels. 

The catacombs are a complex maze beneath the sprawling capital. You hadn’t had long to prepare for this mission, meaning you’d given the map your handler provided only a quick glance. You now regret this lack of foresight.

Voices echo off the walls around you. You dart down another tunnel, barely gaining some distance from your pursuers, and that’s when you realize you’re lost. For all you know, you’ve already been down this passage before - they all look the same in the dim light of the electric torches. There’s no time to think, you have to keep moving - 

An arm shoots out of the darkness and grabs you. 

“No!” you shout, reeling back to punch your attacker, when he drags you into the light of another tunnel, and you stop in surprise. 

“Caught you,” the handsome man whispers, and then he presses you into the cool stone wall behind you, his body against yours, and tips your head up with a finger under your chin. “I win.” 

And then he kisses you. 

He inhales your gasp, fingers stroking your cheek. Your mind goes blank for a moment, only registering the taste of his lips. The warmth of his skin. Then your training kicks back in, and you open your eyes, watching him closely as he licks into your mouth. His eyes are shut, lashes fluttering as he moans when you curl your fingers into his leather jacket, urging him closer.

The tunnel rings with shouting and heavy footsteps as your pursuers approach. He slides his hands around your back, holding you tightly, and you close your eyes as his kisses grow more heated. The clamor of your would-be captors fades into the background until it vanishes completely. 

His nails rake the back of your neck as his other hand slips around your thigh. You wrap your leg around him, and the movement reminds you of your tango, and the way his eyes shone brighter than the starry sky. 

“I think they’re gone,” you whisper as his lips trail down your throat.

“Who’s gone?” he murmurs, taking a tiny nibble.

You push him away, maybe too gently, and he grins. 

“Thank you,” you mutter, and start to run, but he grabs you by the wrist. 

“Not that way!” He tugs you down another tunnel behind him. 

You dig your heels in, bringing him to a halt. “Why should I trust you?” 

His smile is all you can see as he disappears into the shadows, pulling you in. “Why would I let someone else have the pleasure of catching you?” 

It’s not until you make it back to the safe house, lips swollen, skin covered in marks, that you realize your necklace is gone. 

The fourth time you meet him, it’s the beginning of the end. 

The turbulent rivalry between your countries is a tsunami now, threatening to drown you in the tides of war. You’ve been racing through the city, chasing rumors and hunting red herrings as the fighting makes its way to your shores. Finally, after nearly twenty-four straight hours of running, an informant reveals the location you’ve been trying frantically to find.

From the outside, in the reddish light of the emerging dawn, the building looks like nothing more than a rundown old gas station, pumps out front long overgrown with weeds. But the door hidden beneath the counter is rather unusual, as is the long corridor below that leads you to a single room. The men standing guard outside it are no station attendants. These men have been specially trained to keep people like you out of places like this. 

They must need more training, given how easily they go down. It won’t be long before the next shift change, so you’ll need to be fast. But you still take a moment to compose yourself before turning the doorknob. Bracing yourself. You’re not sure what you’ve been looking for will be inside or not. 

As the door swings open, your heart sinks. The informant was right. This is the place. And there he is, slumped over on his knees, head hanging low, chained to a metal post. A dark bruise stains his left cheekbone, and there’s a cut dripping blood from his chin, but you’d recognize that swoop of hair in your sleep.

He doesn’t move as you close the door quietly behind you. But he startles when you suddenly dash across the room and drop to your knees beside him, eyes widening when you rip off the balaclava you wear. “You!” 

“Me!” you confirm, flashing him a weak smile. Your fellow agents clearly didn’t hold back, if the wounds on his face are anything to go by. Maybe you should’ve kept the mask on, if only to hide your reaction from him. There’s no other need to hide your face with the guards unconscious. There are no cameras down here, in this room that officially does not exist. 

“What are you doing?” You’re unchaining him, but that’s not what he’s asking. 

Helping him stand, you softly brush some dirt from his unharmed cheek. “Trusting my instincts. Come on.” 

Neither of the men have moved from where you left them lying. As quickly as you can, you escape from the nameless room, sprinting down the hallway and up into the gas station and not stopping until you reach a recently abandoned motel on the edge of town. The owners were so anxious to flee the encroaching battle that the linens are still on the bed when the two of you break into a room. 

“We should be okay here,” you announce as he stumbles into the bathroom to inspect the damage the agents inflicted. Standing by the door, you triple check the locks before leaning against it. “You can rest for a little bit, but you should leave as soon as dusk hits. It’s safest to cross the border at night.”

He wanders back into the room with a towel in hand, lightly dabbing his chin. “That eager to be rid of me?” 

Yes and no. If you stop to think about his question, you might start thinking about what you’ve just done and what your country will do to you if you get caught. You have to keep moving, keep that adrenaline flowing. Keep running.

Like right now. You should run straight out that door and not look back. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head.

He says nothing as he walks over to you. With a gentle hand, he tilts your head back to meet his gaze. Beams of sunlight streaming between the cracks in the blinds reflect in his wide eyes, make you see stars. 

His lips are softer than you remember, belying the urgency in his kiss, the sharpness of it. You grab at his shirt, tugging him into you, and then you’re pushing him across the room and onto the bed, pulling off your clothes as you go, and he simply follows your lead everywhere. You try not to bump his wounded cheek as he slides between your legs, silver tongue laving the wetness he finds there, but when he coaxes your first orgasm from you, your thighs quake hard enough to make him hiss. 

Before you can apologize, he’s climbing on top of you, kissing you again. His moan as he finally slides inside you breaks the silence of the room, and then it fills with the sounds of his thrusts and the panting of breath. You add wordless cries, fingers digging into his skin to hold him, wanting him so close, so deep. Even with you clutching him tightly, his hips never stop moving, cock stroking into you again and again.

“Jungkook,” he whispers into your neck, “my name is Jungkook.” 

You breathe your own name back. Those are the only words spoken as pleasure washes over the two of you, giving you both something real to anchor yourselves to before you’re completely swept away. 

When you wake later, after the sun has set, the bed is cold beside you. Lying on his pillow is the heart-shaped pendant.

The fifth time you meet him, it’s goodbye. 

The decade since the war ended hasn’t been easy on you. Once your countries were done destroying each other, you climbed out of the rubble and ran as far as you could, seeking a new home. 

The life you’ve built for yourself in this country is a quiet one. Simple. But you’re okay with that. On Saturdays, you venture into town to purchase groceries, often stopping at a café on the corner for coffee and a pastry. It’s there, perched on an iron chair on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, that you see him. 

He’s standing on the other side of the street. That swoop of hair rises above the busy pedestrians trudging along with their hunched over shoulders, the crowd swiftly flowing around him like he's a towering rock in the stream. Your eyes meet, and you delicately place your coffee cup back on its saucer before you drop it. 

The years appear to have been kinder to him, but are visible nonetheless in his countenance as you peer at him. Strands of grey shimmer in his raven hair. His smile hasn’t faded, eyes still sparkle in the light of the morning sun, but there are more lines on his face now. Scars, yes, but also laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, deep and true. 

Maybe you should invite him to join you. Talk about what happened that night before the world burnt down. Regale each other with stories about your lives since. 

At the very least, you could tell him you understand.

He smiles at you, and before you can raise your arm to beckon him over, someone else takes his hand. Someone who looks at him with nothing but adoration in their gaze. He turns to them and his smile grows, and your heart expands in your chest, an oddly full feeling that overwhelms and calms you at once. The other person tugs on his arm, urging him forward, into the crowd.

He lifts his hand in a silent wave. You do the same. Then the passers-by swell, and he’s gone. 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire; @parkdatjimin; @/reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; ​​@taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

tw: no minors gtfo i stg, kissing, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex piv. Etc

summary: it’s happening

a/n: we made it b holes and babes, special s/o to my beta readers @agentmarvel @blueywrites @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean — this chapter is short and sweet. Hope you enjoy

His lips.

Your lips.

Firm.

Soft.

Cracked.

Smooth.

It feels like your souls are levitating off the ground. Hovering over your lip locked bodies and soaring higher to nap in the clouds.

He’s careful but sure, not pressuring you to open your mouth further but following your lead. His lips taste like bitter whiskey and Marlboro Red, a burnt sensation that has you coming back for more with each gentle brush of his lips against yours. The act is stoic. And coming from a very well experienced lover in the sex department, you didn’t see it coming. Prudent hands caress the warming apples of your cheeks, thumbs gliding over your soft skin every so often.

Having Eddie’s lips on yours could be compared to giving in while dieting, an addict trying to stay sober. You held off for as long as you could, telling yourself this shouldn’t happen. It would be wrong. But how could something so wrong, taste and feel so right?

Drunk— no dizzy. Head spinning like a carousel your mind is leading you now. Your hands find purchase against his neck, warm and sweaty from his hair. The other is snaked around him, bringing him impossibly closer, your bodies forming around each other like playdoh in a child’s tight grip.

You’ve never been kissed like this in your life. Every cell in your body is on fire. Simmering low and bubbling hot for him. Robbed of never having experienced something as sweet and tender as this in twenty-one years, you are overwhelmed with emotions at how right, how good, and how fucking fantastic Eddie was making you feel.

Opening your mouth slightly welcoming his tongue, you lick the underside of his top lip, the molten muscle sending chills down Eddie’s spine as you lightly massaged his lip. A moan shakes beautifully from his throat and he follows your lead. Coaxing his tongue gently against yours, a twirling tango of wet heat and fervor have you clutching his neck tighter. He licks into your mouth and you gasp, aware that although you’ve been kissed before it was never like this, lacking the passion that you are feeling while being kissed by Eddie.

No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. The high you’re on is pure euphoria, purple clouds and shimmery stars guide you as you pour your lust into Eddie’s hands and kiss him sugary sweet, your tongues interwoven like threads of yarn in a homemade set of mittens.

Hungry and trembling to feel more of him, your hands move leisurely to the front of his chest. His heart is pounding at your touch, his lips never leave yours. Completely occupied by your slicked lips cushioned between his. Your palms pressed flat against the cotton of his shirt as they navigate to his shoulders. The muscles in his shoulders and arms are well-defined, taut against your hands. Strength uncomparable from years of manual labor. Sculpted perfectly against your hands, arms capable of fighting two men at once, but tender enough to hold you tightly to comfort you. The same arms that wiggled around your thighs and your waist, never letting you go as you comforted him. They were powerful, majestic in a multitude of ways, but pliable and baby soft under his creamy, sweat slicked skin. Fingers moving gingerly downward, inching his jacket slowly off his shoulders, this was the moment, the one that would set off alerts to your brain and to Eddie’s on what you were needing from him. No longer hiding how you felt, no longer unsure or scared of the unknown, you shuck his jacket further down his arms. The creak of the leather squeaking a gentle song in your ears— beautiful harmonious notes of relief as it hits the ground and puddles at Eddie’s feet.

Goosebumps crawl against his flesh, and he works his magnetic lips from yours. Concern paints his face hiding a small trickle of want. Your face still in his hands, he pours his heart out into your eyes, but it’s not enough. If he was going to do this he needed to be sure you were on the same page.

His lips were wet and colored somewhere between the shade just before red but after pink, hungry and not quite full. Pupils blown wide, he tries to convey his thoughts in an unspoken way, but he needs to be sure this is what you want. Placing his hands in yours, fingers locked together in a softened callous grip of joined flesh, he looks from your lips to your eyes and back again.

His voice is husky and dipped low, dripping with sweet honey chords of desire when he speaks to you serenely, “tell me what you want Tooty.”

He’s leaving it up to you, never known as a gentleman before he would be just that for you, in any situation. But especially in this one. Out of respect for you and keeping your demons at bay, if you only wanted this— he’d die tomorrow with a smile imprinted on his face— never ask you to cross your lines of comfortability. Dice in your hands, he waits patiently, thumbs circling the top knuckles of your fingers.

Sure and ready you drop his hands to wrap your fingers along the safety pinned hem of your homemade gift from Eddie, threading the cotton fabric over your head you unthread your arms quickly, not wanting to waste a single second of seeing him. Coy in your delivery, you try your best to calm the wave of nervousness as it crashes around you, warm water soaking your skin as you stand in your bra before Eddie. But his eyes never leave yours, a soldier to his own word, guarding your dignity with everything he had— the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t taking this seriously and only wanted to fuck you.

Fingers skirting under his own shirt you pry it off his body gently. Staring into his eyes you finally speak, “I want you, Eddie. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He hums low with satisfaction, the fine lines of his brow flatten and smooth against his forehead, eyebrows receding from his bangs back into place. His calloused hands find your cheeks again, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks in a windshield wiper motion, sliding against the smooth expanse of your cheeks, with no tears to dry.

The depth of his eyes are miles deep of rich chocolatey swirls, a fountain of yearning and longing as he whispers gently, “I'm gonna take care of you.”

Nodding along in a silent agreement, Eddie brings his lips to yours. Fruition and passion burst behind your eyelids, his lips are warm and cozy silk as he kisses his way down your neck. The sensation brings warmth to your core and goose bumps along your skin, heightened by the feel of his wet tongue on you. Angling your neck to the side for better access, his tender kisses deepen, whiskey colored curls tickle your shoulder blades and the top of your breasts as his descend down your neck capsizes. Large hands grip the back of your thighs and he pulls you up, hoisting you in his arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. His bare skin simmers hot against yours, burning with longing zeal. Electricity surges through you when Eddie moves towards his bedroom. Kicking open the door with his boot and back closed the same way, his mouth never leaving your body, tongue painting you with his slicked spit and wine colored bruising.

He bends down to his bed, carefully adjusting you down your back tickled by the comforter. Laying you down as delicate as a flower atop a loved ones coffin, he pulls back, eyes drunk on you and full of blissful lust, his dark curls hanging from him like a curtain, strong Oxford colored arms on either side of you, his chain necklace swaying in front of you, a taunting pendulum from his bare chest to the tip of your nose.

You timidly reach up to stroke his face, stubborn stubble that he keeps shaved is making a late night debut against your palm, he leans into your touch turning his cheek until it’s flush against your hand. His warm skin singing in your hands. He’s everything you’ve wanted and more. Kicking yourself silently for denying yourself the way he’s looking at you right now, you whisper to him, “you’re so handsome, Eddie.”

He pinks under your palm, he’d been called the name before, but under the weight of your sweet voice, your eyes shining under him, he melts like forgotten chocolate in a denim pocket in the summer. His heart shatters through the atmosphere and skids along the stars, only coming back down to beat wildly in his chest.

“Baby,” Eddie coos, holding your gaze, “do you know how hard it is to breathe when you’re around me?” you’re silent as a tear falls on your cheek, Eddie wipes it away with his finger curled inward, “you’re so beautiful it’s suffocating.”

Pendulum like necklace still swinging, you grab it in a fist and pull him into you, kissing him so abruptly a noise splutters from his lips as yours collide with his, tongues sliding sweetly in a waltz. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Your body is tingling all over for him. An itch only he can scratch, hungry for him, a desire that you haven’t felt for anyone swells in your chest.

Your legs are spread wide to feel the full weight of his body mass on yours, an odd but satisfying comfort all the same. His scent surrounds you. Hints of Marlboros reds and tangy weed mixed with the burnt notes of cedar and amber. He’s consuming all of your five senses, and you’re broken with his touch, swayed by his tongue in your mouth and his fingers holding the back of your neck, swirling in the hair at the base of your head.

His fingers fall from your hair, tracing lines across your shoulder blades as delicate as snowflakes falling on your eyelashes, strumming lightly across the strap of your bra. Humming against his lips you whisper a whimpered plea to him. Deft fingers coax the straps out of the way, and his lips leave yours kissing your cheeks and making a path of wet lips and sloppy sweet kisses to your shoulder, spending lazy minutes soaking up every inch of your exposed skin. Letting you know with each pucker of his lips how important you are to him. Repeating the same slow motion on the other side, you are heated up. Tingling with butterflies drugged with cocaine in your core, throbbing for more of his touch. You are an addict for him. Eddie— your drug of choice.

Arching your back as he inches his way down your body, his large hands wrap around you, unclasping the bra from itself in expert speed, the relief around your rib cage is audible as you let out a small sigh, Eddie’s curls tickle your bare stomach as he sits up. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath as he’s on his knees between your legs, his hands on his thighs, lips kissed red and pretty, dark eyes searching yours, your bra laying on top of you barely covering your boobs, nipples peaked and ready for their debut under the black silk fabric, your arms still jailed by the straps.

He cocks a smile as you wiggle your arms out of the straps, keeping eye contact with him during the entire performance, thanking a higher power your arms didn’t get stuck in your pursuit of nudity. The bra drops from your pointed fingers like a used tissue on Eddie’s blanket, your lips twist upward with a grin when his eyes go wide at the sight of your tits on display. A bountiful feast of perky nipples and soft skin, still sporting last summer's fading tan lines.

Eddie’s adam apple bobs in his throat like a gear shift slammed into third, eyes wide as he mutters, “Jesus Christ,” to himself. Taking in your doughy tits, heaving like soft cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. Eddie is practically drooling at the sight of you beneath him.

Dragging his fingers up your curved sides, sending goose bumps in his wake, he cups the tender skin on either side of your boobs, squeezing the pudding-esque cups softly, bringing his face downward towards your chest. One fleeting look from his chocolate eyes to yours and you’re a puddle of melted ice cream. His touch is burrowed into your skin like radiation, his rough calloused hands feel like a cheese grater against your buttery skin. A sensation that has you moaning out loud once his tongue kitten licks one of your nipples and his hot breath blows gently against it, a warm breeze before a thunderstorm on wet sidewalk, flooding your panties at his touch.

He whimpers at your lacy moans, his mouth humming against you, face flush with your nipples as he rubs his tongue back and forth. Giving fair attention to your other nipple he repeats the process, his large hands engulfing your jelloy tits as his expert tongue teases you again and again. The sudden nip of his pearl teeth on your perked mound sends vibrations of electricity to your core.

He’s grinding down into you, and you gasp at his girthy length driving into your body.

Nimble fingers work his belt through the buckle between your two bodies, your appetite only increasing with each sucking bruise into your skin. Eddie follows suit and works fast against your zipper, breaking contact to pull your jeans off by the legs. A wet spot in your panties has him licking his lips, stroking himself beneath denim and cotton.

Eddie wastes no time when he grabs the delicate, silky black fabric on your hips and pulls them downward.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, when your pussy lips cling to the wet fabric, his dick kicks up in his boxer briefs, an impressive show of its own. He slides them down your legs and tosses them onto his dresser.

Lowering himself to your sex his hot breath lingers like smoke on water as he speaks, “if you don’t like something I’m doing— tell me.”

He waits for your nod of approval, which you give innocently. And when he lowers his mouth down to your heated center, fireworks explode behind your eyes.

His name falls from your lips at the first touch of his tongue. It plunges into your velvet drenched folds, and a symphony of whispered breaths and moans shuffle around the room colliding and mixing with the flick of Eddie’s tongue and the curve of his lips suckling on your clit.

Your hands fly to his hair, holding him tight like reins while riding a horse, you pull when it feels good, rubbing softly to dull the pain, and his eliciting moans send currants down to the tips of your toes. It’s shockingly arousing when you take a peak at Eddie between your legs, Dr. Pepper eyes carbonated with lust and desire. Trained on your face as it twists with pleasure and smooths into a smile when his devilish tongue strokes you in the right way, fast then slow, eager but coy, taking his time, expertly bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just having his mouth on you, feeling him vibrate as the muscle of his long tongue wiggles its way into your center, has your hands frenzied in his curls, nerve endings exploding with each flick of his tongue.

You’ve seen it in movies, heard about it from friends, Robin even being so kind as to go into explicit detail on how it’s done. But much like the kiss, you’ve never encountered the sensation of a lover’s tongue between your legs.

It’s mind altering, blissfully creeping closer to the edge of an orgasm as Eddie laps at your weeping folds. You’re whimpering at his touch, one hot hand holding your hip in place as your back arches from the mattress, the other replacing his tongue in your center, the stretch of his one finger makes him groan, whispered breaths against your core. It’s a pleasurable pain, welcomed by his wet tongue. It could be mistaken as an exorcism the way you're frantically canting your hips as his tongue rolls against your clit again and again. The deep moans choking out from your throat, tornadoing with his pleasantries and whispered praises, and that's when you break.

Every color, every shade, every hue unfolds in your vision against the black of your eyelids. Writhing beneath Eddie you ride out your high against his face, he dips impossibly deeper, connecting your souls with each slow drip of your arousal onto his tongue.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, his hands still gripping your hips loosening them to rub your soft thighs down to the bend in your knee. He sits up, kissing your thigh he murmurs, “so sweet, so beautiful baby.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, blooming across your face and spreading warmly in your chest. Opening your eyes for the first time since your orgasm, you peek at Eddie. His hair is a mess from your hands yanking on it. A pretty sheen of your slick is painted on his lips. His hooded eyes dip to yours as he plants wet kisses to your soft thigh.

Wiggling from his grasp, you sit up, pressing your lips to the column of his throat, your fingers working to push down his jeans and the waistband of his underwear. “Eddie,” you plead against his sweaty skin, “I need you,”

Arms tangled around your bodies, his lips lock with yours and a moan escapes his throat, the salty tang of your arousal mixes on your tongues. Shoving his pants down his legs and kicking his feet from them in a fevered effort, Eddie lays you down against the soft mattress, his face hesitant, concern lacing his prominent features. Eyes almost watery with turmoil.

Holding a warm delicate hand up to his cheek you coax him to look at you, your voice wavering between frantic and needy, “Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, the thick of his cock is heavy against your thigh, and by the sheer weight of it, you knew he wasn’t lying about the length.

“Tooty— I, I don’t want to hurt you.” You know by the look in his eye he isn’t talking mentally, “you’re…and I’m—”

“Please,” you beg, “I want you,” slinking your fingers between your two bodies, you reach for his cock and gasp at the girthy length of soft skin as you rub it back and forth with the palm of your hand, the tips of your fingers sliding against the bulging mushroom head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip, his eyes open and turn hungry, all color flushing from them but revealing the deepest onyx hue outside of the Milky Way. Adjusting your legs around him, opening wide, he lowers his head and dribbles a stringy line of spit to his dick, smearing it slightly with his thumb, easing it towards your entrance.

The smallest push of his hips has your breath suffocating in your lungs. His lips capture yours in a sweet kiss as he whimpers at your noises and the way your heated center pulls him in deeper. Clenching around him, he’s stretching your walls to full capacity with every inching of his hips.

Lips breathe air into one another as Eddie hovers over you, two faces twisted in egregious pleasure, moans coating the walls and so sugary sweet they could peel wallpaper.

Each thickened inch pressing inside of you brings endorphins to your brain, swelling your body full of Eddie. His arms quiver and his lip is almost bit in half when he finally bottoms out. A final guttural groan releases from him and you pull him down to you, sealing the triumph with a kiss and speaking against his lips letting him know he could move.

The first drag out has you suddenly feeling empty and lonely, almost pouting at the gone fullness, Eddie hisses when he pushes back in, muttering explicits into your ear as you fill his with sappy whines and whimpers.

“Doing so good for me sweetheart, sh— oh fuck,” sucking him deeper inside your gummy walls Eddie bucks his hips to a steady rhythm, covering your cheeks in kisses as you tangle your fingers in his curls, heavenly moans surround him like a halo— held up by fire colored horns dipped in black as he licks his lips and picks up the pace.

His heavy sack slaps against you almost clapping along with his thrusts as you yell his name. Tits bouncing circularly with each punch of his cock into you. He groans when your nails dig into his shoulders, eight pinked lines marking where wings would be as you fly higher and higher together.

“I’m not— Christ— I’m not gonna last here much longer baby, where do y—” he groans when you swirl your tongue around his thumb, “fuck!” He pumps harder into you and before you can say anything you’re both coming undone. Screams and moans surround the four walls as Eddie paints your insides with his cum, your pussy clenching and sucking him in, a harmonious symphony of deep abated emotions shatter down walls and engulf you both as Eddie collapses on top of you. His sweaty hair tenting round both of your faces as you both pant into eachother. Love circulating the air with tiny hearts and fluttering wings.

You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. A feeling you could certainly get used to. Eddie was so caring, so sweet. The high of your second ever orgasm still throbbing in your core and leaking down onto Eddie as you shut your eyes.

Sleep envelops you both as Eddie rolls you on top of him, kissing your nose and rubbing your naked back with the tips of his fingers, he’s still inside you, his softened length growing tired and motionless as the delicate cotton of a cool sheet hits your shoulders and your skin.

His chest is warm and slicked with sweat against your cheek, a softened lullaby of his heart beating puts you to sleep in no time.

Eddie’s a mess. Wondering if he just messed everything up. Were you comfortable? Did you enjoy yourself? Judging by the noises you were making and screaming his name he would normally think yes, indeed you had. But this was new to him. Being so deeply in love with someone and sharing the most intimate sex he had ever had. Light snores assure him that you’re okay, in a peaceful sleep, your inner demons tucked away for the night.

On the cusp of dreaming you hear it.

It’s whispered. Barely audible. But it’s there. Butterflies kiss the crown of your head and rub your back with soft petal-like wings.

“I love you, angel girl, always have— always will.”

readmore line haaaay

see you in the prequel: 1985

[venomous-ragno]

Writing advice...

... About military things by soldier :)

You wanna write a story with a militaristic setting, like CoD or R6S? But you don't know much about military related stuff and don't know where to start?

Well, lucky for you or not I know what that feels like and I've also got the combat / real life experience to help ya out!

Feel free to hop in my askbox or dm's and ask questions. I'll gladly elaborate and do my best to answer in full and plenty.

Disclaimer: My experiences and knowledge are mostly based on the German military, the Bundeswehr. They may differ from those of other countries.

Happy writing y'all :)

Pt. 7 / ?: Military jargon

I thought it'd be fun to do while I brood over all my other wips and future writing advice posts. There's a lot more jargon than I list in this post, but I needed some kinda start and end to this so I just wrote down all the terms I've heard and / or used myself.

Ally: How cool someone looks in uniform / gear. Speacial forces are automatically 'ally'

Bird: Helicopters, jets, drones, basically any kind of flying military equipment

Chest candy: Medals and ribbons worn on a uniform

Civy: Civilian (who doesn't serve in the military)

Demilitarised zone: Area in which any type of military force is banned

Expectant: A casualty who's expected to die

End Ex: Training exercise / event is over (a soldiers favourite words)

FOB: Forward Operating Base

Gunner: Service member operating heavy artillery

Green time machine: Sleeping bag

Helo: Helicopter

IED: Improvised Explosive Device

Jack: Selfish person or someone who disappears any time there's work to be done

Klick: Kilometer

Lizard: Someone who routinely screws up or a civy wearing military gear / uniforms for 'fashion purposes'

(40) Mike-Mike: Grenade launcher (either 40mm or M203)

Mincing: Procrastinating or being very slow while carrying out a task

Nails: Hard as nails

NIGS: New in Greens - soldier straight out of basic training

Outstanding: Very much not outstanding

Paddy: Irish soldier

P8: Mental health issue ("Going P8 in the block")

Quebec: Letter Q of the NATO alphabet

RV: Rendevouz - meeting up at a so called rendevouz point (meeting point)

Smoke: Punishing a service member with excessive scolding / physical work

Tango: Letter T in the NATO alphabet, also stands for enemy ("Tango in sight")

Ulu: Remote / rural area

Voluntold: Assignment that is technically vountary, but actually mandatory

Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrott: NATO alphabet letters meaning WTF

X-device: Radio navigation equipment used on aircrafts

Yoyo: Young Officer in training

Zone of fire: Area designated for help from above, aka fire support

[sillyunknownkitkat]

Leon S Kennedy x/+ sibling!reader pt.3

Plot: You're working with him

Tw: Violence, drugs, angst, ...

ps: we really like to break him, huh? Aslo reading the first parts is recommended

Pt 1 - Pt2

If you thought the man was devastated before, you're not ready for this one.

So let's keep most of the scenario of pt2 but switch it up a little.

Leon did attempt that one night but when he saw how devastated you were, he promised he'd never try that again.

So after 1 or 2 more years, you're both out of the academy.

They gave you 10days to get your stuff together before you guys actually start to work.

In that time, you both cuddled, cried a lot, talked, ...

when the end of your "vacation" comes closer he starts to get really anxious again.

He always stays with you. It got so bad that he even waited around in the hallway while you did your stuff in the bathroom.

He'd probably sleep with you or at least in the same room.

Of course, if you guys sleep in the same bed, you put a pillow wall in between the two of you, like homies that are scared to wake up inside one another 😂😭

Anyway...

Picture this:

You're in the hallway leading to the front door, tying up your shoes (these), so it's taking you quite a while since you're making sure everything is tight and secured. Leon was already full dressed which left him time to lecture you on anything he possibly could.

"What's the code if you need backup?" He'd ask. It's the 20th question he asked you since you woke up. He's just making sure you're as safe as you can possibly be.

"huuuuh... 11-99...?" you'd say a bit hesitant. Of course you knew it but he was making you a bit nervous with all the questions.

"You shouldn't be hesitating at all ___." He'd say, a bit surprised and slightly angry.

"I know it, okay?! You're just asking too many questions."

"Shooting?" He'd asks you whole looking you straight in the eye.

"10-71." You'd answer while starting to get upset because he keeps distracting you, and you still haven't toed your laces.

He'd mutter out a little "good."Under his breath before closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

"Hey Leon. Look at me, please."

He'd do it and wait for you to keep going.

"We'll both be alright, kay? Plus, even if we're not on the same team, we're still in the same company. We'll see each other often, yeah?" You'd say while nodding to emphasise the positive affirmations in your questions.

"Right." He'd say, finally relaxing a little.

"Your turn. What do the letters mean in the phonetic alphabet?" You'd ask just to tease him.

"Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliett, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu." He'd say immediately without any hesitation.

"Damn, boy. Relax, I was just teasing. " You'd say, clearly surprised. Of course, you knew them too, but you weren't expecting him to let this out almost automatically.

So after a bit more talking, you're both going into the garage to finally go to work.

After fighting a bit to decide who would drive, he won.

The first day was pretty slow, just a few junkies making a scene in the middle of a popular avenue.

You made them leave, and everything was going great until one of them had an outburst and unexpectedly stabbed you with a used needle.

This caused a lot of commotion, and since this was a rookie mistake, everyone knew about this incident. Including Leon.

He picked you up at the hospital after you had tests and an antibiotics shot.

He was so mad. He yelled at you once you both were in the car.

He called you tons of mean words and kept telling you how stupid you were to let that happen.

Of course, he doesn't mean it, but he was so scared this would end badly.

So you guys had a really bad argument that led you to tears.

He never apologised for the thing he said that night.

It led to the both of you slowly drifting apart.

Eventually, you moved in the quarter while he stayed at home.

You'd still see each other but only at formal reunions.

His alcohol problem got pretty bad. He drinks every night after work until he falls asleep.

Hi, sorry if this is a bit rushed, I'll probably edit this later to add more stuff.

Hope you still liked it tho :)

have a good day/night and be safe everyone <33