#if you don’t like all sides of the square

[ghouljams]

Here's Hoping Things Look Better On the Other Side Chapter 1: The Cowboy Rating: E (minors please do not interact) Words: 6k Tags: Ghost x f!reader/OC, fingering, unprotected piv sex, oral (m and f receiving), deep throating, soft sex, face riding, dangerous driving practices, one night stands, first meeting, dom!Ghost, flirting Summary: You decide to spend you last night of freedom before saddling yourself with farm work, saddling up on something else. You know what they say: Save a horse, ride a cowboy. a/n: happy 1 year anniversary to this blog, as a mark of this occasion I'm doing what I kept talking about but never had the courage for and posting the "official" Cowboy Ghost story, or at least the first chapter. If some of this looks familiar, it's because a lot of my initial posts in the au were straight from this draft

Thank you @ethereal-night-fairy for giving this a once over, you're the best ❤️

There’s plenty about small towns that you miss living in the big city. The lack of bars is not one of those things. At least your friends don’t seem to be complaining. Anything to take the edge off the hours you’d spent in the car. One of the girls laughs pushing at another’s arm, the table is littered with empty shot glasses and half drunk beers. You glance back at the room over your shoulder, eyes darting to find a tray you could pile some of this on to make the bartender’s life easier. It’s dimly lit, as all dives are, and may as well have a sign hung up boasting about how flammable it is with all the wood in here. Wood tables and chairs, wood bar, wood floor, wood walls, you wouldn’t be surprised if the mirror over the back of the bar was wood too.

Still, you’re happy to be home. You miss small town living, miss the farm. You’ve been an accountant long enough, lost the calluses on your hands and you’re ready to dive back in. You’ll have to report to your daddy’s ranch earlier than the sun once morning rears its ugly head. You may as well have some fun, enjoy your last night of freedom before breaking your back breaking horses. And lucky you it’s the start of planting season, plenty of fresh blood in the water.

It’s good timing really. You know everyone in town too well, and the last thing you need is for word to get back to your daddy that you slept with the McKennan boy or worse. No, seasonal help is the best choice for a one night stand. No one you know that knows you(or your father). You glance around the bar, plenty of faces you don’t recognize. No one interesting though. No one that seems like they’d give you anything good. Mackayla already has a hat fixed square on her head, a cowboy coo-ing at her like she’s the luckiest girl in the bar.

Your eyes hit the man hunched against the bar. An unfamiliar face, a dark black hat, and denim stretched tight over his thick thighs. He’s got a good build, broad shoulders, thick fingers that dwarf the long neck in his hand, biceps you could sink your teeth into… You can’t see his face, but there’s an air about him that screams “leave me alone”. That plus the way he keeps to himself says he doesn’t know anyone or care to. Perfect. You toss the last of your bourbon back and toss a few bucks on the table.

“I’m gonna snag a cowboy,” You tell your friends, “Don’t wait up.”

You earn a few thumbs ups, a whistle and a “get it” that makes you laugh, before turning to snag the spot next to your man in black at the bar. You lean against the bar to catch his eye, standing close as you push your chest out, and tip your head. They’re brown, you think, warm like liquor and kept steadfastly forward. Must be having a staring contest with his own reflection. There’s a mask too. A black swath of fabric with a jaw bone painted onto it covering half his face. That explains why you couldn’t get a good look at him across the bar.

“So-” You start, only to be cut off.

Your cowboy holds up a twenty neatly folded between his fingers without even looking at you, "How much is it gonna cost to get you to leave me alone?" He asks, the bass rumble of his voice making you all the more sure of your decision. You glance from the skeletal mask to the black Stetson tipped low over his eyes.

"The hat."

"Not for sale."

“Not even just for tonight?” You ask, feeling buzzed and bold as you lean against the bar. There’s the slightest turn of his head as he looks at you. The warm brown of his eye as it peaks from under the shadow of his brim hits you better than any shot could. His gaze drags over you, and you let it, feeling his eyes settle on the way you push your tits out, then trace down over your hip. Your skin prickles with warmth, your stomach fluttering excitedly. He drags those lovely brown eyes back to meet yours and hums, looking back at the mirror.

“How about a drink,” He says, motioning for the bartender.

“How about two,” You grin, his mask shifts, his eyes crinkling a little at the edges, “What are you drinking?”

“Piss,” He says, pushing his mask up enough to get a swallow of his beer. He’s funny in a dry sort of way, you’d laugh if you weren’t so entranced by his lips against the bottle. You rip your eyes off him when he pulls the mask back into place. You gotta get this man a decent drink. You press up onto your toes to lean across the bar and talk to the bartender.

“Are the Sisters still making hooch?” You ask, the tender nods and grabs two shot glasses for you. You settle back on your feet, feeling the pleasant weight of your companion’s gaze dragging over you. You wait as the glasses are filled with 2oz of the only thing you missed on the coast. Well, maybe not the only thing. A glass of crystal moonshine is set in front of each of you. Your cowboy’s fingers pinch around the sides of the shot, his hand dwarfing the glass as his other hand tugs at his mask. You both tap your shots to the bar before throwing them back. You shake your head at the burn as he lets out a cough.

“Oh that is dead,” He says, lord his voice is so thick when it’s pleased. Rumbling nicely in his throat, you’re desperate to see what it tastes like.

“So,” You draw his eyes back to your face with just one word, “What’s a Manchester boy doing in this shithole?”

He lets out a breath through his teeth, flicking the brim of his hat back to get a better look at you. His eyes make you warm all over in a way that alcohol never could. “Manchester, huh-” He motions for another shot, “You even know where that is, Princess?”

Oh the way he says it, so deep and condescending, but inquisitive, makes a shiver run down your spine. You’d do anything to hear him call you that again. Including answering his question with the minimum amount of sass.

“North of Birmingham, west of Sheffield. Do you need my footie team too before you to take me home?” You smile, tapping your refilled shot against his before downing it. His fingers hesitate on his glass as he looks at you, eyes following your tongue as you lick the last drop of moonshine off your lips. 

He reaches up and takes off his hat, settling it on your head. It’s big and warm, and sits just a little too low on you, but you don’t care, it’s his. His claim on you. He takes his shot clean, pulling his mask back up as he tosses far too much cash on the bar and grabs your hand. 

You barely get to his truck before you’re pressed against it, his hands gripping your face as he presses his lips to yours. Too eager to remember he’s gotta pull his mask off first apparently. It’s warm and cotton-y. Not that you mind. You laugh, feeling bubbly from the moonshine, as he growls and rips his mask off before kissing you again.

And oh, he’s good with his mouth. You can tell by the slide of his lips, the way he holds your face just the way he wants to. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you open eagerly for him, letting him taste the cheap sugary booze you’d been sipping before you saw him. He licks into your mouth, skimming your teeth before twisting his tongue against yours in a way that makes you shiver. His mouth is warm and wet, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. You want to hear that sound for the rest of your life. He tips your head back and back, his hat held to your head by the closed cab door as he crowds you against his truck forcing you to take everything he gives you. 

Your chest is warm and you can feel your blood pumping want through to your fingertips as you twist them into his shirt. You want to be drunk on him, want to feel your head spin as your thoughts turn to cotton. You think this is the best decision you’ve ever made. Especially when his hands leave your face to grab your hips, his leg wedged between yours. He drags your hips to grind against his thigh, all hard muscle and oh you can feel him. The hard line of his cock just at the apex of your movements. It makes all your heat drop to pool between your legs. Mm, he was absolutely a good decision.

“What am I screaming for you?” You murmur, between kisses, desperate to know your cowboy’s name. 

“Simon,” He tells you, ducking to mouth at your neck. “Simon,” he says it again, bites it into your skin, like he’s reminding himself.

“Simon,” you sigh, enjoying the way saying his name makes his hold on you tighten.

He works your hips against his thigh, his lips sucking at your neck before his teeth dig into the blooming bruises. There’s something animal and desperate in his movements, something that speaks to a man who hasn’t had a woman in a long time. Good. You want all that pent up stress, all the need, that he can muster. You make a soft noise at the twitch of your hips, the tingle of need in your own body starting to soak your panties. It’s only when you start to feel that same wetness soaking the denim scraping your thighs that Simon pulls away.

“You drive stick?” He asks, the warmth of his iris consumed by dark black. You tip your head, pull him back to brush his lips against yours. You want him to keep kissing you, his lips just on the right side of chapped and his tongue exploratory. You hold onto his face until he grabs your wrists and pulls you off. “Manual, Princess. Want you in my bed before I fuck ya.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You murmur, eyes fixed on his mouth, “I can drive stick.”

Simon pulls you away from where you’ve been plastered against the truck cab and opens the door. You squeak when he picks you up and sets you on the seat. Your eyes dart to the wet patch on his jeans, then to check out his ass when he leans down to grab his mask off the gravel. Damn.

You pull your door closed as Simon pulls himself into the driver's side of the cab, turning the ignition and switching gears. You always liked the click of the gear shift, but now the engine thrums in your blood, a heady promise of what’s to come. Simon grabs your hand from where it’s settled on your thigh to hold it under his on the gear shift. He shifts up a gear, then drops his hand to your thigh. His hand is big and warm, a bear’s paw gripping your leg, digging his fingers into your skin. You’re glad Amanda convinced you to wear a skirt.

“You shift when I tell you, alrigh’?” Simon asks, one hand sliding under the edge of your skirt as the other turns the wheel to leave the bar's parking lot. You nod quickly, your fingers tight on the stick shift as his skate across the edge of your panties. One thick finger tip drags along your sopping slit, feeling you through your underwear. He gives you the next gear and you pull the shift with a shaky hand, rushing to accommodate him, to show how well you follow directions(to not get the both of you killed if the engine stalls). His fingers don’t move, giving you space as you shift in your seat.

It’s different when you lean back against the seat again. His fingers press against you properly, teasing you through your panties with his thumb against your clit. The feeling of cotton against the sensitive bud, wet and cool from the night air, makes you whine, and push your hips towards his touch. Simon chuckles from the driver’s seat and you feel a wave of heat rush over you.

“Spread your legs love,” He orders, you’re quick to comply, going a step further to shuck your panties so he can touch you properly. After all, you’ve never been one to disregard an order that directly benefits you. Simon’s fingers touch you, spread your sticky slick folds with a pleased noise. He’s got calluses, you can feel the rough edges of them as he drags his fingers over you, and you follow the motion with a slight raise of your hips. “Eager thing, aren’t you?” Simon rumbles, you glance at him, at his lap. As if he’s one to talk.

His cock must be aching from pressing against his zipper like that. He says something you don’t hear, too busy trying to measure his bulge with your eyes. He smacks his fingers against your slit and you jerk your attention back to him. Shift down. Shift down, you can do that. You know how to do that. 

Your clit tingles when his fingers find it, still aching from the smack and desperate for attention. Simon rolls it between his fingers, pinching it enough to be felt before rubbing at it. Then he’s up and down your slit, spreading your slick as it drools from your pussy, lubing his fingers to keep toying with you. You try to keep your mind on his words, try to keep your brain from giving in to the feeling of it. He doesn’t stop rubbing just because you need to shift gears, and it drives you mad.

One thick fingers pushes into your cunt and you whine. Your toes curl as you try to force yourself down against the shallow thrusts he pumps in and out of you. The drag of his callused finger against your walls warms in the pit of your stomach. It’s more than your finger’s ever been but it’s still not enough. You want to feel the stretch of him, you’re sure you’ll need it. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit, your hips following the feeling. He pulls away just enough to add a second finger and you moan. 

The stretch is divine. Friction heat tugging at your entrance, pushing warmth through you with every pump. You do your best to fuck yourself on your cowboy’s fingers as the slick noise fills the cab of the truck. Your breathing is heavy, your whines turned to whimpers. He gives you just enough to make you eager for more. His fingers are slow and dutiful as they thrust into you, keeping you alert for his next command.

You try to reach for his cock, your fingers digging at his belt buckle. Only to have his fingers leave you, his firm hand wrapping around your wrist to put it back on the gear shift.

“Gotta be patient, Princess,” He tells you, “you want somethin’ you ask for it.”

Your fingers tighten, and you spread your legs a little wider. “Make me come,” You tell him, because you don’t think he can do it at this angle, with his eyes on the road.

“Good girl.” The praise shoots through you like lightening, your nerves on fire when his fingers push back into you. Slow and steady is gone, replaced by a pace that makes your head spin. Simon’s fingers curl, hitting the soft spongy spot near your entrance until you’re seeing stars. There’s a tightness in your belly, and a heat that washes over your cunt. He keeps his attention on your hole, your tingling clit ignored in favor of punishing your cunt for your attitude. 

He doesn’t let up when he asks you to down shift. Your brain mush, your hips squirming as your muscles try to figure out what they’re supposed to be doing. You barely manage to get down to the next gear before you’re consumed by the raging heat and tightness his fingers fuck into you. Your whimpers are full blown moans, his name on your lips as you attempt to find the brain cells to beg for him to let you come. It’s all too much, too tight. You can hear the wet squelch of his fingers louder than the blood rushing in your ears, louder than the rumble of the engine.

You feel wet, something dribbling over your cunt, as your head tips back to account for your eyes rolling. Your back arches and all your muscles shudder as Simon’s fingers work you through the slip-splash of wetness. He only slows enough for you to get your bearings. Just enough for you to take in the wetness on the dashboard and soaking the fingers he raises to your mouth. Another downshift, your eyes fixed on him more than the scenery, your tongue swirling around his fingers. 

Simon’s fingers leave your mouth to settle over your hand on the gear shift as you hit a gravel road. It’s so dark out, you could be anywhere, but Simon promised you a bed, and you don’t think a murderer would make you come before killing you. The truck is thrown into park, the engine switched off, your brain catches up just in time for Simon to open your door and pull you out. You’re tugged into a little house, and almost as quickly as the door is closed behind you, you’re set on your knees.

It’s dark in here too, but you can hear the rustle of denim, the groan of a man freeing his hard cock. You know your eyes will adjust, you’re already starting to make out the shadows of moonlight streaming in through the window, but you’re dying to see the monster you’d seen straining against his jeans. Simon’s hand finds your cheek, cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your lower lip.

“Open your mouth love,” He murmurs, “Lemme feel your tongue.”

You follow his command too eagerly. His shadow leans over you, huge in the darkness, and his tongue drags against yours before he pulls back and spits on it. Your breath stops short, your stomach flipping as it starts to kindle a new heat. Simon’s cock slaps against your tongue. It feels heavy, uncut, the skin soft and salty. He drags it over your tongue, barely dipping into your waiting mouth, lubing himself on his own spit. Your head goes a little fuzzy at the thought. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, your cunt aching between your legs. As if he didn’t just get you off all over his truck.

It’s worth a little embarrassment for the way Simon groans at the feeling of your lips wrapping around his cock. He’s heavy on your tongue, weight against your jaw as he feeds you his cock. Inch by inch, so slow you can drag your tongue over the veins that thrum under his skin. Just the taste of him makes you want to buck your hips, and you reach to settle your hands on his thighs when he hits your gag reflex. 

He stills, your fingers digging into muscle and coarse hair. You take steadying breaths through your nose before pushing your head down again. Something bright and ringing like a bell in your head is desperate to know where he stops, to feel him stretching out your throat. You have to swallow, shake your head to find the spot that doesn’t make you gag, not that Simon seems to mind. You think he likes when you pull back, gasping, so you can spit on his fat length and try again. Sucking and bobbing your head as you take him deeper and deeper is the least you can do for this man. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel a swell of pride when your nose finally buries itself in the curls at the base of his cock.

Simon’s hand comes around to cup the back of your head, holding you there. You glance up at him, his eyes shining in the low light. “Good fucking girl,” He growls out, “Just made to take my cock aren’t ya?”

You hum around his length, roll your tongue against him as best you can. His fingers grip your hair and pull you back, your spit slicking his length even with just moonlight setting the room aglow. Simon holds you at the tip, letting you circle it with your tongue, sucking and swallowing down the pre-come that drools from him. Simon’s hips buck, a soft swear dropping from his lips as you take the unexpected inch. His hand leaves the back of your head, fixing his hat where it’s started to tip off you and gripping the sides of your head. You lean back to look up at him, blinking the static of dark vision from your eyes. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty face,” Simon tells you, his voice rough, like his vocal cords have been dragged through gravel. Despite the lack of tone, you know it’s a question, one you give a short nod to.

The first thrust of his hips is gentle, testing. You breathe through your nose, let him get acquainted with your gag reflex as you get used to the in and out feeling. Simon holds your head still, inching his cock deeper into your throat with each thrust. You hold your tongue flat against the underside of his heavy length, feeling the pulse of blood, the twitch of muscle as he works himself faster and deeper. 

Your throat constricts and Simon pauses, before his hands yank you sharply, bypassing your gag and nestling you at the base of his cock. Your eyes water, your nose starting to run as your throat works around the intrusion. He stretches your throat around his thick cock, you can feel the press of him, uncomfortable but dripping warmth down your spine. Simon pulls you off, and you gasp, suck in a breath as you watch spit string between your lips and his cock. You get one good breath in before he’s fucking your face in earnest.

You whine around the fat cock testing the ache in your jaw as Simon’s hips snap against your lips. His balls slap against your chin, heavy and already pulling tight. You do your best to keep your mouth open, lips sucking at him as he moves. There’s an ache between your legs, a voice in the back of your mind that wishes it was your pussy getting this treatment. You can only imagine how deeply he’d hit you, the stretch of your lips around his cock making you prickle with ideas of the way he’d split your cunt open.

Simon pulls back with a low groan, and come hits your tongue before he’s pushing back in. You blink the tears from your eyes, swallowing as best you can as he comes down your throat. It’s a lot, enough that your hands leave his thighs to cup under your chin, waiting to catch the drool and spend that you’re sure is dripping from between your lips. Warm and bitter, you wonder what he’s been eating since he came to town, if he needs someone to put vegetables on his plate. He pulls his cock out of your mouth and you tip your head back, swallowing the hot come still on your tongue. You open your mouth, tongue out to let him see that you’re empty.

Simon is silent. Something in his shining eyes seems to mirror yours. His thumb strokes over your tongue, with a hum that makes you think he’s got something on his mind. It feels almost sweet, almost affectionate, as his fingers stroke over your jaw. He crouches in front of you, and his hands leave you, only to reappear on your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder as he stands with nothing more than a grunt. His shoulder is broad and warm under your stomach, you drag your hands up the corded muscles of his back and feel a pulse of attraction thrum through the heat simmering in your stomach. Fuck, he’s strong.

You’re tossed onto what must be his bed. You bounce on the mattress and attempt to get your bearings in the low light. Simon’s hat tumbles off your head, and you glance about in the darkness for it. The lamp next to the bed clicks on and you flinch at the sudden rush of light. The wash of warm light is too much after so long in the dark, but you’re faster adjusting to this than the darkness. Simon settles a hand on your thigh, pulling you close as he settles on the bed beside you.

“On me love,” He murmurs and you drag your eyes to his face, “wanna see when you ride my face.”

Oh. He isn’t wearing his mask. His eyes are desperate, brows drawn low to shadow the watery browns that stare at you. His nose looks like it’s been broken one too many times, and there’s a scar running across his lips that tugs a little too much of his teeth into such a pretty picture. There’s something soft to him though, something aching in the length of his jaw that makes you want to hold him close. You must hesitate, must take too long looking at him.

“Tongue still works,” He teases you, the pink muscle dragging over the split in his lip, his teeth.

“You’re awfully pretty to be wearing a mask,” You smile, moving to settle your knees on either side of his ears. (Big enough ears you think he must’ve had to grow into them) Simon hums, his hands coming to grip your thighs and pull you down against his mouth. You can see pink starting to creep over his cheeks even as his tongue drags along your slit. The thought that Simon must not take compliments easily is erased from your mind as his lips close around your clit and suck hard.

The electric feeling jerks through your body. So much time on your knees worshiping a cock that should have been splitting you open left you buzzing and now you’re getting some well deserved relief. Simon’s tongue is hot as it splits your folds, wiggling to lap at the slick you’d been drooling before rolling against your clit. Each touch to the sensitive bud sends another zap of pleasure ripping up your spine. You whimper, your chest heaving with breaths you hardly have the chance to take with the way he sucks at you. One of Simon’s hands leaves you, fishing around on the bed beside you. You frown down at him, pout really, until you feel his hat settle on your head again.

“Gotta keep your- your claim on me?” You ask, though you don’t think your tone is quite right. Simon hums under you, a groan of assent. He tips his head, dragging long strokes of his tongue over your slit. You’re too worked up already, his mouth feels like a furnace, his tongue touches you like a brand. Your hips move on their own, following the course of Simon’s tongue, your clit bumping against his nose as you grind yourself against his mouth. Your fingers hold your skirt up out of the way, you may as well be planning to shred the thing with how tightly your fingers dig into the fabric. 

Simon stares up at you, his eyes closing with a satisfied groan as you grind a little more firmly against his tongue. Having his attention on you like this makes your stomach clench. You can feel his smile, feel his teeth just graze over your clit, teasing before he’s sucking at it. You squeeze his head between your thighs, half formed praises on your tongue as you feel your muscles start to tremble from the strain of your tightening orgasm. 

The longer he licks you the less you can hear your own thoughts, too consumed by the satisfied groans and slurping sounds between your legs. Simon eats you like a starving man getting his first meal. His hands move to grab your ass, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers, and spreading you open just to feel you. Your slick is smeared over his mouth, smeared over your thighs where his stubble has dragged it across your skin. You feel wet and warm, your cunt tingling on the edge of your second orgasm of the night. His tongue wiggles its way into your hole and you break.

“Fuck me.” You whine, your words almost sobs as he shakes his head. You’re not sure if it’s a demand or simply a needy expletive. It doesn’t stop Simon from sucking your clit hard, his tongue swirling around the bud until your back arches and the tension in your stomach bleeds out in a rush of shivers and moans. Your pleasure coursing through you as Simon licks and sucks at your cunt until you’re jerking at the new sensitivity.

Simon holds your hips, drags you down to sit on his stomach, the firm muscle flexing as your legs are forced further apart by the sheer width of the man. He drags your sensitive pussy against his stomach, letting the blond hair tickle your clit. You pout, settle your hands on his chest to hold yourself steady with even when your muscles still shiver with every twitch of your hips.

His fingers grip the bottom of your shirt when you demonstrate you can grind by yourself. Simon tugs it up over your head and you happily assist in undressing. He’s quicker with your bra, unhooking the clasp before you can shrug the straps off. Simons big hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples. The touch is firm, appreciative, he squeezes the soft skin and you whine.

“Lemme ‘ear it again, Princess.” Simon rumbles. You can feel his voice low in his chest. His hands drop back to your hips to guide you. You don’t need to think to know what he’s asking.

“Fuck me Simon,” You breath, leaning to kiss him. You pull your tongue over his lips, tip your head to clean your come off his face. His mouth opens to catch your tongue, pushing his own to meet yours as you dip it between his lips. His hands raise your hips, angling you to notch his cockhead against your entrance. 

You know this part, know the press of your hips down onto him, the breathless anticipation as he slowly stretches you. You must have forgotten how big he was on your tongue. You drop your head to rest your forehead against Simon’s cheek, the stretch of just his head making your eyes start to roll. His fingers stroke down your back, a comfort as you ease yourself down his length. Your every breath feels like it’s softened by a moan. The stretch of him burning against your entrance, his cock dragging against your gummy walls. You feel so tight around him you can feel the curve of his dick, the veins that line it, the ridge of his thick head. 

Your legs still shake from your orgasm. If it weren’t for Simon’s hands holding you, you would’ve sunk down to the base of his cock just from the inability to hold yourself up. You attempt to push yourself up from the way you’ve cuddled close to your cowboy, and he holds you tight. The hand which had been petting down your back presses firm between your shoulders, his other arm wrapping over your him. You wonder- and then he thrusts the rest of his fat length into you and you don’t wonder anything else.

You all but collapse on his chest, his arm tight on the small of your back, arches your hips up as you bury your face against his neck. You can feel the mattress dip where he plants his feet before you feel the drag of his cock out of you, and the sweet friction of it sliding back home inside you. You dig your teeth into Simon’s shoulder, the scarred skin dipping under your bite as he fucks up into you.

Each stroke of his cock is like a punch in your stomach. The stretch of your cunt around him, his cockhead hitting your sweet spot every time it nudges your entrance, only adds to the devastating length of him. Your eyes roll, your voice tight when you have the air to let it escape you. He hits something inside you that almost hurts with how good it feels, the electricity of it shivering up your spine and tightening your muscles. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to push your hips back into the feeling.

“Tha’s it, sweet’eart,” Simon murmurs in your ears, “Jus’ like that.”

You whine at the praise, at the groan that follows it. He keeps you held so tightly against him, your nipples dragging against his firm chest with each thrust. You try to kiss at his neck, lips parting to pant with each pull of his cock. He fills you so full and deep you can hardly think. You’ve never had anyone hold you like this, never had anyone fuck you with the same sort of intense desperation. Simon’s lips press to your temple, his hips snapping to meet your weak thrusts with the wet squelching sounds of pleasure following.

Trying to draw a full breath is too much, you moan and squeak against Simon’s skin. Your lips travel over the scarred flesh, your teeth desperate to mark, to hold onto something as your fingers curl against his firm chest. There’s nothing for you to do but hold on and let this man take his pleasure from your body. Your hips stutter, the pleasure hitting you too tightly to keep your muscles moving. The tension in your muscles doesn’t stop Simon’s movements. His groans turn to growls, his lips moving with silent praise as he pistons into your clenching cunt. 

The drag of his skin against your soft walls, the burn of friction, coupled with the deep punch of his cock drives you to the edge and holds you there. Every twitch and movement making sparks of pleasure light up your skin. Your muscles shake with the burn of contraction, the ache of being split open. Your cunt burns with desperate heat, and you snake one of your hands down to rub tight circles over your clit. It doesn’t take much for you to fall apart. Your cunt flutters, sucking at Simon’s cock as the attention to your clit shoots up your spine and melts over your muscles. You fall apart, and just as sincerely you fall against Simon’s chest, panting and whimpering his name on every stroke.

He fills you fast, his cock stilled inside your cunt as you feel it twitch. Heat fills you, burns you, marks you from the inside. Simon moans low in the back of his throat. He gives a few short thrusts, enjoying the clutch of your pussy, as you settle into the floating feeling of satisfaction. He pulls out and you feel his come drip out of your hole, sliding through your folds to pool against his softening cock.

"What is your favorite footie team?" Simon asks once he's found his breath. You yawn, wiggling to cuddle against him.

"Reds," You murmur, and hear him snort out a short laugh.

"Liverpool?"

"Can't all be Man U fans," You sigh, and Ghost thinks your voice must be like honey the way it sticks to his mind, "Someone's gotta win games."

Ghost bites down his smile, feeling the way you unspool against him. Your body going lax and your breathing evening out. Do you trust him so readily that you'd fall asleep like this? You barely know him, hell he doesn't even know your name, but here you are.

“Gonna keep you,” He tells you, it feels like speaking sin into the world, tainting this perfect thing that's fallen into his lap, but he's too greedy to care, “Not le’in’ you go, can’t.”

You don’t answer him with anything more than a half asleep hum. Your lashes flutter against his skin, your face pressed against his neck. Wrapped around him with all the comfort he could ask for. Ghost swallows, turns his head to press his lips to your temple, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and the sweat of sex. Such a pretty thing to fall into his arms so willingly. You compliment him too well, know what he wants before he asks for it. He’d be a fool to let you go. No, he’s keeping you, you’re the sort of girl men chase after with wedding rings, and he can already hear the bells ringing for him.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x oc #oc: goose #cowboy au #cowboy!ghost #cowgirl!reader #f!reader #minors do not interact

[flemingsfreckles]

Grandkids Part 3

Jessie Fleming (parent) fic

Read the previous parts here!

Warnings: none I don’t think

WC: 2.6k

A/N: this isn’t my favorite thing I’ve written but my motivation on this sort of tanked but I wanted to finish it out at least, I might write more Jessie parent fics in the future or just headcannons for parent Jessie if yall would be interested in that.

“Jessie, please, you can ask the boy questions but there’s no need to interrogate him. All that’ll do is upset Amelia.” You and Jessie are tidying up the kitchen so you can begin cooking dinner. The dinner that you’d be eating as you met your daughter’s boyfriend.

“It’s not interrogating, I just want to get to know him.” You nod at her as you start to pull ingredients from the fridge.

“Just be nice.” It was the least you could do, try and encourage your wife to not ask Nick hundreds of questions, you both wanted to know him but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

The doorbell rings a minute before the proposed dinner time. Not too early but also not late, you thought to yourself, good start to the evening.

“I’ll get it!” Amelia pops up from the couch practically sprinting to the door. You smile as you watch her rush down the hallway. You remember that feeling, being young and the knocking of the door and knowing it was the person who made your heart flutter on the other side. You had that feeling with Jessie, it was sweet to see your daughter experiencing the same feelings.

“I’m going to start the grill.” Jessie says to you and you hear the back door close. Her expression as she walked out the door was blank, she didn’t look upset but she also didn’t look happy, you weren’t sure what she was feeling.

You hear muffled discussions down the hall and shortly your daughter walks back into the kitchen with Nick. He’s carrying a vase with flowers and a small other bag.

“Hi!” You say to both of them, wiping your hands on the kitchen towel and abandoning the chopping you were doing to walk over.

“Mom, this is Nick. Nick, this is my Mom.” You take in the boy’s appearance. He’s taller than your daughter with blonde hair that’s neatly styled, he has on square shaped glasses. His clothes make you feel like you’re underdressed in your own home, he’s wearing a wrinkle free button down that’s tucked into a pair of dress pants. You weren’t sure what your daughter's type was, she’d gushed over celebrities of all appearances but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised by the boy’s nerdier appearance.

“It’s nice to meet you Nick.”

He sets down the bag and the vase and extends his hand to you. “It’s lovely to meet you as well.”

“Where’s Ma?” Your daughter swings her head around looking for Jessie.

“Outside starting the grill. She’ll be in in just a minute or two.”

“Okay.” Your daughter nods and the room falls into a slightly uncomfortable silence. You and Amelia look at each other, silently begging the other to say something. Thankfully you don’t have to because Nick starts talking.

“Is Riley here? I brought him some of those baseball cards you said he’s always making you take him to the store to buy.” He looks between you and Amelia.

“No, he’s at a birthday party but I’ll let him know you brought them for him when he’s back tomorrow.” Amelia says, taking the wrapped gift from Nick’s hands and placing it on the table.

You notice it’s now been about five minutes since Jessie left to get the grill started. Maybe she needed an extra set of hands. “I’m going to go check that your Ma doesn’t need help out there.”

You step outside to see Jessie standing in front of what is clearly a turned on grill, you can see the heat coming off of it.

“Hey, all good out here.?” You call to her from the top steps of the patio. You realize she must’ve been deep in thought as it takes her a moment to look away from the grill and up to you.

“Yeah, yeah it’s, on.” Her thumbs up relaying her message that the grill was in fact on and working.

“Then come inside, it’s got to heat up for a bit.”

“I don’t know if I can.” She looks to you quickly then back to the grill.

You step down off the stairs and move over to Jessie “What’s going on?”

“I’m scared.” She says, still not looking away from the grill.

It takes all of your might to hold in a chuckle. “Of a teenage boy?”

“No, well, sort of.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m scared I’ll be too harsh, or too cold, or rude, or something to him and then he’ll realize he doesn’t want to date someone with a parent like that and then he’ll break up with Amelia and then she’ll hate me because it’ll be all my fault.”

“Jessie, that’s not going to happen.”

“But what if it does? I can’t have my little girl hate me.” The wave in Jessie’s voice tells you she’s truly worried. Her previous argument with Amelia had left her on edge, she still felt like she had to win back your daughter’s affection. Amelia on the other hand had quickly forgotten the whole ordeal.

“She won’t, because you won’t cause him to break up with her. In fact I think you’ll like him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, let’s just say your daughter picks them like her Mom.” You point to yourself. “He’s nerdy like you.”

“I’m not nerdy.”

“You are, but it’s part of what I love about you. Now come on, you can’t hide out here all day.” You softly link your fingers into hers and pull her away from the grill and up the patio stairs.

You walk back in and are grateful to see the two of them in the kitchen, Amelia sitting at a barstool at the island and Nick standing a couple feet from her. They’re smiling at each other as they make conversation. You’re not sure what Jessie would’ve done had they been sitting together on the couch. They both look over at the sound of the door opening and your daughter stands up from her stool stepping toward both of you.

“Ma, this is Nick, Nick this is my other Mom, I called her Mama when I was little but now they just both get called Mom when they’re not in the same room together.”

“Hi, it’s great to meet you, I really appreciate you having me over.” Nick extends his hand to Jessie just as he did to you. You know your wife probably death gripped his hand as she shook it.

For a minute there’s an awkward silence. The four of you all standing looking at each other. “Nick, would you like something to drink? There’s water or sodas,” you try to get some form of a conversation started up between the four of you.

“Just water would be great, thank you.” You move to get him a glass and your daughter stands up beating you to the cabinet. You move back to begin chopping again and Jessie is quickly behind you. You pick up the knife and she holds her hand out. She stares at you with her best puppy eyes impression, and you give in handing over the knife. You know she just wants a task to occupy herself so she doesn’t have to worry about making small talk.

“So Nick, Amelia said you met in your calculus class?”

“Yes Ma’am, we sat next to each other for a bit at the beginning of the semester, I missed a few days for college tours and Amelia was kind enough to lend me her notes and help me catch back up, we’ve just been studying together since then. Amelia is the smartest one in our class.”

“You don’t have to ‘Ma’am’ me Nick, makes me feel old. Where are you looking into going to school?”

“I’ve looked at a lot of places, a couple in the states, UNC, University of Washington, UCLA,” You notice how Jessie’s posture straightens at the mention of her former school. “I’ve also looked at couple here. I haven’t really made any decisions yet.”

“Jessie went to school at UCLA.”

“That’s what Amelia told me. It’s a beautiful campus, did you enjoy your time these?” Nick now directs his attention to your wife. She stops chopping and turns around.

“I did, the location is perfect, city, beach, mountains all within reach. I really loved it. Good academics too!” You can practically see Jessie’s anxiety ease as she talks with the boy. “What are you planning to study?”

“Biomedical engineering is the plan, I’m considering medical school after my bachelors.”

Jessie smiles as she begins to talk about UCLAs engineering program, the two talk, you and Amelia throwing in comments here and there. It’s not long before you all move to the dining room.

Dinner goes smoothly. You learn about Nick's siblings, he’s the middle child, with an older and younger sister. You learn his hobbies, his interests. He asks you and Jessie about your careers, about how you met. You all talk about traveling, sharing the coolest places you’ve been. It’s an easy dinner. You stand up from the meal feeling like you knew Nick well. You felt a level of ease with him, he seemed like a good kid. You just hoped Jessie felt the same.

She had been relatively quiet over dinner just adding in comments here and there, it was more like you, Nick, and Amelia were having dinner.

You start to clear the dishes as everyone finishes eating. Nick immediately offers to help but you shoot him down stating he was a guest there was no need for him to help.

“Amelia, can you help your mom clean up in the kitchen?” You watch how Jessie slightly raises her eyebrows at her daughter, indicating it was less of a question and more of a request that your daughter leave the room. At the same time you send your wife a pointed look, you don’t know what type of interrogation she has planned for Nick but you hope your stare is enough to tell her to be nice.

“Well there’s the end of my relationship.” Your daughter says as she places dishes into the sink.

“No, it’s not.”

“She’s going to tear him to pieces in there.”

“She won’t.” You keep washing the dishes and handing them to your daughter to dry. She falls quiet and the two of you finish the dishes in silence. There isn’t much noise but the clinking of dishes and the running water in the sink. That is until you hear Jessie’s voice.

“No! There’s no way you can sit here and tell me Roddick is better than Federer.”

“Oh no.” You and Amelia turn to each other.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mention he’s a big tennis fan for this reason.”

“Well now I’d be worried about your relationship, your Ma is a huge fan of that man, she won’t let you be with someone who prefers his rival.” You shrug at your daughter, the panic on her face makes you realize she doesn’t notice the sarcasm. “I’m kidding Amelia.”

“I’m going to ask you first, because I’m a little nervous to ask Ma, can Nick stay after dinner to watch a movie? We can watch it in the basement, or living room, whatever you both are comfortable with, you’re welcome to watch it with us too if you want.”

“I’m fine with that, you still have to get your Ma’s permission though, you can’t just only ask me because you don’t want to hear her answer.”

“Okay.” As if she knew your daughter needed to speak to her Jessie comes out from the dining room.

“I can’t believe you,” she shakes her head at Amelia, “not warning me he was a Roddick fan.” She pulls your daughter into a hug. “He’s a nice kid.”

“Can he stay and watch a movie?” You watch your daughter pull out her best begging look. It’s identical to the one Jessie gave you when she took over the chopping duties earlier in the evening.

“Not in your bedroom.” Jessie shakes her head.

“I know that, I already talked to Mom, I said in the living room or basement.”

“Living room.”

“Thank you.” Your daughter places a kiss on your wife’s cheek before doing the same to you and rushing back into the dining room. She and Nick walk out seconds later and head to the couch. You notice Jessie eying them, watching how they choose to sit. They pick a respectable distance apart, each with a blanket.

They’re in their own little world, it reminds you of you and Jessie cuddled up in hotel rooms watching movies or even cuddled up watching team film together. You were watching the start of young love, it was sweet.

“Want to sit on the patio?” You suggest to Jessie.

“And leave them alone inside?” Jessie whispers.

“They’ll be fine. They deserve a little privacy, they’re adults Jessie, plus we can see the living room from the patio, Amelia knows that.”

Jessie finally agrees and you both head outside. It’s quiet to start, you just hear the sounds of the evening. Birds, the winds, the occasional car that drives by.

“He’s a good kid.” Jessie finally says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he spoke highly of Amelia when I “interrogated” him as she’d say. He seems like he’s got a good head on his shoulders. He accepted the expectations I laid out to him. He promised me no grandchildren anytime soon. You hear him talking about his family, his ambitions, he seems like he was raised right.”

“Wow, look at you.” You take a sip of the glass you brought out. “He changed your opinion quickly.”

“I think he reminds me of myself. You were right, he’s nerdy, I was like him when I was his age. And while that’s somewhat eased my nerves, I still don’t trust him because I know how I was at his age. How we were at their age.” Jessie gives you a knowing look.

“We were all over eachother any time we could be.” You laugh thinking back to your hormonal teenage years and the early days of your relationship with Jessie.

Jessie smiles over at you. “To be fair we didn’t have parental supervision at camps, we had access to hotel rooms, and we barely got to see each other, we also didn’t have the risk of teen pregnancy. It also wasn’t my fault you always got me riled up over text and then I wasn’t able to even kiss you for months at a time. We had a lot of built up tension. At least they don’t have most of those things.” You smile as she rambles on as if she has to defend her teenage actions to you as if you weren’t the one right there with her.

You take a second to look into the living room, you notice they’re sitting closer together on the couch but you’re not about to tell Jessie. “Yeah, I think he’s a good kid.”

“We raised her right, she’s picked a good one.” Jessie comes to sit on the bench with you so now she’s facing the window into the living room. “Were they sitting that close before?” Jessie says pointing at the window where your daughter's shoulder was practically touching Nick’s now. Before you can stop her she’s standing making her way toward the door.

“Jessie, they’re fine.”

“Oh I know.” She tips her glass of water letting it spill onto the ground. “I’m just getting more water, I’m out.” She smiles at you. You shake your head, Jessie may like the boy but she was always going to be protective of her little girl.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When I Say Run 1

Warnings: dark elements, such as chasing and kidnapping.

Note: I do appreciate all your feedback if you read this. I will hopefully have the next few part done soon. I don't intend this to be very much more than three or so parts.

Inspired by @navybrat817's Monday Thot

You've seen the man before. Often the market is overcrowded enough that you rarely see the same face twice, but you recognize him at once. His deep blue eyes are hard to forget along with the grim shadow cast over his unaltered and unamused expression. You know him because he always seems to know you. 

More than once, you caught him watching you. At first, you convinced yourself he was looking past you, or through you, as it felt. But he doesn't look away that day, you do. 

You move to the next stall to examine some figs. You realise why you really noticed him. He doesn't belong. What it seems, by his fraying ball cap and canvas jacket, is that he is hiding from someone. 

The more you think about him, the more uneasy you are. How is it that you see him every time you come to the market? You come early and he is there, late and he is there. The coincidence feels too canny to be believed. 

Still, you aren’t convinced it is more than that. You get carried away and make up ridiculous hypotheticals in your mind. There are many who come to the market every weekend. You probably run into a dozen people over and over and never even realise it. Why then, does he stick out in your mind? 

You grab a carton of cherries and a couple of peaches. You pay and take your change, brushing against someone as you pull your hand back. You feel something fall on your foot and kneel down to help gather the dropped plums. The man’s gloved fingers touch the bruises on the skin and you hold back a gasp as you look him in the face. 

“Sorry,” you utter as you hand him a dark plum, “I didn’t see you there.” 

You stand as he takes the fruit and slip your own into your cloth bag. You sling it over your shoulder as he assures you it's fine but you don’t wait for a conversation. You hadn’t even noticed him get that close. Before, he was well across the plaza with a horde between you. That he moved that fast, so seamlessly is eerie. 

You enter a tent a few stalls down and pretend to admire the patterned china of a teapot. There is a putrid taste in your mouth, the rotten flavour of paranoia on your dry tongue. You check the tag on the pot and leave without purchase. 

You look around as you emerge back into the late morning sun, the heat of the crowd adding to the sheen of sweat over your brow. You clear your throat as you don’t see the man and keep your head down as you resign yourself to your light haul. You will feel better once you got home. 

You weave through the swarm to the edge of the market and dip down the side street as the hum of voices fades behind you. Your apartment is a few blocks down, nestled above a bookstore cafe. It's s humble and affordable, but you can’t complain. 

You pull out your change purse as you near the shop but as you reach the front door, it swings open before you can reach for it. It’s him. Again. The leather gloves, the vibrant irises, the dark shanks of hair that frame his squared jaw. He is striking in more ways than one. 

You thank him as he holds the door and enter the small shop. You’re nervous. You can get your coffee and wait him out. You don’t want to lead him back to your apartment just above. Or you could lead him on a chase through the city until you lose him and circle back. Your mind races as you try to convince yourself you’re overreacting but you just can’t. 

You order your cinnamon blend but the man once more curtails you. He hold a bill out to the cashier and grits for her to keep the change. 

“Sir, you don’t have to--” 

“I’d like to buy you a coffee,” he insists as he waves the bill at the cashier, “want something sweet to go with it?” 

His accent is subtle. He doesn’t speak your language naturally but he does it well. You shake your head and step away from the till. He follows you to the corner where you await your order. 

“You can have the coffee,” you say, “I’m not interested.” 

“Why not?” he asks. His bluntness makes you squirm. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you lie as you rub your neck, “here--” 

You unclasped your coin purse and he stops you, squeezing your hand until the clasp clicks shut. “No, you don’t,” he says, “it’s my treat.” 

“I don’t want it,” you recoil from him and repeat, “I’m not interested.” 

You make to brush by him and he catches your arm, “why not?” 

“Because,” you jerk away from him, “why are you following me?” 

“Following you?” he scoffs, “you feel special, don’t you?” 

“No, I told you, I have a boyfriend.” 

“You know, when you lie,” he says, “I can see it…” he hovers his finger along your throat, “right there. Your pulse picks up.” 

You push his hand away and sidle past him. You’re shaking as you hurry to the door and look back. He watches you but stays where he is. Your order is called and he turns to grab it. You leave under the chime of the door and peer up and down the street. 

You go to the left, heading for the market to hide among the sea of people. It will give you time to figure out what to do next. The station is on the other side of the plaza, you could probably get there without much trouble. That will scare him away. 

Your footsteps echo around you like a movie scene. You grip your bag on your shoulder and stop short as a figure appears from the alleyway. You can hear the market just ahead of you, just one corner away. 

“You forgot your coffee,” the man says as he blocks your path, “don’t you know that it’s rude to refuse a gift?” 

You swallow and back away, speechless. You glanc around. How did he move so fast? You spin on your heel and walk in the other direction. You listen for him behind you but when you dare to peek over your shoulder, he is gone. 

You quiver and hook around the next corner, hoping to loop to the west entrance of the market. He’s there too. He tilts his head as he grins and tosses the coffee so it spills down the brick wall. You retreat away from the splash and blink at him dumbly. The street is mostly empty but you hear someone else. 

You spin back and fight not to break into a sprint. That time, you don’t look back. You head back along the same way you came but turn down another street before you get to the alley. A metal rattle sounds from overhead as a blur drops down in front you from the rickety fire escape above. The man fixes his hat and chuckles. 

“I think you should start running,” he taunts. 

You nearly trip over your heels as you rear back. Fear bubbles in your chest and you fall into a run, spurred by his ominous timbre. The bag bounces against your side as you squeeze your change purse in your other hand, feet hitting the old brick road heavy and hard. You stumble as you glance back but find no pursuit. 

You slow as your chest burns and stop to catch your breath. It take a moment to get your bearings. You bend over and gulp. You straighten up and face the street behind you, searching for the man in the grey jacket. There is only a couple holding hands and a group of young boys giggling as they kick around a beaten football. 

You look up along the rooves of the buildings and the balconies. You don’t see anything. You shake your head and puff. Fucking creep. Probably just wanted to scare you. 

You don’t go back to your apartment right away. You’re too agitated for that. You can’t help but look around every few steps and peek down every alley and street before you pass. It’s a good forty minutes before you realise you're lost. You never come to this part of town. 

You swear under your breath and cringe. You should have gone to the precinct like you planned. You were so panicked you didn’t think. You were more focused on getting away than getting safe. 

You drop your change purse into your jumbled bag of cherries and peaches. You reach into your pocket and your heart drops. You search both pockets. Your phone must have fallen out when you were running. 

You resign yourself to a listless trail back home through the urban maze. You could figure it out, there has to be a map around here somewhere. You are sure you just passed one a moment ago.  

You start down the street and mourn the loss of your phone. That would take a while to replace with your lousy wages. Fuck. Why didn’t you buy the warranty? 

The roar of a motorcycle cuts through the din of the city streets and echoes all around you. You ignore it and follow the sidewalk as you squint at the street signs above. You try to find something familiar, something to find your way. 

Suddenly you're taken off your feet, a crushing grip knots the back of your shirt as you're hurtled forward. You scream as the brickwork hazes beneath you and suddenly the engine revs and you’re turned sharply with its motion. You float just above the ground, dangling from your shirt. 

You looked up in confusion, the strength of the man holding you with one arm sends ice through your veins. The twinkling eyes, the angle of his jaw, and the slight curve of his lips makes you wince. He thrusts you closer and bends you over the front of the motorcycle so that you're trapped between him and the tank. 

“Better tuck those feet in,” he warns as you're folded over the metal on your stomach, “I told you to run.” 

He veers suddenly and the momentum pushes you against him as you clung to the bike, wind whipping your face as it hovers before the dingy pipes of the bike. It feels as if you’ll fly off at any second. You reach to grasp onto the man's jacket as you clench every muscle of your body to keep from slipping. 

The engine rips through the air as your head spins. You have a choice; fall off and die or hang on and live. 

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #drabble #series #captain america #winter soldier #avengers #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes x reader

[yanderecrazysie]

Rhododendron (Yandere Android! Oikawa and Iwaizumi)

Part 2 of the Flower Language Series

I got these meanings from the internet, so some may be wrong. Sorry if that is the case, but please ignore my mistakes.

Please do not request the Flower Language Series.

Title: Rhododendron

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader; Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder

Flower meaning: Danger, beware

Summary: There’s something off about your husband’s new androids.

“I know you don’t like me bringing home work, but this is going to blow your mind,” your husband said, one hand on your shoulders as he led you through the apartment to the living room, one hand over your eyes. 

You had a half-smile on your lips, “This has to do with your ‘top secret new project’, doesn’t it?” 

You came to a stop and he removed his hand from your eyes, saying, “You tell me.”

A gasp left your lips. In your doorway stood two tall, rather attractive men with their eyes closed. After a moment, something struck you as off about them, though you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Maybe it was the way their skin shone under the fluorescent lights. Or maybe, the fact that their skin had no flaws whatsoever and their faces had perfect symmetry.

You spotted your husband’s company’s logo on their matching blue shirts and realization hit you.

“They’re- they’re robots, aren’t they?”

“Androids,” your husband was practically glowing, “I designed them myself. What do you think?”

“They look so real…” you left out the part where you found that to be very creepy.

“Just wait until they open their eyes,” your husband replied eagerly, misreading your hesitation, “The one on the left is called ‘Oikawa’. His model is designed for housekeeping and basic chores. The one on the right is ‘Iwaizumi’, and he’s kind of like an android guard dog.”

“And they’ll be… staying here?” you murmured, unsure of how you felt about their presence.

Your husband finally noticed that you were less than enthusiastic and began to squirm a little, “Well, yeah, just for a little while. They need to be tested so we can work out any bugs. They aren’t dangerous or anything, I promise.”

“And no one else can take them?” you asked in a small voice. You couldn’t help but shiver when you looked at them- something about them frightened you. Some part of you needed them gone.

The pained look on your husband’s face told you all you needed to know, and your heart sank. His voice was quiet when he spoke next, “I’m the lead designer on this project, so it’s required that I test them in a natural environment… I’m really sorry, honey.” 

You squared your shoulders and forced a smile to your face, “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“Well, like you said, we don’t really have a choice,” you said, unable to keep the sourness out of your voice this time.

“I’ll turn them on,” your husband said softly, “Maybe you’ll warm up to them.”

“I hope so,” you sighed. You didn’t mean to be so unsupportive, but you had both agreed to keep your work at the office and, sometimes, it felt like only you held up your side of the promise. Not to mention, his “work” this time around was very unsettling.

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi, turn on,” your husband commanded.

Their eyes opened at the same time- one pair brown and playful, one pair green and serious. Both androids turned their attention to your husband instantly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow watching you at the same time.

“I’m adding another authorized user,” he continued. He pointed at you and the androids’ eyes snapped to look at you, making your stomach twist in displeasure, “This is my wife, (Y/n).”

Iwaizumi nodded and said, “Understood.” 

Oikawa, on the other hand, crossed the distance between you and held out his hand, a charming smile spreading across his face. You reluctantly let him take your hand in his and he lifted it to his lips. You shuddered at the coolness of his lips against the back of your hand. There was no warmth in his hands and lips. His “skin” was soft, but it lacked life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetie” he said, his voice as sweet as honey.

You took your hand out of his and drew it against your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, so you merely nodded, a shiver crawling up your spine at his pleased smile.

You noticed the eager smile on your husband’s face and felt bad that you couldn’t match his enthusiasm. However, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the androids standing before you. Oikawa’s smile was unsettlingly perfect and Iwaizumi’s green eyes seemed to pierce through you. 

“Why don’t I show you what they can do?” your husband suggested excitedly, “Oikawa, clean please. Iwaizumi, check all the doors and windows please.”

“Yes, sir,” the androids said in unison. You watched as Oikawa began tidying up the kitchen, his movements as fluid as a human’s. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, began to check the house, locking the windows that you had forgotten about.

Your husband placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “See? They’re very helpful and you’ll barely notice they’re around.”

You highly doubted that you wouldn’t notice them, but you forced a smile, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

As the days passed, the androids seamlessly became a part of your household routine. Oikawa kept the house spotless, prepared meals, and engaged in small talk that was so eerily human-like that it unnerved you. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, rarely talked and guarded the front door and kept things locked up with military-like precision.

But the feeling of unease never stopped. Oikawa’s gaze always lingered on you for too long, and Iwaizumi seemed more interested in protecting you than your husband. You did your best to avoid being home when your husband was out.

One evening, you returned home from work to find the house unusually quiet. You were surprised that Oikawa was the one to let you in the house and lock the door behind you. It had always been Iwaizumi who did that.

“Good evening,” Oikawa said with a blindingly white-toothed smile, “How was your day, (Y/n)?”

“Good,” you replied, “Where’s Iwaizumi?”

“He’s outside, making sure everything is safe,” Oikawa said pleasantly, “What would you like for dinner?”

“I’m just going to rest, actually,” you said, “Is my husband home yet?”

“No, he is staying late at the office,” Oikawa replied.

That was odd, considering his big project was at the house and he was usually home early, working on the androids.

Oikawa’s head tilted, “You seem tense. Would you like a massage?”

You swallowed uneasily, “No thanks. I just want to rest. Alone.”

Oikawa nodded, but his intense gaze didn’t leave you as you hurried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You locked the door behind you, heart pounding. Something felt off, but you couldn’t figure out what it was.

Moments later, a knock sounded on the door. You froze, praying it wasn’t Oikawa. “Yes?” you called.

“It’s Iwaizumi,” the reply was muffled through the door, but his voice was steady, “I just wanted to let you know that you are safe now.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling as though the words meant something deeper, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Iwaizumi replied. You listened for the sound of retreating footsteps down the stairs but the sound never came. He was still standing outside your door.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and sent a text to your husband, asking when he’d be home. The wait for a response was excruciatingly long, but a reply finally came.

I’m still at the office, sweetie. Is everything okay?

You stared at the message for a full minute before you realized what it was that seemed off. He had never called you sweetie before. Suddenly, a memory resurfaced in your mind of Oikawa.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetie.”

As you stood there, trying to make sense of it all, the door handle turned slightly, as if someone was testing it to see if it was locked. You stopped breathing for a moment before shakily calling out, “Iwaizumi, what are you doing?”

There was a long pause before he answered, “Please do not be alarmed, (Y/n). I must ensure your safety.”

Gathering your courage, desperate for answers and plagued by unease, you opened the door. Iwazumi’s eyes widened at the sight of you as you demanded, “Where is my husband?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze didn’t leave you, “Your husband is at work, overseeing additional development.”

You frowned, “Iwaizumi has anything… changed in your programming recently?”

A flicker of something crossed Iwaizumi’s face, “Our job has always been to ensure your safety and happiness.”

“And what about my husband’s safety and happiness?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, “His safety is secondary to yours.”

A shiver shot down your spine and you quickly pushed past him, hurrying down the stairs. There was something you needed to know.

Oikawa was standing in the kitchen. Not cleaning or cooking, just standing there as though he were waiting for you to come down the stairs, a smile plastered on his face.

You headed for the door, ready to get in your car and get the hell out of your house and away from the androids, but Oikawa blocked your path.

“Out of my way!” you snapped.

“Where are you going?” Oikawa asked sweetly, “You aren’t safe out there, you know.”

“I need to talk to my husband, in person.”

Oikawa’s smile twisted into a victorious grin, “Why don’t you video call him right now?”

You shakily pulled out your phone, “Why a video call?”

“Then you’ll know we aren’t changing our voices to pretend to be him!” Oikawa said with a small chuckle. 

You weren’t even aware they could do something like that. At least he’s being honest. You reassured yourself.

You pressed the video call option on your husband’s contact page and waited. It took a moment for you to comprehend what was on the other side of the screen.

When you did, you screamed, mind branded forever with the sight of the remains of your husband.

Behind you, Oikawa began to laugh.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!! #yandere oikawa #oikawa tooru #yandere iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~500

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You and Bucky deserve your Happily Ever After, and something tells you that you’re going to get it. It doesn’t matter what you face. If you have Bucky by your side, you know you’ll get through it.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: this won't a bit (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: this is something short to give you an update on their lives after the events of the entire story. thank you to everyone who loved this series! i had a lot of fun writing it <3

x

You pinch the two fabrics together and slide the pin to keep them together. You take another pin and hold it between your lips before finding another loose spot to pin together. Bucky stands in front of you watching as you work effortlessly on the suit you’re tailoring to his body. He parts his lips when he sees you take the pin out of your mouth to use it on his suit. You lick your dry lips and Bucky shifts in an effort to hide his arousal.

“Would you stop moving? I’m going to poke your skin and you’ll bleed.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve bled for you.”

“Okay, well, get blood on these clothes and I’m going to kill you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods.

“Okay, last pin. This won’t hurt a bit.”

You slide the last pin into place and look up at Bucky with a certain glimmer in your eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll get more than blood on these clothes.”

“You’re vulgar,” you gasp and step back.

“You love it.”

“Well, I’m finished now. I’ve recorded my progress and you can take the suit off.”

Bucky steps off the small platform to do just that, and you walk to the double glass doors that lead out to the balcony. You lean on the railing and admire the Eternal City below. Italy. The place you fell in love with since Bucky first took you here. Now you live here and get to do the one thing you’ve aspired to be growing up: a fashion designer. It’s been a year since the incident with Gio but the trauma is still there. You can’t go anywhere without Bucky because you fear you’ll get kidnapped and experience something similar or worse.

Bucky has given you everything you could ever hope to want and need. You don’t have to work since Bucky takes care of you financially. Two months ago, he took you to Paris and gave you a million dollars to spend on whatever you wanted. He truly spoils you even though you don’t need all of that to be happy. You could be in a one-bedroom apartment with an overpriced rent fee and be just as happy. This is what makes Bucky happy so you’ll take it as long as he wants to give it.

Shortly after moving to Italy, you opened your first studio and started making clothes you hope to see in stores soon. The only thing Bucky has provided you with is a studio. Everything else is coming from you which is exactly what you want. You want to look at your clothes and know that it all came from you.

After changing back into a t-shirt and jeans, Bucky walks onto the balcony barefoot. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach, and you lean back with a smile.

“We should get home. Brute and King are waiting for us and if you keep leaving them alone, they’ll ruin yet another couch. The old one had claw marks everywhere on it.”

“Not my fault they have separation anxiety,” you laugh.

Bucky turns you around and scoops you into his arms, and you wrap your arm around his neck for support.

“Come on, Mrs. Barnes. We have a home to get to.”

“We’re not married… yet. Only one month to go.”

“And a short month it will be.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Barnes.”

And he does all the way home and right back into his heart where you belong.

x

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #marvel fan fiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #marvel fiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fluff #mcu #marvel fanfiction

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Not Everything Is What It Seems

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Princess!Reader

Word Count: ~3.2k

Warnings: fluff and angst

Summary: More of your past comes rushing to the surface, reminding you that if you’re not careful, you’re not the only one who will get burned. Relationships are formed, bonds are made, and trust is tested. Not everything is what it seems.

Play Pretend Masterlist

Square Filled: "We go on three." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: i used google translate for German so sorry if there are any mistakes!

x

Then

It’s taking everything in you not to break down in tears right now. Your wedding is coming up in less than three months and you’re completely dreading it. Most women look forward to their wedding and see it as a day of happiness and celebration. Your wedding is a day of sadness and fear that all you’re ever going to be is Y/N, the wife of Henry Harrington. The Queen of Yacleira.

“Lift your arm.”

You look down at the tailor who is fitting your wedding dress to you. You do as you’re told and she slides a pin into place to make the dress more form-fitting. It’s a beautiful dress made only with the finest fabrics money can buy. The dress is a pinkish-beige color instead of the traditional white most dresses are. The strapless bodice has golden swirls and diamonds are placed sporadically along the spiral lines. Extra fabric was sewn onto both sides of the dress to give it a more full and voluminous look. Those pieces of fabric start from your waist and go all the way down to the ground to meet the bottom of the dress. The fabric is curled over each other to create a sort of wavy look that looks natural. The bottom of the entire dress has fluffy ruffles and a train flows behind you.

If the circumstances were different, you’d be happy to wear it. Instead, you feel disappointed and empty inside. The door opens and your mother walks in alone to see the progress of the dress. Besides the tailor, the only other people in the room are a few seamstresses, Benjamin, and two other guards.

“My, look how beautiful you look,” your mother grins.

“Don’t flatter me, Mother.”

“Y/N. You need to start having a better attitude. This is the best for our country.”

You look at her with hints of tears in your eyes.

“What about what’s best for me?”

“Leave us,” your mother orders. Immediately, everyone drops what they’re doing and starts to shuffle out of the room. Benjamin is the last one out and he looks at you with a sorrowful look before closing the door. “You know, I got married when I was your age to your father, and look where I am now.”

“But you two were in love. I do not love Henry.”

“You need to marry, Y/N. It’s not only tradition but required. That is what it means to be Princess around here.”

“You’d really sacrifice your daughter’s happiness for the sake of this country?”

Your mother stiffens at your question. She sees how unhappy you are to be marrying someone you do not love only to be a housewife for the rest of your life. The only purpose of a princess is to marry a prince and become the queen of her country. If you had a brother, the responsibility would fall on him instead.

“Yes.”

Now

You look at yourself in the mirror and run the beauty blender over your face to fix a spot of your makeup. Perfect. You’re ready to go. Spencer is almost here to pick you up for your date. Don walks out of his bedroom and closes the door before noticing you in the hallway by the front door.

“Don’t you have work today?”

“No.”

“Where are you going?”

“Spencer is picking me up. We’re going to hang out.”

“You mean date?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

Don sighs and opens the hallway closet to grab his jacket.

“I don’t like you dating someone from the FBI.”

“There is nothing to worry about. I’ve given him no indication of who I really am. He doesn’t know about Yacleira. It’s barely on any map.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Look, I have to go out of town so you’ll be alone tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“For what?”

“Just making sure you’re safe and not found out. Don’t worry about me.”

Don slides his jacket on and grabs his briefcase before leaving the house. You look back at your reflection and fix your hair. You don’t have time to change into a different outfit because Spencer is already here. You swipe some lip gloss on your lips before grabbing your purse which only contains your driver’s license, some cash, and your phone. What else are you going to need? Spencer smiles when he sees you leave your house.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” he grins.

“Thank you.” Spencer leans in and kisses your cheek which causes them to heat up. This is technically your second date if you count the lunch he took you to when you first met him. He opens the passenger side door for you and closes it when you’re safely inside the car. He almost stumbles over his feet trying to get to the wheel which makes you smile. “So, what are we doing? Where are we going?”

“I don’t normally do this for dates but my friends are going mini-golfing and invited us. I figured  a date with friends might be more comfortable for you.”

“I think that’s a fun idea,” you smile, “but what’s mini-golfing?”

“You’ve never been golfing?”

“No. I haven’t done a lot of things.”

Spencer is confused since he remembers seeing a post on your Instagram that Penelope swiped over. It was of you and your family on a golf course. Maybe you watched a game instead of playing it but it’s certainly weird. Still, he’s not going to let that ruin a potential good time with you.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to love it.”

The car in front of your house has Spencer’s friends inside of it. His FBI friends. Everything is fine, Y/N. They’re not going to find out who you are. Your secret is safe. For now. You and Spencer climb into the backseat.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are my friends. Derek, JJ, Emily, and Penelope.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you all.”

Derek sets off and arrives at the place in thirty minutes. The group walks inside and the two men pay for a game for everyone along with two arcade cards that they can enjoy. You walk away from the group to admire the many arcade games inside. There must be hundreds on the first and second floors of the building. People are enjoying them on both levels, and different sounds from the games rush at you like a freight train.

Whatever you were expecting certainly wasn’t this.

“Hey, I got us both an arcade card. It should be enough to last us an hour or so.”

“Thanks.”

Derek and Penelope go to the air hockey machine and Emily and JJ go to the Dance Dance machine to show off their moves. You nervously fiddle with your fingers and Spencer notices your slight anxiety. He pulls your left hand away and holds it to bring you some sort of comfort.

“What game do you want to play first?”

“I don’t know. You pick.”

“Okay.” Spencer leads you to the second story where the older arcade games are located such as Pac-Man, Galaga, Space Invaders, Centipede, and the pinball machines. The first floor has more modern games such as racing games, ice hockey, VR games, and a bunch of shooting games. “I prefer strategy over action. My favorite game to play is Pac-Man. It’s essentially all math. Once you memorize the movement pattern of the ghosts, you’ll beat every level.”

Spencer takes you to the machine and starts a new game. He plays first while you watch over his shoulder. He continues to talk about the history of the game but you tune him out. You don’t mean to but you’re a bit overwhelmed, if you’re being honest. You never had any of this back home. You were never allowed to go into crowds because someone could either kidnap you or hurt you. You weren't allowed to have friends outside of other royal families because they could use you and hurt you. All of this is brand new to you and it’s making your head spin.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Spencer abandons the game to join your side by the railing.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this. I’m not a crowd person and I’ve never heard of any of these games before. Is mini-golfing like this?”

“No, it’s much more calming. Would you like to start a game outside?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. This isn’t for everyone. I get it. Come on.”

Spencer takes you downstairs and to his friends who are all gathered by the ice hockey table.

“Spencer! Want to play winner?” JJ asks.

“Y/N wants to start the golf game. Want to do that instead?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Spencer has such great friends for understanding that not everyone enjoys the arcade. Derek grabs a pencil and a score sheet while the attendant passes out clubs and balls to everyone. You don’t want to look like a total loser so you’ll watch the first few people go to understand how the game works.

JJ is the first one up and she ends up making it into the hole on the first try. Derek is up next and gets about halfway before the ball bounces into the wall and stalls in the middle of the course. Penelope is next and her ball joins Derek’s as she made the same mistake as he did.

“Y/N, you want to go?”

“Sure.”

You bite your lower lip nervously and set your ball on the small indent located at the start of the course. You’re not holding the club right, your stance is too wide, and Spencer knows if you hit the ball, it’s going to go flying off the course.

“Do you want some help?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you to grab the club over your hands. Your cheeks immediately heat up from the contact, and Penelope smirks at Derek who just chuckles.

“When you hit the ball, just remember that the more force you use, the more likely it will bounce off the course.” He grabs your hands and slides them to the handle of the club where it’s supposed to be. “You want to have your hands here so you’re not straining your back from bending over all the time.” He nudges your feet to have them move closer to each other. “You want your feet closer because if you were to keep them where you had them before, you’re more likely to use a harder swing.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“Now, we go on three. Ready?”

He counts down before moving the club back, with his arms still around you, and hitting the ball gently. The ball races down the course past Derek and Penelope’s ball all the way to the hole where it sinks in.

“Look at that! Hole in one!”

“Hey, that’s not fair! You had help!” Emily gasps.

“She’s right,” you chuckle and retrieve your ball.

“Nah, that was all you,” Spencer grins and winks.

Again, your cheeks heat from the attention. Henry could never make you feel like how Spencer is making you feel. You’re getting used to the game the more you play it but you do miss the way Spencer’s arms feel around your body. You miss his warmth. The group moves to the tenth hold which is located on the edge of the entire course where the parking lot is.

Derek is taking his turn when you notice an older couple by the front talking with an employee. They seem upset so you walk closer to the railing that separates the parking lot from the course. The older couple speaks to the young man in German but he doesn’t understand the language. To you, it’s like they’re speaking English. Your mother made you take courses in many different languages at such a young age. The Princess of Yacleira needs to be fluent in a lot of languages for when she visits those countries. One of your good friends just so happens to be the Princess of Luxembourg and they border Germany.

“Excuse me, is everything okay?” you ask.

Spencer, JJ, Penelope, Derek, and Emily look over when they hear you speak and see the older couple and the golf course worker approach you.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” Do you speak German?

“Ja, das tue ich. Was scheint das Problem zu sein?” Yes, I do. What seems to be the problem?

“Danke schön. Mein Mann hatte gerade einen Schlaganfall und der Arzt sagte uns, dass er sich nicht in der Nähe von lauten Geräuschen oder blinkenden Lichtern aufhalten dürfe. Er liebt Golfen und wir wollten wissen, ob dieser Platz diese Eigenschaften hat.”

You nod and put a finger up so you can translate what they said to the attendant.

“He just had a stroke, and they were wondering if this course had any flashing lights or loud noises.”

“Oh, no. The only lights on the course are the ones marked on the path and to light up some of the displays. I’d steer clear of the arcade, though.”

You translate what he said back to the older couple in German who are grateful to have someone who speaks their language.

“They’ll pay for one game of golf but not for the arcade.” The older couple thanks you again before leaving with the attendant. You smile and turn back to Spencer and his friends but pause when you see the shocked looks on their faces. “What?”

“You speak German?”

“Yeah. I learned it in school. I can also speak French, Spanish, Arabic, Swahili, and Japanese. I’m working on learning Sweden and Mandarin.” Again, they all continue to stare at you. “I had a lot of time on my hands when I was a kid. Shall we continue playing the game?”

The rest of the game went by smoothly but the fun didn’t stop there. Everyone wanted to play more arcade games so you and Spencer decided to eat something outside while they went and played. He got two orders of hot dogs and fries, something you have never had before. Spencer takes a bite of his hot dog and you do it exactly how he did it. Mustard and ketchup get all over your face but the food is delicious.

“You’re not like other girls. You’re so full of mystery but I can tell you’re a good person. Is that weird to say?” he chuckles.

“No.” You wipe your face and finish eating before speaking. “I’ve always strived to be the best I can be. I treat everyone with kindness.”

“Not everyone thinks that way.”

“There was this one time when I was younger, and I was walking the streets outside my home. I came across this family of two on the ground underneath the shade. They were homeless and hungry. I bought all of them food and blankets and stuff they might need to not only survive the night but for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

You don’t say it but you had to be. The Princess of Yacleira can’t be seen being rude to anyone. You were punished if you even said one thing out of the norm or did something that everyone else might perceive as bad.

“This isn’t as noble as that but one time I donated a bunch of books to libraries who didn’t have a lot of books to begin with.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you smile. “I love reading especially to children and the elderly. It brings me joy.”

“I agree.”

You and Spencer talk about your favorite books, the food long forgotten. Spencer has moved closer to you with every sentence, not that you mind. You lean in slowly for a kiss but the door opening makes you jump back in surprise.

“Did we interrupt something?” Derek smirks.

“No,” Spencer shakes his head.

“We better go. I have to get home. Henry won’t stop throwing up.”

“Who’s Henry?” you ask.

“My son,” JJ grins.

Your house is the first stop since everyone else lives closer than you do. Spencer gets out when you do so he can walk you to the front door.

“I had a fun time,” Spencer smiles.

“Me too. Maybe next time, I’ll take you on a date and invite you to my world.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

You and Spencer look into each other’s eyes, the tension rising with each second. You’re not sure if you should kiss him even though you want to. Spencer wants to kiss you but he doesn’t know if you want to do it in front of his friends.

“Oh, my God. Just kiss her already!” Derek shouts from the car.

His friends laugh and giggle but Spencer isn’t paying attention to them. He meets you halfway and kisses you like how he wanted to since the first date. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. Such raw emotion like you are meant to be kissing him. It doesn’t matter if a building is on fire or something, this kind of kiss makes the entire world disappear.

“I’ll call you, okay?” Spencer smiles.

“Okay.”

Spencer waits until you’re inside your house before allowing Derek to leave. You close the door behind you with a wide smile on your face. You’ll tell Spencer who you are eventually. You just need to make sure he’s the one before you do. You kick off your shoes and head to your room to turn in for the night.

James gets out of the car once he arrives at the safe house located on a farm in the middle of the woods. He and his friends chose this location to keep their activities hidden from local authorities. He grabs his briefcase and heads inside where his friends already are hanging out. Ryder, his best friend, is sharpening his knife collection. Kellen and Jacob are sitting on the couch drinking beers. Macy is on the computer checking to make sure their online activities stay hidden.

On the wall behind Macy are pictures of you as the Princess of Yacleira and as of Y/N, the barista, and weapons and other gadgets cover almost every surface.

“There he is,” Ryder grins. “I thought you were coming out two days ago.”

“I got held up.”

“And how is our Princess doing?”

“Doesn’t suspect a thing. Ben really did a terrible job putting her here. He didn’t even bother showing her a picture of what Don looks like. It’s cute knowing she thinks I’m pretending to be her uncle.”

“Anything else you’d like to tell us?” Jacob asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Spencer?”

James knew his friends would find out about Spencer sooner or later. Maybe that’s why he stalled coming back here.

“Everything is under control. I’m taking care of it.”

“He’s the fucking FBI. One wrong move and everything we’ve worked for goes crumbling. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” James snaps.

“So, what’s the plan?” Macy asks. “When can we start this? I already have three offshore accounts waiting for the money and safe houses in the Bahamas ready for us.”

“Soon. I have to get a few things sorted and contact a few people in Yacleira before we can go after Y/N. I have a few men on the inside who will tell me what Calliope and Elliot know. We can just go storming in and demand for money. That’s how we get caught. Don’t worry, we’ll get the money we deserve.”

“Yeah, even if it means killing the Princess of Yacleira,” Jacob grins.

x

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

[chukys-mouthguard]

18 and 22 fluff for Matt Rempe

Prompts: “I don’t care about anything but you.” + “For you, I’ll take on any challenge.”

Note: I don’t actually think Matt is that bad of a cook, but like he’d definitely be clumsy in the kitchen, especially if it’s something a little more complicated

“Matt, please, I don’t care what was said, he’s just being an idiot.”

Pulling Matt from the bar, you tried your best to cool him off. A drunken guy making some smartass comments had pushed Matt to his breaking point, luckily you’d stepped in before a fight broke out.

“Y/n, if you heard him I guarantee you’d care. Fucking asshole, I should’ve punched him square in the jaw.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as the two of you climbed into your car, deciding it was time to call it a night. Though you loved that Matt stood up for you and protected you, a bar fight was not something he needed to add to his resume. Plenty of fights taking place for him on the ice so far this season.

“I don’t care about anything but you, and the last thing you need is getting called into Laviolette’s office tomorrow to plead your case of why they shouldn’t sit you for getting into a bar fight.”

The two of you chuckling, knowing it definitely wouldn’t have been a good phone call to receive had Matt done anything reckless at the bar. Especially with how he had finally earned the opportunity for more ice time. Getting on Laviolette’s good side wasn’t easy, and Matt definitely didn’t need to do anything to fuck it up.

“Okay but, I’m sure he would appreciate me sticking up for my girlfriend.”

“Oh I’m sure, anyone would say you did your job. I’m so very appreciative of you babe. But, you know what a challenge it was to even get to where you are now. And I’m so fucking proud of you. So let’s not worry about little drunken fools at a bar, you’ve got bigger things in your sights!”

You flashed him a smile as you took his hand in yours, locking your fingers with his as he smiled himself.

“For you, I’ll take on any challenge. And if that involves pleading my case for a littleeee punch to a drunken guys jaw, I’d do it.”

“Matthew Rempe no! That is what we are not doing!” Throwing your hands in the air as you laughed, Matt shrugged with a goofy grin.

“How about this challenge….when we get home, try not to take a twenty minute shower and use up all the hot water. And, let me fall asleep before you so your snoring doesn’t keep me awake all night. Can you take on that challenge for me?”

Matt flashed you a grumpy look, “but y/n…I’m a giant, I’ve got a lot of body to wash.”

“Matthew Rempe I hear you half the time singing in that shower, you’re not fooling me! I know you could easily be in and out in like ten minutes, maybe even less.”

“Okay fine, ten minute limit. And if I can’t do it, then I’ll cook breakfast in the morning.”

Your eyes widening as you thought back to the last time he’d cooked breakfast, and you use the term cook loosely. This boy could possibly be the only human being to screw up cereal. His scrambled eggs were practically still raw, his bacon burnt to a crisp, and his pancakes were still liquid in the middles.

“Babe, I love you to death, but eating your breakfast is not a challenge I’m willing to take on.”

“Okay well coffee, I can make the coffee.”

Shooting him a nervous look he cackled out loud, a bit offended at your lack of faith in his abilities to use a keurig.

“Okay fine! I’ll have coffee delivered, no way I can screw that up!”

#matt rempe #nhl imagine #nhl fics #matt rempe fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagine #matt rempe blurb #matt rempe imagine #nhl blurb

[accio-victuuri]

what year is it? we still see them paired up on hs related to relevant topics together. of course they are popular in thailand, to the point that the Untamed has a meet and greet / concert there. and even beyond, you have lots of cpfs and solos from there who remained even after the show. it’s a nice surprise seeing them together like this.

the hot search square is kind of a mess tho lol. as expected. you have the usual cpfs who are all for it. then the ever so toxic shrimps acting like antis. and toxic mts are joining in too. what’s new. they can continue to bitch and moan about this tag but it doesn’t erase the fact that these two are gonna be related to each other because of the untamed. that they have a good relationship in private, even if their fans are horrible to each other. honestly, bless the people who are not brainwashed by toxic solo narratives. you don’t have to believe they are szd or whatever, just think twice about the anti rhetoric both sides are saying about each other. so pathetic.

anyway, both my boys are gonna be popular outside of the mainland now and in years to come because they are talented and deserve all the love! it’s so much better to support them both 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

[xmanicmushroomx]

mirrors || eijirou kirishima

tags: fem!reader x eijirou kirishima, established relationship, mental illness, fluff, comfort, mha, bnha

cw: reader has an eating disorder [anorexia], depressing thoughts, difficulty facing the mirror

your head is spinning. your stomach feels like it’s on a roasting spit, constantly turning with nausea. your body is achy all over. everything. hurts. that’s all you can think as you lay down in your room, curled up in a ball on your bed, staring at the wall.

training in your third year at ua has been nothing short of demanding, and with your recently diagnosed eating disorder, it’s been especially hard.

against your better judgement, you heave a sigh and sit up, gripping the edge of the mattress. after waiting a few moments to steady yourself, you stand up and walk to the other side of your dorm, grabbing a water bottle and taking a sip in hopes of settling the unease in your stomach.

you frown as you glance at the mirror next to your desk. capping the bottle and setting it back down, you square your shoulders and situate yourself in front of your reflection, hesitantly pulling the hem of your shirt up.

tucking the end of your shirt into the band of your sports bra, you pinch the skin of your stomach gently. you can’t help but feel disappointed when you’re able to grab enough skin that it actually gathers between your fingers.

am i not doing enough? no. that can’t be it. you’re in hero training, for fuck’s sake. your workout routine is practically religion at this point, followed to a T and then pushing yourself to do more.

am i not good enough? am i just… too fat?

the questions ricochet around your brain until tears gather in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks with silent sobs. you grip your hips, staring at your reflection with disdain. your hands move down to palm your thighs, inhaling shakily.

a knock on your door has you immediately pulling your shirt back down and wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “c-come in,” you call. dammit. that came out way too croaky.

your door opens slowly, and you watch your boyfriend walk in. eijirou looks over you immediately, taking in your puffy eyes, your quivering lower lip, your position in front of the mirror. it takes him mere seconds to put the scene before him together, and he frowns. “oh, baby,” he whispers, his voice empathetically pained. he crosses the room in three long strides and envelopes you in a hug.

you break down all over again, tears wetting his t-shirt, shoulders shaking, your entire body giving out as he holds you against his lithe frame.

eiji’s known about your struggles with your body image and eating since the two of you were in first year. he was at your appointment last month when you were diagnosed with anorexia. he’s been there for you every step of the way, always quick to shield you from any of your classmates’ prying questions.

he gently guides you over to your bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you into his lap. he rubs soothing circles into your back. “it’s alright,” he promises, his voice soft and sweet. “i’m here, baby. you’re going to be alright. it’s going to get better.”

you lean back on his lap, shoulders slumped, still sniffling. “but what if it doesn’t, ei?” you whine. you don’t want to argue with him, but getting ‘better’ feels unattainable. you’d compare the idea to another galaxy — visible, if you’re looking with the right lens, but light years away and impossible to reach.

“hey,” he urges you softly, “you can’t think like that. if you don’t believe it, then your body won’t, either.”

he’s been paying attention. your therapist said the same thing to you a few weeks ago. you sigh deeply, wiping at your wet cheeks. “it’s just… i don’t know. it’s hard.” your admission is quiet, your voice shaking.

eijirou smiles softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “no one ever said it’d be easy, love. but i’ll be here for you, every step of the way. i promise.” he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

warmth flushes your cheeks. he continues to press small kisses to your skin, trailing his lips up your arm, lifting the sleeve of your t-shirt to kiss across your shoulder and up your neck. “babe,” you giggle, gently pushing at his chest.

“nope,” he mumbles against your skin, his sharp teeth grazing your collarbone. “i’m making my girl feel better.”

a smile gently lifts the corners of your lips, and you sigh. “what would i do without you, eijirou kirishima?” you ask teasingly, tangling your fingers in his spiked hair as he continues to pepper kisses along your jaw line and the base of your throat.

“don’t know,” he chuckles. “wanna come with me to bully bakugou into whipping something up for dinner?”

your stomach grumbles painfully, and as weak as you feel, you know you need to get something in your system before you end up in recovery girl’s office again. “okay,” you relent, gripping his hand and standing up from his lap.

eijirou grins, pulling you toward the door. his hand encircles the knob before he turns back, abruptly pulling you into him by the back of your neck. his lips crash against yours, and you two stay like that for as long as you can, only stopping when you’re both gasping for breath.

“okay. now we can go,” your boyfriend declares with a smirk.

you huff as he pulls you along. “you better finish that after we eat,” you warn him, squeezing his fingers.

it’s an empty threat, and he knows that, but it still makes him laugh. “anything for you, babygirl.”

a/n: this scenario is dedicated to my little sister. she read and helped me edit this, so i owe her a huge thank you!! i love you so much, B.🩵 additionally, if anyone ever feels they need someone to talk to, I AM HERE [shamelessly typed this with all might in mind, btw].

♫ inspo while writing: smaller than this by sara kays

#boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha #bnha scenarios #eating disoder trigger warning #mha eijiro kirishima #bnha eijiro kirishima #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima imagine #eijiro #kirishima #kirishima x reader #mha kirishima

[johnnys-breastmilk]

bit-or-sweet | johnny slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — fulllyyyyy a joke fic! wrote this a while back and I'm trying to go through drafts and post them regardless of quality lmao. inspired by twilight - im so serious

summary — Johnny wants to give you a bite mark, you make him bite an apple to see how it'll look.

words — 1.5k (short sorry!)

warnings — general mentions that you're dating a serial killer, pain-intolerant reader, blood, biting

~~~

There are about three different levels of commitment to have with your murderous boyfriend. Maybe three and a half. The first is pretty normal: moving in with him. The last half is letting him kill you, but that’s more of a one-sided thing. The third step is teaching you to murder—not kill. Killing is easy, murder is bereaving. You have to give something that you’ll never get back, so that’s why you were stuck squarely at the second step. Johnny’s teeth sunk into the flesh of a fresh apple. It was just one of a few that Nancy had picked up at the market, now sitting in a bowl in her kitchen with one missing. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen before your mind went to something fun to do with the fruit.

“Don’t go all the way!” You pestered, watching his jaw slowly become acute and his lips slowly cover the sacred notion of eating. Teeth scraping against the inside of the fruit emitted a crunching sound. You smacked him on the shoulder, “Johnny!”

Johnny mollified, granting the apple a reprieve as he let it free from his forceful jaw. The juice from the apple had dribbled down his chin and was smeared over the apple. He polished the bitten surface over his shirt, cleaning it of any of the saliva and juice before handing it to you. One hand took the apple, the other grabbed his chin, running a thumb over the thin trail running down it, feeling the prickly stubble. You ushered out a quick “thank you,” still facing him. 

“This is what it’ll look like?” The two of you looked down to the apple cupped in your hands, all of his teeth were indented into it, showing how a bite from him would look on your skin. His teeth overlapped others—most noticeable of his two front teeth in the top row. The bottom row seemed to be a bit straighter overall, except for the one missing fang on the left side. That’s another thing about boyfriends like Johnny: he’s missing some things. Not perfect, not horrible, but just enough to be unique. 

“C’mon, ya ready?” He asked with excitement, a certain gruff peaking out in it. A smile cracked and only his top row of teeth were visible. Between the little gaps in his teeth—where his incisors covered the missing gap—could you actually see it. One less—one significantly sharper tooth to worry about.

You couldn’t help but be hesitant. Johnny appeared complacent with his work on the apple, but it was deep. It was long, held for a minute. Any semblance of the five-second rule was gone with that. "There's so much bacteria."

His light expression faded and he sounded a bit more serious, almost unbelieving of what you said. You lived with his family—in his shack! ”You live in the same dump as me!”

That argument had little sustenance because even you had complained about the state of his living situation before. But you still lived in it, still tolerated it, for him.

"Will it look pretty?" That question was fleeting in its validity too, you had the answer right in front of you as to how it would look. Glancing back down to avoid his gaze, it did look pretty. A ring of reigns with one tooth breaking the imperfect circle. You couldn't ask if it would hurt because even if it didn't initially, Johnny would make it sting. Even knowing that fact couldn’t stop you from asking: “Will it hurt?”

“I’m just going till you get a scar.” He spoke calmly, reassuring you. “Yer mine, and I want to show it. I couldn’t imagine givin’ you one like mine on your body. They’re not somethin’ to be proud of. This’ll be better.”

You thought for a moment, trying to bide time before the inevitable pinch on one of your body parts finally came. “If this one is something to look forward to, can we go somewhere special to do it? A pretty field?”

“Darlin’, it don’t matter where we do it. It’ll follow you everywhere once we’re done, even when I’m gone.”

“Okay, we’ll do it here.” On his family’s property, in the confines of Nancy’s kitchen. She had gotten these apples earlier that day at a market and it felt like Johnny had rushed you into getting a tattoo. 

But like a tattoo, the needle—in this case, his teeth—was at the ready while your confidence was not. Johnny bit over a million people already—mostly to leave them wounded, but you would be marked like ear-tagged cattle. Identified as his and only his. 

His hands touched you like it, not even willing to let you go as he set you up on the counter. The action took the breath out of you, sweeping you from your feet to the countertop. Johnny ate it up, enjoying the littlest of noises you made. He could playfully bite you all day long just to hear the vulnerability in your voice.

Johnny pressed and squeezed into certain parts of you now that you were in easy reach for him. His mind went to places that you wish you could read, but he would probably say them anyway. “Mixing pain with pleasure?”

“Get your head out of the gutter!”

“I’m only thinkin’ about you from in there…” His head finds the space between the crook in your shoulder. The only place where he isn’t, his hands roaming other areas of your body almost like a distraction. The smell of fear, the way he could feel the chill his warm breath sent into you, every hungry drawl as he looked over your fresh skin sounding hungrier than the last until a snarl resonated. The barrier between him and your blood, so thin, so permeable. Just the hardened look in his eyes was enough to pierce through it. 

His hands stopped roaming your body, zoning in as they moved up to push your head and shoulder farther from each other. Johnny’s lips peeled back, a bit sticky from the apple—something you wouldn’t feel until they were suctioned around your nimbly neck—bared his teeth and bit down on the side of your cape. The force was almost immediate, urging out a painful wince from you. His canines were the first to really dig in and sting you, making it even worse. Your eyes traveled down to the source of the pain, only the back of his head was visible, and you were tempted more than ever to reach for his dark hair and tug on it. He was probably strong enough to stop you from pushing him off, and you knew that he wouldn’t willingly break away from you without taking some skin and muscle with him. And if you did manage to push him off, the movement of his teeth would leave an even worse mark.

The pain didn’t last too long, though. Johnny was able to bite down fast enough to draw blood, but you wouldn’t have realized that. Not unless Johnny had pulled away. His lips stayed glued to you the entire time and that made the transition from biting to sucking and feeding on your blood a little easier, but all the more surprising. He was like your personal bandaid, complete with the care that comes with applying it too. His tongue, motioning over the wound like a damp cloth, and his saliva, the ironic antiseptic. 

It took about fifteen minutes of painstakingly leaning against Nancy’s cabinets and sitting in Johnny’s embrace for the ooze to come to a trickle. Johnny pulled away, exaggerating his normally toothy grin to really show off the blood that gushed into his mouth and covered his teeth. “There, you look real nice.”

Proud of his work, Johnny let his mind move to the next thing—the unfinished apple. The apple was browning at his teeth marks, but welcomed Johnny’s bite with familiarity. As he bit into it, he made the flesh inside red with the front-facing side of his teeth. That was the man you were in love with: the type of guy to do something so intimate and then go back to normal like nothing happened moments later. 

For the rest of the week, while it was healing, Johnny would find himself sinking his teeth into the same spot. The dried scarring made it appear as a challenge to keep breaking it open again. The teasing of the taste, knowing that little work was needed to taste the blood under the thin layer of skin. It wouldn’t go away any time soon—even before it healed and became a scar.

#johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter x you #johnny tcm #johnny slaughter x male reader #johnny slaughter x gn reader #johnny slaughter x gender neutral reader #x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral y/n #tcm #tcm 1974 #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre #johnny sawyer #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw game #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny sawyer x you #johnny sawyer x male reader #Johnny Sawyer x gn reader #johnny sawyer x gender neutral reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x s/o #slasher x y/n

[undeadmagick]

How my Deities Appear to Me ♡

One of my very first posts was talking about how surreal it was to see my deities (or how they present themselves to me). You can find it here. So I decided to make a whole post to show what they look like to me with descriptions and some images to kinda explain what I mean. :)

Note: I haven’t meditated with Lucifer before so his appearance isn’t clear to me. Also Apollo had a blurred/unclear face to me when we met so in this post, I’ll be talking about my other deities. If this is an interesting post, I might make a pt. 2 with Apollo even though his face is somewhat unclear to me.

Extra Note: Again, these are how they appear to ME. Obviously, deities present themselves as they think is most identifiable/comfortable to each individual. :)

Deities Featured: Hades, Freyja, Jörmungandr

Hades

Hades has always been the most clear to me. I don’t know if it was because I hold onto the memory so tightly or if it’s because I feel the most connected to him. But for Hades, he presents himself as an older man (late 50s). Many lines on his face with incredibly strong features like a prominent nose. Characters like Snape or Death from Supernatural have that side profile that is similar to how he presents himself to me. Although, Death has the most accurate face to me since Hades has that prominent bump in his nose, sunken in cheeks and thin lips. He has long, sleek black hair and usually wears a black version of Ancient Greek robes that hang off of one shoulder. He also holds his bident, using it almost like a walking stick as he walks. Incredibly tall (Although that’s a feature for most of my deities. For some reason, they all appear to be like 9ft tall.)

Freyja

Freyja also appears to me as an older woman. She has lines on her face like a woman in her older 40-50s. She always keeps a stoic look on her face, cold eyes but warm demeanor in a way. Lagertha from Vikings has a similar vibe to Freyja in having an intimidating and fierce aura but I would say Michelle Pfeiffer when playing Janet van Dyne has a more accurate appearance. Michelle has those high cheeks with lines coming from her nose downward as well as a square-ish face that Freyja has. A mature, motherly appearance while having a femininity to her which perfectly encapsulates Freyja being the goddess of love & beauty but also goddess of war. Freyja also has long ash blonde hair with some small braids in it. Most notably, she wears furs over her shoulders and golden metal jewelry. Much like Hades, she is incredibly tall, towering over me.

Jörmungandr

Ohh, my only non-human deity, lol. Bit more complicated to explain but I’ll try my best. So, obviously, he doesn’t appear as large as he’s described in mythology (or else I’d be 10x smaller than his pupils). He is similar in size to his model in the GOW game, large enough to dwarf you but small enough to fit into a deep lake/ocean. Different to that game, his scales are a deep blue/black in color. But similar to that game is that his appearance is a mix of a snake and more draconic features. His head isn’t as flat as a snake’s but is more pronounced with spikes amongst his scales like a dragon would have. His nostrils aren’t as high up like the game but instead the usual snake placement of being lower and to the front. His eyes are golden sometimes but not incredibly bright. While he is incredibly intimidating, both in attitude and size—causing my heart to race, meditation sessions tend to me calm. (Funny how looking for images that resemble him are more heartracing/anxiety inducing than actually seeing him lol. He has chill vibes.) Since he doesn’t speak physically, it tends to be quiet with just the sounds of the waves of the ocean. Only his head and some of his body appears out of the water. I’ve never seen his entire being.

#deity worship #paganism #hellenic pagan #deity work #helpol #norse paganism #hellenic polytheism #pagan #hades deity #hades worship #freyja deity #freyja worship #jormungandr worship #jormundgandr #norse jormungandr #freya deity

[camaro-and-smokes]

It started with an ice cream cone

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Warnings Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley Tags: PwP, Steve Harrington's Scoops Ahoy Uniform, First Time Blow Jobs, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is in denial, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening Words: 3 421

Notes: This is my first entry to Harringrove Summer Bingo 2024 @harringrovesummerbingo Square A2, prompt: Eating ice cream

Also on AO3 >>

Summary: Instead of looking at the selection on the ice cream counter, Billy chewed his gum while he measured Steve from head to toe—or as far as he could see over the counter from where he was standing—and back.

Steve blinked idly for a moment. That was new. That was something he had never done before this tenth or so visit to the parlor since Steve started here three weeks ago.

No, Steve hadn’t counted. For real.

He felt suddenly naked. Not that he usually felt like that when someone gave him a once-over. He knew he looked good. This was just…different. Because it was Billy who gave him that look.

“I’ll have a vanilla cone,” Billy finally said. “One scoop.”

::::::::::

Billy strutted into Scoops Ahoy like the owner of the world with the cocky smirk on his face he always had when he came in.

“Harrington,” he greeted Steve, who was alone in the parlor still for an hour before Robin’s shift started.

“Hargrove,” Steve replied, leaning on the counter with his hands. “What can I get for you?”

“What? Don’t I get the signature greeting?” Billy asked.

To Steve, it felt like that shit-eating grin was permanently plastered on Billy’s face. It was annoying. But he was a customer, so…Steve sighed heavily. “Ahoy!” he started with a tired voice. “Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain.”

Billy snorted. “Oh man, that’s always as good.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. What do you want?”

Instead of looking at the selection on the ice cream counter, Billy chewed his gum while he measured Steve from head to toe—or as far as he could see over the counter from where he was standing—and back.

Steve blinked idly for a moment. That was new. That was something Hargrove had never done before this tenth or so visit to the parlor since Steve started here three weeks ago.

No, Steve hadn’t counted. For real.

Steve felt suddenly naked. Not that he usually felt like that when someone gave him a once-over. He knew he looked good. This was just…different. Because it was Billy who gave him that look.

“I’ll have a vanilla cone,” Billy finally said. “One scoop.”

“Only one? You sure? No toppings?” Steve asked, just like he’d done all the previous times. No one ever asked for one scoop only. But of course, Billy couldn’t do this normally, either.

“Yeah,” Billy drawled. “No toppings.”

Steve grabbed a cone, placed one scoop of vanilla ice cream on it, and passed it to him. “That’s one twenty-five.”

Billy paid, and Steve followed him with his gaze as he sat into one of the more secluded booths on the side that were not straight under the windows but still facing the counter. Steve was sure it wasn’t by accident. Billy wanted to rile him up and boy, did he manage it every time.

Steve tried to make a point of washing the scoops and make sure there was enough ice cream in the cooler. He did everything he could to keep the annoyance, the distraction, away from his mind.

Why did that stupid shirt have to be open almost to the navel? It was tacky and distasteful. It was too much. And that stupid curl, always hanging over his eye. He really went all in with trying to attract girls. It probably worked, too.

Not that Steve did the same. He was just having a dry season, okay? It would pass.

Steve turned to clean the counter. To wipe it from in front of the cooler with the wet cloth, then move to the cash register. Shaking his head when he glanced up at Billy, who was sucking at his ice cream. Jesus, the guy was unbelievable.

Suddenly, Steve became aware that his cheeks were heating. Christ, am I blushing? Steve turned back to face the back wall of the parlor. Do something, get away, his insides shouted at him. Can’t he eat ice cream like normal people? No, of course he can’t.

Steve went to the back room as if looking for something. The coolness was a welcomed relief for his burning cheeks. He stood there, his eyes closed for a while, long enough to have his cheeks feel a little less hot. He couldn’t stay back there for long or until Billy left, though, because Robin wasn’t here yet to take care of the counter. He had to go back out there in case other customers arrived. Ten a.m. on a Monday morning, yeah, no luck of any other customers. But he really couldn’t stay here either. He returned reluctantly behind the counter.

Meanwhile, Billy had almost finished his cone. He licked his lower lip when he saw Steve looking at him and pushed the last bit of the cone into his mouth with his finger—not at all seductively.

Steve glared at him as he wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and smirked.

“See you around, Harrington,” Billy drawled as he stood up and left.

+ + +

“He’s insufferable,” Steve complained to Robin a few days later, throwing his hands up in the air.

“He has never done that when I’m here. Or to Amanda,” Robin replied with a tired sigh as she wiped the counter, referencing to their part-time co-worker.

“Of course he hasn’t!” he exclaimed, following her like a lost puppy. “He never does that to you guys. He has no reason to rile you up. I don’t know why he does it to me. He just…has an issue with me.”

Robin roller her eyes and looked at him. “You’ve worked here for, what, a month now?” she asked and set the wet cloth into the sink, leaning against the counter to face him.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes.”

“And he’s been coming here for an ice cream about the same time?”

“Yes.”

“He’s always wearing that shirt that barely hangs on him? Or the shorts that hug his ass? Or that lifeguard uniform?”

Steve nodded. “U-huh.”

Robin just stared at Steve with a meaningful gaze that was apparently supposed to mean something.

“What?” Steve asked, frurstrated.

“You really don’t get it?”

“What? What am I supposed to get?”

She shook her head. “Steve. He’s doing it on purpose.”

“Well, yeah, I know that,” Steve huffed.

Robin spread her hands, as if trying to serve the conclusion to Steve on a plate. “So?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Robin,” Steve hissed.

“You’re not serious?” she asked, blinking idly.

Steve shook his head, annoyed.

“He’s hitting on you, dingus. Jesus. You suck so bad.”

“Do not bring the suck board into this!” Steve cried. “Why would he be hitting on me?”

Robin just shook her head. A couple of girls walked into the parlor and she turned to serve them after giving Steve one last glare.

Since she was not going to be more helpful and Steve needed to think, he went to the back room and sat by the small desk, leaning his head in his hands. Why would Billy hit on him? Maybe he used him as a decoy? Like those dummy ducks they used to train hunting dogs. Maybe in some twisted way he was using the tricks on him to practice. And simultaneously get under Steve’s skin so easily he didn’t even have to try. Yeah, that had to be it.

He shuffled on his seat and bit his nail.

The reason couldn’t be what Robin was suggesting. Billy most definitely wasn’t…Steve shook his head. No, he wasn’t most definitely that.

And Steve wasn’t either. He so wasn’t. He had been with Nancy, had sex with her. Never even looking at guys. Ever.

Well, okay…if he was perfectly honest, he could appreciate a guy who was well built and sculpted—but not like Billy. No. Nope, not at all. Athletes, yes, those. Billy played in the same basketball team, yes, but…

Steve didn't really sleep that night. Robin’s words had been echoing in his mind the whole day, but it had been a busy day and he hadn’t had the chance to ask what she'd really meant. Yes, Steve admitted, he had a hunch. But he didn’t want to admit what the hunch meant for him.

He never thought about Billy. He had other things to think about. Like what the kids were doing. If they needed him to take them somewhere. Or what he was going to do in the autumn, after his contract at the Scoops ended. He hadn’t gotten into college, so he’d have to get another job then. Or maybe he could stay at Scoops…or then no. Yeah, no, not an option if Billy kept coming in like this, wearing next to nothing and always getting on—or under—his skin.

Or maybe he could apply to the community college. He would be stuck in Hawkins then, though. And Billy had told loud enough for the entire school to hear that he’d leave the moment he’d graduate. Which meant that he still would stay in Hawkins for one more year.

Yeah, no, he didn’t think about Billy. He thought about other things.

They just always somehow lead to Billy. Fuck.

+ + +

That’s obscene , Steve thought, once again, as he was sitting in the back room and looking through the slit between the window flaps at Billy, quietly observing him while Robin was managing the counter. Obscene, filthy and disgusting, and he didn’t understand why anyone would do something like that out in the open, in an ice cream parlor, of all places. Where there are kids around. Well, not right now, but could be.

Making him feel uncomfortable in all ways possible. On purpose. Making him sweat and hot all over while he was basically in a freezer.

Still, he couldn’t drag his eyes off him either.

How Billy’s plump lips parted and his mouth opened, that filthy tongue touching the ice cream and licking the melting part of it away. Followed by the top of the cone vanishing into his mouth, only to appear again a moment later, leaving behind lips stained with the white of the vanilla.

Who even ordered plain vanilla nowadays, anyway? Well, Billy did.

THe tongue that had licked the ice cream away from Billy's lips wasn’t fast enough, and some of the ice cream dripped on his chin. He caught it with his finger and dragged it back on his tongue.

Then it happened. What Steve had been fearing would happen one day. Okay, fine. If he was perfectly honest... he’d done some soul searching and had been waiting for something like this, actually.

The finger didn’t just work to get the ice cream where it belonged, like it normally did. No, its movement halted when Billy had sucked the ice cream off the finger before it would be replaced by the ice cream cone again.

After what felt like an eternity, Billy’s lips parted a little and the finger that had just worked the ice cream pushed its way inside his mouth. First up to first knuckle, then second. It stopped before it moved a little back out, then a little back in.

Steve was transfixed. He knew he was staring, he could feel the embarrassment in his gut, but he couldn’t not to look either.

And with another purposeful movement of the finger—back in, back out—Steve knew he’d been caught.

He didn’t know how Billy had spotted him, but he was looking directly at him. Sucking his index finger in a way that probably looked to anyone who just glanced at him that he was just, well, sucking ice cream off of it, removing the stickiness. All the while knowing that Steve was looking and knowing exactly what he was doing to him.

Steve squeezed his eyes closed. There was no way he could go back out there now. He couldn’t face Billy ever again, from this onwards he would run the moment he would see him even from his peripheral vision. He would probably have to move away from Hawkins, preferably yesterday.

There was mumbling at the counter, and he heard Robin say something like ‘just make it end’.

The door opened, and Steve turned to look, expecting it to be Robin who’d enter.

It wasn't her.

“Hey, you can’t come in here!” Steve yelped at the sight of Billy.

“Oh yeah?” Billy asked. “I’m already in here. What are you going to do about it?”

Steve was already on the edge, and now the guy was taunting him? Something snapped, and he found himself walking to Billy and pushing him.

He took a step back, almost a bit too easily.

Steve shoved him again, harder, and this time Billy ended up hitting the wall with his back. Still standing though, and that fucking grin still on his face. Maybe even widening as Steve got more and more annoyed.

Steve grabbed the lapels of Billy’s shirt and wanted to say something that would hit home, making him blush and want to leave. He didn’t think before his mouth was already open and the words falling out. “I want you to suck my dick the way you sucked that ice cream.”

Billy chuckled. “Oh, so you paid attention, did you, Harrington?”

Steve blushed. Still, he wouldn’t back off. “It wasn’t like you were being subtle about it.”

Billy laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Steve asked, now even more annoyed, closing on furious soon. The guy was truly gouging all the frustration out of him. “Get to work. Or are you man enough for it?”

Steve was close enough to see something flashing in Billy’s eyes. Just for a half a second. Something…dangerous. Then it was gone, and the sparkle of amusement was back in them. He licked his lower lip for a moment, then he reached out with his hand straight to Steve’s groin.

Yup, Steve was already hard, and Billy’s touch was an electric shock. How could he not be hard with all that teasing? There was a reason he’d come back here after Billy had gotten his ice cream and sat down at his usual booth to suck and play with it instead of eating it like normal people.

“Oh, I thought you were just annoyed with me,” Billy said, amused. “Thought I’d just riled you up for nothing. But you seem to be…real riled up.”

“Yeah, enough talk now,” Steve snapped and placed his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Get to work.”

It was easier to push Billy down on his knees than Steve had imagined. Almost too easy. Steve felt his heart thundering and heard his blood rushing in his ears as he watched Billy kneel onto the floor and lock his gaze with Steve’s no longer at all insignificant bulge.

Steve’s breathing hitched when Billy leaned in and nuzzled his nose against it, then his cheek, rubbing himself on it.

“I knew you’d be big,” he hummed.

Steve looked up at the ceiling. Oh sweet lord, he thought, swallowing. When he’d woken up this morning with a boner and thought about this exact scenario when he’d jerked off, he never would’ve guessed how soon he’d be facing the real deal.

His belt was opened, the button of the shorts of the stupid sailor outfit popped open, and his fly zipped down. When the shorts fell down to his ankles along with his briefs, the coolness of the room enveloped his naked bottom half that was anything but cool right now. It was, in fact, burning.

“You know, if you don’t watch, you miss half the show,” Billy teased as he stroked Steve’s naked thigh with his hand. “But it’s your choice.”

Steve could muster only a pathetic hum and a tiny squeak when Billy wrapped his hand around his dick. The hand was warm and rough, nothing like Nancy’s tiny, cold and slender hand. It was also better in what it was doing—for obvious reasons, dingus, Steve heard Robin’s voice in his head.

Billy started jerking Steve off with a slow pace, his thumb running over the tip a few times and spreading the precum that had gathered there all over his length. The grip was not too loose nor too tight; it was just right, and the pace was perfect, too. It felt good.

For a split second Steve forgot he wasn’t jerking himself off until something soft and wet licked the front of his dick from bottom to tip. “Hng-aaah,” he let out at this new sudden sensation, feeling it shooting something directly to his groin in a way nothing had before. Yeah, he was a blowjob virgin. He wasn’t shy to admit that now. Nancy had never ever liked the idea, so...

“Oh, he likes it,” Billy whispered with a chuckle.

Steve opened his eyes and looked down. How was it possible that Billy was down on his knees in front of him, giving him this and still getting under his skin? He was going to shut that mouth. “Cut it, Hargrove. You were supposed to do something, remember?”

The bastard had the nerve to grin and lick his upper lip before he opened his mouth and guided the tip of Steve’s dick into his mouth, all the while staring up at him.

Feeling—and seeing—his dick laying heavy on Billy’s tongue made Steve’s heart beat erratically in his chest. The hot mouth enveloping the tip, tongue pushing against the front as it dug deeper—this alone was better than any sex Steve had ever had so far.

Billy released his grip from the shaft, concentrating on just sucking and licking the top half of it. Steve had watched enough porn to think that a blowjob would require a tight grip with a hand throughout, but to his surprise, it didn’t. It was even better this way, actually.

Steve’s hips buckled involuntarily when Billy placed his now free hands on Steve's ass cheeks and squeezed them. When Steve’s dick accidentally hit the back of his throat, he let out a choking sound. “Oh, sorry,” Steve gasped.

Billy looked up and Steve was sure he smirked, even though his mouth was full of dick. There were trails of tears on his cheeks, and for a moment, Steve was concerned that he’d hurt Billy somehow. The guy got on his nerves, but he never wanted to hurt him. “Hey, I’m sorry. Really,” he whispered, running his fingers through the blond curls.

Billy let go and licked his lips, smiling. “It’s okay. I like it,” he said with a raspy voice.

Steve shuddered at the thought and the feeling of his dick returning back into Billy's hot mouth. “O—okay.”

Having Billy work his dick and kneading his buttocks while at it was a dream come true. The velvet hotness wrapped around the shaft, sucking the tip, moving back and forth like that goddamn finger, then again licking the tip in that obscene way he’d eaten the ice cream…

Steve realized that what was happening right in front of his eyes now, to him, was an exact replay of what had been happening all these weeks before. Billy really had been hitting on him. Not exactly the way Steve would’ve done. But maybe this was also what Billy had in mind from the start. More subtle approach might’ve not yielded this result.

That thought changed the gear in Steve’s loins.

Billy wanted him. Carnally.

Suddenly, Steve felt himself getting close, quickly approaching the point of no return. “Oh god, oh god, please, Billy…” he panted, “I—I’m, ah…”

Billy took Steve all the way in, pressing his nose against his pubes and then quickening his pace. He altered between the shorter back-and-forth movements, taking him in all the way, and sucking him like his life depended on it.

Steve came with a groan, feeling his load rush out into Billy’s mouth. He heard Billy struggle and choke, yet keeping Steve in his mouth until he was all spent.

He saw stars in his eyes for a while before he realized Billy was actually holding him up. His legs were trembling, his breathing heavy, and his now softening cock still in Billy’s mouth. He looked down and saw Billy look back at him.

Billy looked wrecked. His blue eyes a little red, a streak of tears down his cheeks, and Steve’s seed spilled on his chin.

It was a sight Steve wanted to see again. Maybe in a bit more private setting next time, though.

When Billy finally let go, he wiped the cum from his chin into his mouth the same way he’d done with the melted ice cream.

“I won’t sell ice cream to you anymore,” Steve said, now brave enough to grin.

Billy smirked and got up. “Is that so?” he asked, licking his lips.

Steve pulled his briefs and shorts up and buckled his belt. Then he leaned in, crowding Billy’s space and forcing him to lean to the wall. “Yeah. Why settle for a cheap substitute when you can have the real deal?”

#harringrove #harringrove fic #hsb2024 #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove summer bingo 2024 #billy x steve #steve x billy #suometar writes #lemons

[talonabraxas]

"Stairway to the Multiverse"

From any point in space, you are free to move in any direction you choose. No matter how you orient yourself, you can travel forward-or-backward, up-and-down, or side-to-side: you have three independent dimensions that you can navigate. There is a fourth dimension: time; we move through that just as inevitably as we move through space, and via the rules of Einstein’s relativity, our motion through space and time are inextricable from one another. But could additional motions be possible? Could there be additional spatial dimensions beyond the three that we know?

This has been a question that physicists have entertained for about a century, and that many mathematicians and philosophers have wondered about for significantly longer. There are numerous compelling reasons to consider the possibility, but there’s also the evidence we have from our Universe: both from a mathematical point of view and from a purely physical point of view. Although the physical consequences that would arise from extra spatial dimensions have tight constraints on them, the mathematical possibilities are just as mind-expanding as ever.

Perhaps the best starting point is to consider what life would be like if you, a three-dimensional being, were to encounter someone who lived in a two-dimensional Universe, as though they were confined to living on the surface of a sheet of paper. They would be able to move forward-or-backward as well as side-to-side, but they would have no concept of up-and-down. To them, it would be like asking “What’s north of the North Pole?” here on Earth; it’s a question that just doesn’t make sense.

But to a three-dimensional being, “up-and-down” are obvious. We can take any of these surface-dwellers and:

lift them up off of their surface,

reach into their insides and manipulate them without having to cut into them,

teleport them from one location to another by moving them through the third dimension,

or even to move ourselves down onto their surface, interacting with them with a cross-section of our own bodies.

The fact that they cannot perceive this extra, third dimension is not necessarily an argument against its existence.

What we can constrain, though, is what the properties of such an extra dimension can (or cannot) possess. For example, if a being living on that two-dimensional surface spoke, how would the sound waves that they emitted travel and spread out? Would they remain confined to the two-dimensional Universe, or would they leak out into the three-dimensional Universe? If you were a three-dimensional observer watching these flatlanders go about their business, would you be able to overhear their conversations from outside their two-dimensional surface, or would the sound fail to travel through this third dimension?

You can figure this out even if you’re a two-dimensional creature bound to living on that flat, two-dimensional surface. If you listen to an identically generated sound from a variety of different distances, you can measure how loud that arriving signal sounds to you, and that allows you to determine how the sound is spreading out. Is it spreading out like a circle, where its energy is confined to just two dimensions? Is it spreading out like a sphere, diluting across three dimensions?

In three spatial dimensions, signals like the intensity of sound, the flux of light, even the strength of the gravitational and electromagnetic forces, they all fall off as one over the distance squared: spreading out like the surface of a sphere. This information tells us two compelling pieces of information about the number of dimensions in the Universe.

1.If there are large extra dimensions — dimensions that are macroscopic in some sense — the forces and phenomena in our Universe don’t “leak” into them. Somehow, the particles and interactions that we know of are confined to our 3 space (and 1 time) dimensions; if there are extra dimensions of any sort of appreciable size, they do not have observable effects on the particles that we observe.

2.Alternatively, there could be very small extra dimensions, and the effects of various forces, particles, or interactions could show up on those very small scales: with forces spreading out as one over the distance cubed (for four spatial dimensions) or even to some higher power.

In the case of very small extra dimensions, this is something we can test.

For example, by bringing two charged particles extremely close together, we can measure the attractive or repulsive forces between them. In particle accelerators, like the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, we can collide charged particles with one another at tremendous energies, getting them down to separation distances on the order of ~10-18 meters or so. If there were deviations from the expected behavior of the electromagnetic force at these energies, our precision experiments would have revealed it. For the strong, weak, and electromagnetic forces, there is no evidence for extra dimensions down to these exquisite precisions.

But for gravitation, it’s much more difficult. Because gravity is so mind-bogglingly weak, it’s a challenge to measure the force of gravity on even modestly small scales. In recent years, they’ve gotten down to testing gravity below the ~1 millimeter scale, down to micron-level scales. The results, excitingly, show that gravity doesn’t “leak” into extra dimensions down to any observable scales, but there’s still a long way to go.

[hiskillingjar]

Hiii!! Do you think you can do hcs or a scenario for ren x a bratty s/o? Like the type of bratty that constantly talks back and is rlly teasing and honestly gets a little mean at times for his attention. Thank you , and have a wonderful day or night!!! ;3

happy brat release day faggots (i don't like charli xcx)

800+ words, a bit more of a fox-leaning ren this time around, that boy is eeeeevil.

"Are you seriously rewatching this?"

You rested your folded arms over the back of the sofa as Ren set up his laptop at the base of the television (an AV cable plugged into the front, his hard drive plugged in at the side). The opening of a show you recognised was playing on the TV screen, volume still low, while he was fiddling with something on the computer, though you didn’t know what. 

You had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell you what it was, even if you asked.

"What's wrong with that?" He asked, peering at you over his shoulder, his tail swishing to and fro behind him.

"I mean, nothing's wrong with it," You replied with a scoff, standing up straight and idly pacing into the main space of the living room. "It's just...I dunno,” You shrugged with a smirk. “I thought your taste in anime would have progressed past, like, the early twenty-tens."

Ren frowned as he sat up on his knees, looking towards you properly.

"I mean, I look at new releases.” He said, his expression looking a little more irritated, his ears tilting back, like a cat who didn't like to be pet. “Not my fault they're all garbage."

You laughed.

"Maybe it's your taste that's garbage,” You replied, bumping his shoulder with your thigh. He let out a little grunt at the motion, though it wasn’t loud enough for you to consider it to be an adequate threat just yet. “Ever considered that?"

"Well, you're my taste.” He said with a hard look, standing to his feet and squaring up to you. He was shorter than you, even with the additional high point of his ears, but he certainly knew how to intimidate you, in spite of that. Does that make you garbage?"

Your cheeks flushed and you found yourself averting your eyes, glancing down to your feet.

"Mph...fair point." You mumbled and rolled your eyes subtly, feeling a little like you were getting scolded by a parent.

His brows cocked at your immediate subservience, but he didn’t say anything.

"So, are you done insulting me?” Ren then asked, crossing his arms and giving his head a slight, condescending tilt. “You know, if you act like any more of a brat, I'll stop being nice and inviting you to watch my shows with me.”

You had felt your body bristle at the word ‘brat’, but you attempted to laugh off your discomfort, looking back towards him with a sardonic smile.

"Ohhhh noooo," You drawled sarcastically, laughing again. When you laughed, you could feel the heavy weight of your collar on your shoulders, but you did your best to ignore that. "How awful. Any better threats, Ren? Isn’t that supposed to be a punishment-"

"Don't talk to me like that," Ren then snapped authoritatively, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, like he was stopping himself from doing something. " What's with you today? Where's this bratty attitude coming from, huh? I don't like it."

"I’m…I'm just teasing," You tried to laugh, though you had a sense that your discomfort was becoming more and more palpable. "I'm...not being a brat,” You murmured, licking your lips nervously and averting your eyes again. “I'm just joking around with you, like...you know, friends do?"

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

You let out a little squeak as Ren reached forward and grabbed your chin, jerking your eyes together (in spite of the height difference), his claws digging into the soft meat of your jaw and cheeks to keep your gaze on his.

"We're not friends." He said, quite sternly, his golden eyes narrowed with annoyance and irritation, like he was dealing with a problem. "I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, or something, but you're my little pet, and I'm your master.” He lets go of your face and bats harshly (a little too harshly to not be a slap) at your cheek, forcing you to step back away from him. “If I'm nice to you, it's 'cus I'm choosing to be, not to be friendly."

You let out a defeated huff, rubbing your sore cheek, and looked back to him, your brows knitting together.

"Jesus...okay,” You murmured, your hand dropping back to your side. “Whatever. Sorry I tried to be friendly, I guess."

“Don’t try and guilt me,” He replied airily with a mean smile, his eyes softening with poorly concealed lust (a glare hot enough to make your face flush). “I know how you like to play. And maybe I’d be in the mood to play along, if you used your fucking words for once, instead of trying to be so coy and above it all. Think about that next time you wanna be a brat.”

You swallowed hard and looked down again.

“Kay.” You said curtly.

"Good!" He said, sounding in better spirits than he had, before sitting down on the couch and turning up the television. The first scenes of the show were already starting. "Come here. Sit with me,” He patted the space next to him, the mean look fading into a nicer one, and yet, it felt more insidious and more threatening. “And maybe I'll forgive you for acting like such a brat~"

"I'm not-” You stopped yourself when he gave you another hard look, and nodded your head submissively. “W-Whatever, fine…"

"Good girl~"

#ren hana #ren btd #ren x mc #ren x reader #qs #drabbles #i'm everywhere i'm SO julia...ahhhhhh

[whats-her-quirk]

Secret Oath Chapter 5

last || m.list

➷➷➷➷➷

marco bott x fem!reader

18+ mdni

word count: 5k

chapter warnings: mentions of underage drinking, sexual innuendo, brief bi panic, reader sits in a shopping cart and conditions her hair

a/n: made it in just under the 2 year mark with a new update. guys...

♪ farewell andromeda (welcome to my morning) by john denver

➷➷➷➷➷

When you’re not chasing grade schoolers from place to place, there are only so many things to do at camp. After hiking, swimming, reading, and just generally hanging out around a campfire in your free time, you tend to get a little desperate for a change of pace. With a little planning ahead, Ymir has secured everybody a night off for a Wal-Mart trip, and by the end of a long week, the idea of hitting up the only nearby grocery store is genuinely as exciting as a ticket to Disneyland.

Camp Shiganshina is at least fifteen square miles from anywhere, so walking to town is out of the question. You spend dinnertime trying to figure out the carpool situation, and it turns out not everyone is coming along. Bertholdt twisted his ankle playing basketball, so he’s staying in the cabin for rest, ice, compression, and elevation on Nanaba’s orders. Eren and Mikasa also decline for unknown reasons, but they’re always weird like that, and only Jean seems disappointed. That leaves seven of you, and there’s only one vehicle in the parking lot that can fit that many passengers.

Erwin is surprisingly chill with the idea of letting you borrow the company van. “Why take two cars when you can all fit in there?” he reasoned when you, Reiner, and Hitch went to ask him together. “There’s no sense wasting your gas, and you’ll be safer if you all stick together.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure everybody’s taken care of,” says Reiner, flexing so hard you hear a thread snap in his t-shirt.

Erwin laughs, big and exuberant and sincere. “Of course! You have my trust.”

After running back to the cabin to toss your wallet and other necessities in a bag, you meet in the parking lot outside the mess hall. Erwin and Miche are leaning against the front of the van chatting while everyone loads up. Hitch dances her way over to them, holding out a hand to Erwin. “Keys, please!”

Erwin dangles a keychain as old as the vehicle itself above her palm before quirking a thick brow at her. “You are not to go over 55 miles per hour on the state route. You are not to exceed 35 on the side roads. And everyone wears their seatbelts. Understood?”

Perhaps startled by his serious tone, Hitch dials herself back. “Yes, sir.” He smiles and nods as he drops the keys in her hand, and she scuttles away to the driver’s seat.

Miche nudges you with his elbow. “Will you text me when you get there safe?”

You roll your eyes, hiding how sweet you find it. “Whatever, dad.” He makes a face at you. You stick out your tongue.

“Hey loser, you got bitch seat,” Ymir calls for you out the sliding door of the van.

You whirl around. “Historia is the smallest, why can’t she sit in the back?”

“We drew straws or something, I don’t know. Got a problem with that?” You’re used to the sass, but when she nods her head to the back of the van, it clicks. Marco and Jean sit on opposite ends of the third row bench seat—of course the middle is reserved for you.

You squeeze your way between the two bucket seats in the middle row, making sure to step and lean on Ymir as much as possible as you climb over her, just to be annoying. Tucking your bag between your feet, you manage to wedge yourself between the boys, shoulder to shoulder.

“Cozy,” you chuckle.

Jean reaches for the handle above the side window, making a little more space between you. “It’s not that far, at least.”

You pat behind both hips looking for your seat belt before you realize Marco is sitting on it. You start to reach for it, freezing only inches from his ass. “Uh, Marco. Can you scoot—”

Marco looks down where your leg is pressed against his. “Oh yeah! Uh…”

He twists as far as he can, already buckled, trying to lift his hip out of your way. You reach under him quickly, but your knuckles definitely drag across his back pocket. You click your buckle and then sit stiff as a board, hyper-aware of the fact that you fully touched his butt.

“Jesus Christ,” Jean mutters, sending you and Marco into a fit of laughter as Hitch backs out of the parking spot.

The first several minutes of the drive are spent messing with the music. Ymir shouts for Reiner to switch over to the radio, but every time he tries, it switches itself back to the tape deck after a few seconds. The cassette won’t eject, so your options are a John Denver single or silence.

“Leave it, this is a great song!” Historia begs. Neither Ymir nor Reiner will say no to her, but at least it’s Take Me Home Country Roads.

You’re a little embarrassed at first, but Marco nudges you after the first chorus. “Come on, I know you know the words. Everybody knows this song!”

You can feel your cheeks burning. “You just wanna make me sing.”

“Maybe I do.”

Historia is already singing, and when you start, so does Marco. Jean pipes up, and so does Reiner, and soon, everyone is belting the chorus.

There are only two songs on the cassette, and the B-side must have been less popular, because nobody knows the words to it. The van quiets down, but Marco still hums along. When you give him a surprised look, he blushes.

“My mom loves John Denver. I recognize the melody.”

It’s funny when Take Me Home repeats and prompts a second singalong, but by the fourth time the tape flips over, no one is singing anymore. Hitch turns the volume down to a faint rumble, and before long, you pull into the nearly empty parking lot of the Wal-Mart.

You stumble out of the back seat, thankful to stretch your legs after being crammed in so tight. You shoot off a text to Miche, letting him know you made it to the store with no casualties, to which he replies k thx kid. You could truly gag.

“Do we need a cart?” Reiner asks as you approach the giant sliding doors.

“Better get a couple,” you reply, pulling one from the stack. You know you want to buy snacks, grab a couple packs of Gatorade, and probably beg Ymir to get you some alcohol to smuggle away, and you’re not carrying all that around by yourself.

“Is there, like, no one here?” Jean asks, stepping through the second set of doors. “I swear it feels like it’s closed.”

“Relax, there are other cars outside.” Ymir rides her cart past him like a scooter, pumping her foot for a few paces before jumping on the bottom rail and gliding down the center aisle.

“What do we need to get?” Historia asks, scrambling after her.

“I’m heading for food and drinks,” you announce, pointing your cart toward the grocery section. Marco and Jean drift that way along with you.

“I need another pair of flip flops,” says Hitch. She and Reiner start to head the other way, where you’re sure she’ll find much more than just a pair of flip flops.

“I’m out of shampoo,” says Historia.

“And I want one of those things that you can make a grilled cheese with over the campfire. Everyone get what you want and then meet back at the pharmacy. And…go!” Ymir takes a running start, then rides her shopping cart out of sight as you head for the groceries.

You lose Jean somewhere around the Pop Tarts.

“Where did he go? Wasn’t he just behind us?” Marco asks, pushing the cart beside you in the beverage aisle.

“Either he wandered off or he’s looking for us just as fast as we’re looking for him.” You stop to heave a twelve pack of purple Gatorade on the bottom rack of the cart, making the whole thing rattle. You try to hide how heavy you’re breathing as you reach up toward the top shelf for another multi-pack.

“Want me to get those for you?” Marco asks.

“Sure, grab a pack of blue ones, please.”

Marco loads them under the cart for you, then takes the handle with a smirk. “Woah, this is super bottom-heavy now. Gonna need to counterbalance with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Counterbalance?”

Marco chuckles. “Just get in the cart. You know you want to.”

“Ride in the cart? What am I, five?” You scoff, fully pretending that you don’t want to take him up on the offer.

“If we’re going to find Jean before Ymir destroys the pharmacy out of boredom, we gotta pick up the pace.”

You poke him in the chest. “Sir, you are being especially wild tonight.”

“Must be the fluorescents.”

Marco holds the cart steady while you flop inside the main basket. It’s a tight squeeze, but when you dangle your feet out of the front, it’s almost comfortable. Once you’re situated, Marco pushes you down a few more aisles while you point out the snacks you want, and he piles them on top of you. 

Armed with fruit snacks, cheese crackers, and a bottle of pre-made margaritas to make Ymir buy for you, Marco zips down the dessert aisle and grabs three boxes of Little Debbies. ”Guilty pleasure” he says with a bashful shrug. “I swear I’m not going to eat them all in one sitting.”

“I didn’t assume so, but hey, no judgment here.” You shrug, motioning at the mountain of snacks in your lap. You’re not terribly concerned with eating clean and healthy every day this summer, especially not when you’re sweating buckets and trudging up and down the hill all day anyway.

Marco laughs. “Maybe when I was sixteen and super active. But now I think that would end me.”

“Oh?” You can’t help it—you’re insanely curious. “Were you a jock in high school?”

Marco rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’d say that, but I played hockey for a long time.”

While you’d spent many afternoons daydreaming about him in football pads or tight baseball pants, something about the thought of Marco in a hockey uniform just makes sense. “Oh wow, hockey’s a big deal where you’re from, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, in Minnesota, it’s super popular. A lot of kids start playing pretty young.”

“Do you still play? I’ll admit, I don’t really know anything about hockey but I think it looks pretty cool.”

“I play on the university’s club team during the school year. We travel and play against other schools, but we’re a step below the official team. It’s fun, but none of us are going pro, you know?” Marco’s cheeks turn a strawberry pink, his eyes falling to the shelves of cereal boxes beside him. “Maybe you can come to a game sometime.”

“I absolutely will. I want to see you body check someone.” You’re giddy just thinking about it.

That makes Marco laugh. “Maybe if you’re lucky.”

You round the corner of the next aisle and finally find Jean with a tub of pretzels under one arm and a case of Red Bull under the other. He notices you laughing and riding in the cart, and he gives you a look.

“Um. Where am I supposed to put these?”

“Here, fine, but you have to help me get out.”

“Don’t crush my zebra cakes!” Marco pleads.

Jean puts down his snacks and pulls you up out of the basket while Marco holds onto the cart, making sure you don’t get dumped out on the floor. Once Jean’s stuff takes your place, the three of you head for the pharmacy.

You find Ymir in personal care, waiting with the cart while Historia picks out hair products. Their basket is full of sheet masks, candy, a fleece blanket, and four of those sandwich irons Ymir wanted. When you pull up next to her, she invites herself to poke around in your cart.

“Are you feeding an army?”

“No, just stocking up.” Shooing her hands away, you slide the booze into her cart. “A gift from you to me.”

“Wow, ok. How presumptuous.” She fakes a scoff, but you know she doesn’t mind or care.

“Oh. I thought you wanted me to get that for you,” Marco says. “I guess it doesn’t matter who buys it but—”

You don’t really intend to cut him off, but you’re surprised. “I didn’t think you were 21.”

“I wasn’t… until last week.”

“Marco!” You can’t stop yourself. It just comes out.

“What?”

“Was it your birthday last week?”

Marco looks nervous. Almost frightened.

“Yeah.”

You push the cart out of the way to get closer. “Your twenty-first birthday?”

“Yeah?”

“And you didn’t tell us?” You’re yelling. You’re in the middle of a practically deserted Wal-Mart Superstore at 11 o’clock at night, and you’re yelling.

“Oh my god, yes,” Marco laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t want anybody to make a big deal about it. Now please calm down before you get carded and we all get in trouble.” He’s right, you’re causing a scene, and it makes your own cheeks burn. You don’t intend to forget about this, though.

“Well shit,” Ymir quips. She reaches for the margarita bottle and shoves it into Marco’s hands. “Then you can buy the lady her liquor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Marco puts the bottle back in your cart.

Ymir pretends to gag. “Do not call me that.”

“Hey, kids!” Hitch sails by into the next aisle, waving, Reiner hurriedly following her with their nearly full cart. You all follow, rounding the corner before you realize you’re congregating in front of the contraception. It shouldn’t be a big deal—you’re adults, after all—but it’s not easy to be totally mature looking at a wall of condoms, especially with this group.

Hitch picks out a box of ultra thins, remarking, “For me,” as if you all really needed to know. Then she reaches for a box of magnums. Just as soon as you start to raise an eyebrow, she declares, “And for Bertie.”

“He wanted you to buy him condoms?” Reiner asks, sounding genuinely dumbfounded. Meanwhile, Marco looks pointedly at the tampons on the opposite side of the aisle, and Jean snickers like a complete dork.

“No,” Hitch smirks. “But he told me Annie is visiting next week. Gotta make sure he’s prepared.”

Ymir scoffs. “Fucking gross that they package those in gold like your jumbo dong is some sort of prize.” Then she reaches up to one of the higher shelves, asking nonchalantly, “Hey, baby, do you want warming lube this time? I think we’re almost out.”

It’s the kind of deeply intimate detail she normally has no problem sharing, but almost as soon as she says it, she freezes.

Reiner loudly clears his throat. “Who are you talking to?”

Nobody moves.

“Um.” Ymir rocks on her heels. Her eyes jump from person to person, searching. “Uh, Jean—”

Jean snorts. “Not even—”

“Ew. You’re right, that’s disgusting.”

“She was talking to me, Reiner,” Historia explains calmly. “Ymir is my girlfriend.”

Reiner barks out a laugh, but it fades quickly. He seems to realize she’s not joking just as Hitch and Jean fall apart, giggling. You have half a mind to abandon all your snacks and go hide in the van, you’re so secondhand embarrassed. You should never have gone along with this. 

Ymir crosses her arms proudly and leans against Historia’s side, though you’re not really sure if Ymir is winning or losing her own game anymore.

Hitch, pulling herself together, pats Reiner on the back. “Let’s go check out so we can get out of here.”

Fixing his own face, Reiner stammers, “Yeah. We should… yeah.” Almost tenderly, Hitch puts a hand on the front of their shopping cart, steering Reiner toward the registers as he follows behind.

Historia’s hands drop to her hips, and she gives Ymir a look. “Are you happy now?”

Ymir shrugs. “Pretty much.” Huffing, Historia takes off with their cart.

“Meet you at the front, baby girl,” Ymir calls.

Marco, his face beet red, reaches for your cart, but Ymir blocks one of the front wheels with her foot.

“Hold on, birthday boy.” She grabs a basic box of condoms and pushes it into Marco’s hands. His fingers don’t close around it—he drops it on the floor like it’s on fire.

Ymir snatches the box and shoves it back at him. “You’re gonna need these, trust me,” she snorts, and that familiar, overwhelming urge to smother her washes over you.

Marco, cheeks burning, flaps his lips a few times, but no words come out. Slowly, like he’s thinking hard, he puts the box back on the shelf.

You look away, your stomach dropping. You get that he’s embarrassed—Ymir is crossing a lot of lines—and it’s not like you didn’t pack a box of condoms in your suitcase, so you’ll have some if you need them. But now, you just want to get out of here because if you let yourself think about it for one more second, it’ll hit you all at once that Marco is just a really nice person who was never actually flirting with you and doesn’t like you back. 

You allow yourself one last glance over your shoulder to see if Marco is coming with your cart before you go lay in the road and wait for traffic.

Your breath catches when you see him drop a black and gold box, identical to the one Hitch picked out for Bert, into the cart.

Screaming in your head, you power walk past the checkout. Marco will have to pay for everything because there’s alcohol in the cart, so you wait by the exit like an idiot while trying to act casual, but really, how can you? You’ve only thought about Marco’s dick print a few hundred times, and those condoms practically confirm that he’s really and truly packing. And you want it. You want him so bad—

“Ready?” You blink and Marco is there, everything bagged up and ready to go.

Ymir walks by behind him, silently mouthing, “Jumbo,” and you don’t know whether to thank her or kill her where she stands. You hope neither registers on your face.

In the parking lot, you help Marco load the bags into the van. Now you’re the immature one, wondering which bag the condoms are in, whether they’re touching your Gatorades. You hope to god he bagged them with his damn zebra cakes so you don’t have to negotiate some kind of awkward, presumptuous handoff. He’s definitely smart enough for that. Of course he is.

When you buckle in for the ride home, it’s quiet in the van. Only Hitch talks over her shoulder to Historia about the big game of flashlight tag that Moblit and Hange have organized for tomorrow night. Ymir yawns heavily, and you’re pretty sure Jean already nodded off with his head against the window.

Reiner is silent in the passenger’s seat—if he’s not back to himself by tomorrow, you’re rounding everyone up to apologize. It was mean, what Ymir did to him, and you’re all pretty complicit. But sometimes Reiner bounces back from his moods miraculously, and sometimes he doesn’t. You’ll just have to wait and see what you’re dealing with in the morning.

The John Denver tape plays softly from the speakers. Beside you, Marco hums along, his long legs crammed in behind Ymir’s seat. Just as the silence is about to cross from uncomfortable to unbearable, Marco slowly but deliberately reaches out, lightly covering your hand from where it rests on your knee.

You curl into his side, and he starts to sing a little louder, just enough so that you can hear.

“Welcome to my evening, the closing of the day. I could try a million times, never find a better way.”

Before the drive earlier, you’d never heard this song. Now, upwards of six repeats in, you know at least some of the words—enough to mumble along a little with him. The chorus is familiar by now, an easy refrain of la la las that everyone who’s still awake can jump into.

Even if it’s a little awkward, at least you’re all either singing or snoring.

It wasn’t long ago that Marco told you that he felt safe with you. With your head on his shoulder and your hand wrapped in his, you’re sure you feel the same about him.

-

Before your first alarm goes off the next morning, you wake to the hushed sounds of Historia chasing Ymir out of bed. You can’t make out any clear words, just whispering and grumbling, but after a minute or two, the bed creaks. You roll over and crack an eye open just in time to see Ymir pull on her shoes and slip out the door.

You try to snooze a few more minutes before your alarm goes off, but it’s fruitless. Everyone is starting to rustle themselves awake, so you figure you might as well just get up and shower. Quietly, you gather your things and head out.

You pass the lodge on the way to the showers, where you spot Ymir on the upper balcony, sharing a porch swing with Reiner. They rock slowly, overlooking the hill that leads down to the lake. Good. As stubborn as Ymir is, you’re almost positive she’s up there apologizing. You hope he’s not taking everything too hard. Sometimes his feelings can be too big for him.

You leave them be and take a slightly longer shower than usual, your mind drifting back to Marco and the way he held your hand. You make sure to really take your time conditioning your hair and scrubbing down with your scented body wash. It’s silly, but you feel like you’re right on the precipice of something with him, and you want to look as nice as possible for it. As if it’ll last in this humidity. 

It’s a quiet morning when you return to the cabin to get dressed. Mikasa is already gone to do the wake-up calls (with Eren, because he can’t be trusted to get up on his own, let alone rouse everyone else). You expect a subdued breakfast. Maybe everyone who was at the store last night does.

Marco meets you at the front of the mess hall holding two styrofoam coffee cups. You’re getting used to the sight, but as you sit down next to him at the table, you see Jean already has his first cup. Marco hands his second cup to you.

“Oh, thank you. Does it–”

“Two sugars,” he says, and your heart squeezes. You try not to take it as a marriage proposal.

Glancing around, you don’t see the one person you were worried about. “Does anyone know where–” you’re about to ask, but you’re interrupted by a shockingly loud voice at the other end of the room.

You’re used to Erwin’s startling morning announcements. What you’re not ready for is Reiner standing at the fireplace next to him, smiling with all his teeth, shouting, “Good morning!” to the campers instead.

The campers look up, and Reiner doesn’t even have to give instructions. He simply points to the left side of the room, takes a big breath, and starts singing the first part of Down by the Bay, off-key but with heaps of enthusiasm. Erwin, pointing to his side of the room, comes in quickly with the echo, and the campers erupt. They’ve been working on the song in Nifa’s music lessons since the first week of camp, and they’re thrilled to sing it as a giant group.

You lean your chair back on two legs to ask Ymir, “What did you say to him?”

She simply shrugs over the bowl of cereal she’s already poured herself. “Don’t look at me. You know what he’s like at the asscrack of dawn. I didn’t say anything.”

“Liar,” you tease. She sticks her tongue out at you.

For all intents and purposes, Reiner does seem fine. But you saw the look on his face the night before. You can’t help but worry he’s just putting on a mask. 

You could send in a professional to get all the details from Reiner. Unfortunately, Hitch is posted up next to Erwin with a thermos of coffee, so she’s not going anywhere for the foreseeable.

Instead, you scurry up to Reiner yourself after breakfast and steer him out into the parking lot. “Hey. Are you ok?”

Reiner chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “What do you mean? I’m great.”

When you give him a look, he sighs. “All right, listen. Yeah, I was kind of messed up last night. But I thought about it, and I talked to Ymir this morning. The whole thing was partially my fault anyway.”

“Huh?”

“Deep down, I always knew the two of them had something going on. I didn’t know they were actually dating, but I ignored the obvious signs on purpose. I think I was just trying to distract myself from…” 

He kicks the dirt, eyes cast down. “You know what you said about those snaps Galliard was sending me?”

 “I remember.” You’re careful to answer evenly, as excited as you are about where you think this is leading. You don’t want to freak him out.

“Well, I sent some back. And it turned into a whole thing. Because I think I like it.” Reiner hesitates between every sentence. “But instead of thinking about how that made me feel, I wanted to flirt with someone else. A girl. Because I don’t have to think as much about that.”

You give his shoulder a squeeze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But you know, if you want to flirt with boys too, you can.”

Reiner clears his throat. “Is that… ok?” He asks so earnestly, it almost breaks your heart. He’s not asking if it bothers you; he’s asking for reassurance. For someone to give him permission.

“Yes. And if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Or Ymir. Or Jean, or anyone. Nobody is going to be mad at you. I’m pretty sure Porco would be thrilled, actually.”

Before you can take another breath, Reiner wraps you in a bear hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you wheeze. “But you’re kind of crushing me.”

Reiner lets go, laughing. You both know you need to get moving to your next activity block. Reiner skips a few paces ahead, turning backwards to face you. “Gotta go. I have a wiffle ball game to win.”

“Go get ‘em!” Yeah. He’s going to be ok.

-

When the late June sun sets over the hill, you meet Hange and Moblit at the back door of the lodge. After making sure all the campers have a working flashlight (thanks to Hange’s messenger bag full of spare batteries), Moblit lays out the rules, and they’re all off into the dark to chase each other around.

It’s your job to hang around the perimeter of camp and make sure none of the campers go out-of-bounds into the woods or by the lake. With your own flashlight pointed down at the ground, you walk the path just past the tree line. When you hear a rustle in the leaves, you flick your light up, ready to point some little feet back toward the lodge.

Instead, you find a certain tall, broad, and dorky counselor stumbling out of the trees, the leg of his jeans caught in a prickly bush.

“Please help,” Marco chuckles.

While he points his flashlight at his ankle, you crouch down and shake his pant leg free.

“Thank you.” You can just make out his outline in the dark, shaded by the trees, but you can hear in his voice how hard he’s smiling.

“Any time.” You realize how close you’re standing, how much electricity hangs between you as you laugh awkwardly. You’ve never felt this alone with him before. You want something. Anything.

You lean a little closer, and he lingers, not pulling away. A hot wave of breathlessness washes over you, and you rise onto your toes, one hand ghosting over the back of his neck.

“Marco,” you whisper.

His flashlight hits the ground. Both of his big hands rest on the small of your back, and he pulls you in, capturing your bottom lip with his mouth, urgent but soft. You can’t help yourself. You throw both arms over his shoulders and squeeze, pressing your body against his, so close you can feel the pounding in his chest.

He gasps before deepening the kiss, letting your tongue slip past his lips. There’s nothing to say as you hold on a little too desperately, wrapped up in each other in the dark.

When you finally break apart, Marco is trembling. “I really, really like you.”

“I really, really hoped so.” You press one more light kiss against the hint of his collarbone that peeks out over the collar of his t-shirt.

Peals of laughter and flashlight beams from a few meters away startle you, and you hop back as a few campers chase after each other on the other side of the trees.

Marco retrieves his flashlight, and you wish you could see how hard he’s blushing. Instead, you give his hand a little tug. He laces his fingers between yours and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Come on,” you tease. “We should pay attention.” You have the rest of the summer to figure this out. Right now, you have a job to do.

➷➷➷➷➷

#marco bott x reader #marco bodt x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #junes fics #junes secret oath #snk

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Just to clarify, having a favorite side of the lovesquare is not- ‘this side is objectively better and more moral than all other sides’ or ‘this side is the only side worth shipping’

Having a favorite side of the lovesquare is loving and appreciating all sides of the lovesquare because they are all the same two people and just overall enjoying the lovesquare as a whole, but also having one particular side that makes your heart extra giddy whenever you see them and makes you especially excited to watch their scenes

#if you don’t like all sides of the square #my friend you probably don’t like the square #the whole point is the different sides #the dynamics might be ‘different’ #but they all just boil down to the same two poeple #in slightly different situations #and when it all converges #and the sides and dynamics #meld together #what then? #will you no longer ship it? #just saying #you can’t love ladynoir or marichat #without loving Ladrien and adrinette too #I don’t really talk much about my favorite side on here anymore #because I’ve gotten a lot of responses that bash other sides #and that’s just so sad #because each lovesquare side is special and beautiful #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous #ml #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug #ladynoir #adrinette #marichat #ladrien