#king john x f!reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [1]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You meet a stranger in the stables.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have totally made up servant/nobel dynamics because I wanted to and also let's forget about the plot of the film, yes?

Warnings: kissing, reader is in their early 20s, overuse of italics, typos, power dynamics because he's the king, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2820

________________________________

It wasn’t that going to the royal castle was boring, as much as it was exhausting. And very, very boring, now that you thought about it. 

You were the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court for the spring festival with her son, The Earl of Bowhale, a man who was only seven months your senior. They were both on average kind, well-meaning people, even if they were set in their own ways, who paid well and certainly granted you with a degree of personal freedom that you knew many servants didn’t even dream of. 

Hugo, the Earl, was his mother’s, Edith, only surviving child. A fact that obviously made The Countess fiercely protective, however in the last few years that shielding behaviour had metamorphosed into a safeguarding of a different kind: the continuation of the family name. 

Barely a day passed without her bringing up the need for her son to either marry (a complicated matter) or take a mistress.

Which was why she had been hell bent on attending the spring festival to peruse a suitable noble from the court, believing that ‘seeing a young woman face to face is the only way to tell if she would be a good mother to her son’s children.’ 

You helped The Countess into her dress for the evening, making sure you nodded and said, “yes, my lady”, at all the correct moments as she spoke. 

“I think there will be some chance of seeing a suitable suitor tonight, if not tomorrow. I know most of the court is present, but many outer nobles are not arriving until the morning.” 

“Yes, my lady.” You adjusted her skirts. 

“Hugo needs to seriously consider his future, the legacy of his father’s name.” She sighed. “I spoke to him again this morning.” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“He is as insolent as ever. His father was never like this. I do not know where he gets it from.” 

You smile, “Perhaps his lordship takes his strong-willed nature from his mother, my lady?” 

She looks down at your grinning face and laughs at your tease. “You are terrible my dear,” but she beams and puffs out her chest, enjoying the praise. “And far too kind on him, there’s no way his will could match my own.” 

You laugh, and are about to speak when the door to The Countess's rooms open and Hugo barges in. 

“Mother, I- Oh,” he gives you a little smile and half bow as a greeting. You nod back.

“So I see she is deserving of a formal greeting and not I?” The Countess scows, but you know from experience that if someone had entered without acknowledging you they would have also faced reprimand. 

Hugo pulls a face. “Mother-”

“And what about knocking Hugo? Since we are in his highness’s house, on his highness’s hospitality I do not think that forgoing manners should be our way forward.” 

He sighs, but nods, before waiting for a moment to see if she will continue talking. 

The Countess nods. 

You stand up, watching them going back and forth in their regular verbal sparing matches.

“Mother, is it completely necessary for me to join-”

“You surely are not speaking of the possibility of not attending tonight? Are you?” 

“Mother-”

“Because if you were, I would be-”

“It wouldn’t be anything, an Earl can retire to his-”

“An Earl would not insult the hospitality of his King.” 

“Mother-”

She held up her hands. “I will hear nothing of it.” 

Hugo sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“And what are you wearing? You are covered in mud.” She tutted.

“I was riding and-”

“Riding? At this hour?” 

He nodded. “Some of the knights and other Earls went to the forest and-”

The Countess tutted dramatically. 

“I was going to take Stefen to the stable and brush him down instead of attending.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You intended to brush your horse instead of attending? There are servants for that exact duty Hugo.” 

He shrugged frowning, you knew how much he enjoyed taking care of his horse. “I do not trust the staff here, they do not know Stefen, they-”

The Countess shook her head, “you are attending. Go, get bathed and dress, Robert will assist you.” 

“But Mother, Stefen-”

The Countess turned to you quickly, “Will you do me the favour of going to the stables and getting Stefen ready for the night?” She smiled kindly at you and you nodded.

“Of course my lady.”

“See?” She turned to her son. “Now we have a trusted member of staff to care for him.” She said triumphantly. “Or do you not trust her to look after him here?” 

Hugo gave you an apologetic look, he hadn’t meant to lump you with the task. But you smile back, and he returns a weak nod. 

“Of course that’s fine,” he said defeated. 

You often groomed Stefen, he was a powerful and grumpy animal that tended to only obey four people, Hugo, the two main stable hands at Bowhale, and you. He tolerated others for the most part, but was quite difficult when something set him off. 

“Good.” The Countess clapped her hands together. 

.

You finished helping The Countess get ready before you stepped out of her rooms and headed for the stables. The evening light was just starting to dim into twilight. 

Hugo caught up with you on the stairs, gently touching your arm to get your attention.

“I’m so sorry.” 

You smile kindly, “what for, my lord?” 

“Making you settle Stefen in, I,” he sighed, “I could have easily done it earlier, I just wanted an excuse to… not go…”

Your smile widened. “I know, Hugo, please don’t worry, besides, I like taking care of Stefen.”

He gives you a grin, his spirit lifting as they always did when you used his first name. “Thank you, I-”

“Hugo!” The far-off call of The Countess echoed around the castle and you chuckled while he groaned. 

“Have fun!” You waved as you continued down the stairs. 

He nodded disheartenedly. 

. 

You got a little lost on your way to the stables and had to ask a stern looking guard the way. When you arrived and introduced yourself to the head stable hand the poor man looked relieved. 

Stefan greeted you happily, and had no qualms about letting you brush and clean the mud and grime from his coat. Much to the other stable hands's shock. 

It wasn’t long before the sky was dark and you were left alone in the stables with the horses. 

“You need to be nicer to others Stefan.” You scowled with a grin. 

He whinnied, seeming to laugh playfully at you as you stroked his neck. 

“That’s a beautiful horse.” 

The low voice behind you made you jump and you spun around quickly. Stefan sensed your discomfort, snorting and stepping forward to try to put himself between you and the stranger. 

“It’s alright,” you hushed, patting his side and calming him. You turned to where the voice had come from, the stranger’s outline was just visible in the low candlelight. “Thank you, it is The Earl of Bowhale’s horse.” 

“A fine beast for sure.” The stranger nodded, but did not step closer. “I have heard he has a temper.” 

You smile and nod. “He is a little set in his ways, strong-willed,” you stroke Stefan affectionately, “but he is a loyal companion if you earn his trust.”

“And it seems that you have.” 

You smile again at the stranger. “I would like to think so, The Earl and I used to train him when he was a colt. He is used to me.” 

“You ride?” 

“A little,” you turn back to Stefan briefly as he nudges your shoulder and stroke him again, “occasionally I accompany The Earl or Countess when they wish.” 

“Hmm.” 

“And what of you stranger? Do you ride, or are you just of this disposition to watch horses while they rest and harass servants with questions?” You tease playfully. 

He chuckles lightly and waits a beat before he steps closer and leans against the wood of Stefan’s stall. The flame light flickers against his features and dread grips your inside in its icy hold. 

You freeze for a second, eyes wide before you bow your head and curtsy as low as you can. “Your Highness, I apologise, I did not realise it was you in the dark.” 

Your mind rushes with thoughts, you were going to get punished, put in the stocks, maybe even imprisoned, why wasn’t he at the event? Why was he here seemingly stalking about in the dark? 

He wasn’t wearing his crown, his clothing obviously expensive but not the attire for entertaining the court. 

King John laughed again, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “You were all for questioning me a second ago, am I so fierce that you can’t even raise your head to look at me?” 

You keep your position, looking down, panicking on what to do, how to-

“Hmm?” He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Has the servant lost her voice?” 

You shake your head. “No, Your Highness.” 

“Then answer my question.” His voice is low, nearly a growl. The pretence of softness hiding something much sharper underneath. 

“You are fierce, Your Highness.” You whisper and he grins. 

“And yet, you look at me?” He keeps his touch on your chin light.

“You are making me, Your Highness.” The words slip from your tongue before you truly have a chance to understand them and you screw your face up the second they are spoken. 

But he laughs quietly and drops his hand to his side. “There, I wonder what you will do under your own will.” 

You pause and swallow, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes and looking back up at him. 

His grin widens. He observes you for a moment, the look in his eyes dark, predatory. And for a second you are sure that you made the wrong choice. 

“Stand,” he says, his voice still soft and you obey slowly, “much better, I do not need you to stay in a curtsy, my pride is not so vast that I need to have everyone at my feet.” 

You stay quiet, biting at your lip and pulling at the skin around your nails, but watch him carefully.

“You are Edith Bowhale’s personal attendant, are you not?” 

“I am.” You nod, not wanting to fall short and lose whatever small grace has decided to put you in the King’s favour and not chagrin. 

He hums a response, looking away from you for a second and you can feel relief flood your veins as you are out of his sharp glare. The consolation is short lived however, as he quickly stares back at you. 

“She was speaking to me about many things, though I have to admit upon seeing you I wished I had been paying more attention.” He smiles, his voice like silk as he takes a step closer.

You pause for a second, your mind slow to catch up with the meaning of his words. “I, wait, I’m sorry, Your Highness, I-”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against your cheek, a light touch that makes you jump and startle back. 

“So skittish,” he teases, “over just a touch.” 

“I-”

“A touch from your King no less,” he tuts, “I should be insulted.”

“No, that’s not, not my intention, I-”

Stefan whinnies, seemingly unhappy with how close the King is getting to you and King John uses your brief distraction to his advantage. He grabs hold of your bicep and pulls you out of the stall and swings the wooden door closed. 

You can hear Stefan neighing in distress as he pushes you up against the door, his griping your arm tight. 

“Calm the horse.” He says softly, his piercing eyes seeming to sink into your very soul.

You swallow, your mouth dry, but tap the door. “Stefan,” you say softly. 

The horse calms slightly at your voice.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” you repeat your words a few times until you hear him start to settle and wish they could have the same effect on you. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat. 

He delights for a moment in your obvious discomfort. “My, my, I have never seen a servant to a Countess so shy.” 

You stay quiet, heat rising to your skin. You try to focus on his mouth, but no matter how hard you try you are drawn back to his striking eyes, as if he holds some bewitching magic to keep you under his control. 

Slowly he raises his left hand up, giving you plenty of time to see it before he gently touches his fingertips to your cheek, lightly stroking your skin. You still jump a little, naturally trying to flinch away. 

It makes him smile even more, taking a deep pleasure in your flustered reaction. He breathed in deeply, as if he were savouring a flower, “aw, what’s wrong? Does the little servant not know how to address her King? How to behave in his presence?” 

“I… I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

He grins wickedly at how timid you have seemingly become. “Now, now,” he teases, his voice thick and heavy, “there’s no need to apologise with those words… how about you tell me something sweet instead?” 

You frown in confusion, “something sweet?” 

He leans a little closer, caging you in. “Something nice.” He languidly runs his fingers down lower, along your jaw and to your neck. Your racing heartbeat drums against his fingers and a giddy thrill runs down his spine. 

“I…”

“Something nice,” he repeats, “something that you could never normally say to someone like me, something that will make me smile.” 

Once again your words slip out of your mouth as if you had no control over them, his hypnotic gaze seemingly completely destroying your survival instinct, “you’re beautiful,” you whisper. 

He freezes the moment you utter the words, your eyes going wide as you realise what you said. The syllables of your sentence seemingly echo around the stable, ringing and repeating clearly in your mind as if you had screamed them from the rooftops. 

A faint dusting of pink highlights his cheeks, but thankfully you cannot see it in the candlelight, he smiles slowly, moving his hand up and tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Repeat that.” He breaths. 

Your heart beats so forcefully you’re sure you're going to faint. “You’re so very beautiful.” 

He chuckles, leaning closer until his nose bumps against yours and preening a little at the compliment. “You know such words from such an unexpected source only mean more… thank you.” 

He dissolves the last centimetres separating you and presses his lips to yours, swallowing down your little gasp of surprise and licking into your mouth without hesitation. His hand is warm on your neck, his body pressing up against yours as if he expects you to push him away, to run. Instead, your fingers sink into his shirt, pulling him closer as you kiss him back with equal further, a lamb happily going to the slaughter. 

He growls, low in the chest when you reciprocate, heat blooming in his lower stomach as he pushes even closer and rubs his quickly hardening cock against your hip. 

You gasp a little in surprise, but quickly regain yourself, wrapping your arm around his neck and urging him closer, needing to feel every part of him. 

This couldn’t be real, this was impossible, you had to be dreaming. Maybe Stefan had reared up as you brushed him and you’d stumbled and hit your head, it was seemingly the only logical conclusion. You might as well enjoy this delusion as long as it lasted. 

His kisses grow more demanding, more urgent and he nips at your bottom lip, groaning at your high-pitched sigh. And then whining himself when you repeat the action on him, forcing your tongue into his mouth and pulling sweet sounds from his lips. 

There was-

The stable door slams open, “Your Highness, I have come to-”

King John turns furiously, “What?” He yells at the poor servant sent to fetch him. 

It’s like a dam has been broken, your mind snaps back to your senses. What were you doing? What the hell were you doing? Kissing The King in a barely lit stable. 

The servant stammers a little, saying something that you can’t for the life of you hear. He is silhouetted in the darkness, unseeable and the King steps closer, giving him a verbal dressing down.

You slip out the side door, and rush back to your room. Thankful for the clouded night sky that keeps your face in shadow and identity hidden from possible prying eyes. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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#king john #robin hood #robin hood 2010 #king john x reader #x reader #king john x you #x you #king john x female reader #x female reader #king john x f!reader #x f!reader #king john x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #prince john #prince john x reader #prince john x you #prince john x female reader #prince john x f!reader #prince john x fem!reader

[ghouljams]

I, for one, vote that the changeling’s mom be Keegan’s gf.

I love Keegan so much, he's so funny. I love the idea that he isn't involved in my AUs per-se, but he pops up to have his little cameo whenever I feel like I need his chaos. Anyway in my mind he gave mom!reader the changeling child, and then looped around to start dating her a year or so later. She wanted a kid, and he was like "damn ok milf". So it's technically his kid, but she doesn't need to know that. He's just a regular human man...

Keegan crouches to hold Riley's collar as your little one reaches out to grab the German shepherd's thick fur. He's so good with the kid. You were a little worried when you first started dating that the baby would be a deal breaker but here you were almost two years later. Your boyfriend loves your kid like they're his own. It's funny, sometimes you look at their inquisitive eyes and think they look just like him. You know that isn't right though, you made a deal for your child. You still hold out hope that the creature you dealt with never comes to collect on that.

"Gotta be gentle Monster," Keegan tells the kid quietly, prying their little fingers off the dog. He splays their hand, and pats it against Riley's head to demonstrate. It goes as well as he could've hoped, the little one pats a few times before Riley shakes his head and tugs at Keegan's hold. The man sighs and lets the dog run off away from the changeling.

Keegan doesn't blame the poor creature, the kid's too young to really know how to be good with animals. Riley knows they're his at least, keeps their scent, that's for the best. He sits heavily, watching the kid watch him. He sniffs, kid must've gotten out again, they stink of magic.

"Tell me about your new friends kiddo." He brushes away some of the fuzz around them, the strands stuck to their jumper. Strange magic indeed.

"Don't wanna," They wander away to find something else to play with. Keegan sighs and flops back to lay on the floor. You nudge him with your foot, a laundry basket on your hip. He grabs your ankle with a smile.

"Kid doesn't like me much," He says. He always says that.

"They adore you," You remind him. He hums, stroking your ankle with his thumb before pushing himself back up to sitting. You offer him a hand to help him stand up. Despite the difference in height and muscle mass, you think he appreciates the offer, or at least finds it funny. He nearly hauls you down to his level pulling himself up. He grunts, twists at the middle to stretch his back, and grabs the laundry basket from you.

"Where'd they wander off to this time? Anywhere I should be concerned about?" You stoop to pick up a spare toy and drop it in the toy bin as Keegan finishes your walk to the washer. It's questions like that, that make you love him. He cares just as much about your kid as he does about you, the same as any parent would.

"That um," you cringe a little and force yourself to call her what she calls herself, "Witch, a few blocks down found them." Keegan hums again, he's never commented on the city's peculiar fascination with the magical, but you always get the feeling he doesn't buy into it. You aren't sure you entirely do either, at least not the human aspect.

Although you suppose if monsters can grant children, there's no reason a witch couldn't be, well, a real witch.

"Honestly I'm just glad they weren't snatched by anyone," You sigh.

"Suppose they are pretty cute," Keegan rumbles, "but I think anyone snatchin' 'em would give 'em back just as quick." His joke takes away some of your anxiety. You love your child you really do, but they have their quirks. If they aren't silently watchful they're talking your ear off about whatever strange subject they've taken an interest in. Today tarantulas, tomorrow taxidermy. They've really been liking "t" sounds recently.

You wander over to lean against Keegan as he pours detergent into the drawer and turns on the washer. He wraps an arm around you, and you tip your head back so he can kiss you. It's calming. He's calming. He's such a rock through everything, you often wonder if anything phases him. He takes such good care of you, his fingers holding your chin to follow the angle of your kiss, his lips gently insistent as he draws you closer. He's just slipped his tongue past your lips to draw your own into his mouth when your little one tugs at your pant leg. You break the kiss with a bit of a spinning head and try to shift your focus. Keegan beats you to it, scooping your child into his arms and bouncing them on his hip.

"What's this?" He asks, taking the offered drawing from the child. He turns it over and whistles, clearly impressed. "Gotta say Monster, you really know how to capture my good side." He turns the paper to you and you laugh at the scribbled in darkness around stick figure Keegan's eyes, the sharp teeth you think are supposed to be his usual mask. He grins, bounces the kid again to get them giggling, and set them down again with a, "Go make one for mom."

You press your fingers to your lips watching your baby eagerly scurry away, trying to keep your laughter to yourself. Keegan sticks the drawing to the fridge with one of the letter magnets. He kisses your cheek before you can turn to ask him to help.

He keeps his voice low, lips against your ear. You're glad for it, glad for the privacy as he addresses your fears. "Next time the witch finds 'em, gimme a call, I'll go make sure she isn't stickin' the little monster in a cauldron."

-

Keegan stands outside of the misplaced cottage, his grip on Riley's leather leash tight as he knocks on the door. He can feel the sticky barbs of witches wards. Nasty little fuckers. If his kid is in a cauldron there's gonna be hell to pay. The door is tugged open almost absentmindedly, and Keegan narrows his eyes at the familiar fae.

"Gonna be a second they got-" Price looks up from wiping his hands and narrows his eyes, "Russ." Riley growls low.

"Price," Keegan drops the glaring in favor of a much more annoying neutrality, "Thought you ate witches."

"I do," Price raises a brow. Keegan glances around him and into the house. The witch, he assumes that's the witch, is wiping his kid's face with the corner of her apron. Very much un-eaten. He didn't know the old man could be funny. "Knew the kid smelled familiar."

"Aw," Keegan tuts, "you remember me."

"Remember you're a pain in my-" Price cuts himself off, suddenly in tiny earshot.

Keegan crouches to scoop up the child as they run towards him, all excited smiles and babbling half finished sentences. Riley gives an excited 'wuff' in response. "Hey monster!" Keegan coos at the kid, hardly glancing at the witch trailing behind, "Gave your mom a scare, you walk all the way here by yourself?" The kid nods eagerly, hardly bothered by the fluff of witch magic sticking to them. Changelings, resilient little buggers.

The witch stops short of the doorway, "Oh," She frowns, "are you the father?" Her fingers itch towards her necklace, gripping the edges of the stone triangle that hangs from it. The large hole through the middle menaces in the evening light.

"Better not," Keegan warns. He shifts his grip on the kid, pulls the dog's leash to loop around his wrist, and holds out his hand. "Keegan Russ." The witch makes a face, and Price takes a half step in front of her. Interesting.

"Witch is fine," She takes his hand with a firm grip, "you use your full name."

"Nope." Keegan pops the last consonant, hears the kid do the same and keep doing it. "But it makes it easier for other folks to give up theirs."

"Suppose so," The Witch nods once, before turning her attention to the child in his arms. Probably for the best, more comfortable for all of them. "You tell your mummy hi for me alright?" The kiddo nods, cuddling close to Keegan.

"I catch you trying to boil my little monster I'll have your head," Keegan tells her flatly. The Witch's mouth opens and closes indignantly as he turns to go, hardly needs the word to get the dog to follow. He hears snippets of her half finished thoughts, barely able to come up with a suitably upset response. Witches are so easy, mention one crime from a hundred years ago and they all act like it's a personal offense.

"The P stands for Prick," Price calls after him. Keegan holds up his middle finger for him, hardly missing a step. His kid waves excitedly over his shoulder, before notice the gesture their father is giving, and giving their best imitation of it.

#keegan p russ #cod keegan #cod x reader #x reader #f!reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan is one of those rare fae with three names #so it doesn't matter if people know his first or last name #he's got that middle name that no one alive or dead knows #makes me think of that “I'm the fucking lizard king” audio from the office #Keegan to Price “You don't even know my real name” as he scoops up his kid #keegan x reader #fae!keegan #1fae1 #oc: witch #john price #john price x oc #captain john price #fae!price

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: “You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || 18 + Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse.

Along this trip of false hope, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest; an old shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. You were told to fear the Ghost of the Forest, but never had you known you'd be caught in his blackened claws.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || 18+ Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There is an arsonist in your city, and you're going to catch him. As one of the most prolific investigative journalists in the city, you make a lot of enemies the second your papers are released to the public. Your informant - and perhaps something more - in the local fire department makes a point to tell you to be careful.

But everyone knows he's right beside you when the fires start sparking.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

7. MOSS, BONE, AND A FALLING STAR || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Witch Hunter!Price x F!Witch!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Humans have not been kind to you, but they usually are to things that they don't understand. You're offered a deal when a rugged-looking Witch Hunter shows up at your secluded hut. Make him see you for what you truly are in three stories or less. You oblige and give him the limit - a story of moss, of bone, and of a falling star.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

8. VIVAMUS, MORIENDUM EST || Undetermined || Not Started

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

SYNOPSIS: In every lifetime you made a promise to one another: even if you must die, you will find a way to live together for all of eternity, be that five or a hundred years from now. You'd not broken your promise yet.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

#masterlist #cod masterlist #cod fanfic #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #cod price #cod gaz #cod soap #cod mw22 #call of duty mw2 #x female reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #john price x you #gaz x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader

[bleuu-moon]

no masters or kings

prologue.

note: here she issss!!! finally after putting it off so many times because i’m a shit bag lol. me 🤝 combining my unhinged obsession with price, ghost and zombie media and making it into my dream fic <3

pairing: john price + simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, slow burn-ish, smut, poly relationship (price + ghost share you gahhhh). she/her pronouns used, but no physical description of reader. word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ mdni. mentions of blood, gore, death and violence.

Everything hurts, aches and burns.

You’ve been on the move for days, constantly moving forward on a desperate search for salvation, refusing your body of any sort of rest it’s crying out for. Your exhaustion makes the rough, solid, wooden floor seem like a California King. Your rucksack like a memory foam pillow. Just grateful for the relief you feel for not being on your feet anymore.

The rain batters against the old cottage’s roof and windows. Luckily, this time, you managed to seek shelter before the incoming shower got too heavy, only leaving your clothes slightly damp in its wake.

Darkness fills the room you’ve comforted yourself in, too dark to see what occupies inside, only able to make out the silhouettes of randomly placed heavy furniture. 

You know it was stupid to just assume it was safe, it was something your father had scolded you for in the past. However, with the knowledge that the area was sparse for dead ones, and with the door being firmly bolted with a dated, rusted lock, accompanied by nothing but the smell of damp and dust in the air, you figured that the possibility of running into other survivors inside, was slim.

So, after a hard knock on the frame of the door, and no movement as a result, you claimed it your sanctuary for the night. 

You shiver into your utility coat, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to create any sliver of warmth. However, with the dampened fabric that sits on your skin, it only makes the chill in the air even more prominent.

A fire, even a shitty half melted candle would have been accommodating, but with your lack of resources, the function of your own body is the best option you have. 

The more your body shivers, the grip on your knife tightens, as you lie slightly next to the door, just behind where it swings open. Barely something you could call a strategy, but something that gave you somewhat more of chance at a defence. 

An advantage of some sorts, just in case someone decides to slaughter you before you have chance to wake up.

After what seems like hours of your mind being unable to forget the bitter cold that nips at your body, and the ache of hunger that rattles in your stomach, you drift towards sleep. Thinking back to the days when you would spend your evenings in front of your parents’ log fire and the hot chocolates that warmed your hands, sounds of laughter and music filling your ears.

You think about that time at the camp, the intense heat that tingled on your face as fires raged through the tents, vehicles, people. Screaming and wailing erupting into the air as you raced towards the woods—

It grips at your throat, forcing you to be unable to breath. It feels like you’re choking on your own air. Chest becoming tighter and tighter with each gasp, anxiety consuming you even in your unconsciousness. 

Images flash around your mind, those of bodies, some burned, some deceased, some both but still walking. Snapping teeth and hands make their way towards you, belonging to those who you once considered friends, family.

Your father. A face so familiar yet so unrecognisable, it’s him, but not really. Eyes glazed over with milky white, blood pooling from his mouth and nose, snarling as his frame lunges for you. You want to run, need to run, but you’re frozen with fear. Just as your feet are about to step back, his large body falls on you pinning you to the ground. You fight, and fight and fight, pushing against anywhere you can, but it’s no use.

And only thing you have the strength to do is scream—

Click.

Your body jerks awake with a gasp, eyes snapping open.

It’s a sound you’ve heard before, one that you never forget.

“She’s awake.” 

The air is knocked from your lungs as a man’s voice hits your ears before you can fully grasp your surroundings, groggy from the sleep you’ve been ripped from. You don’t see him, only the barrel of the gun that’s being held in the direction of your head.

“Don’t speak.” He spits, before you could even master up the courage to talk. His accent is heavy, Scottish. You watch as he nudges the gun slightly to the side. “Sit up.”

His orders are snappy, full of seriousness that makes a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you feel so numb you can’t move, but when he growls at you to move, it kicks your arse into gear. Obeying his orders, you gulp as you quickly rise from your place on the ground, leaning your back against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest.

Moving helps you get a better look at the man behind the gun. He seems a similar age to you, even though he’s wearing thick garments covered with a heavy packed tac-vest, his muscular build is obvious.

His blue eyes are piercing into yours, before they flicker down to the knife that still resides in your hand, nodding his head, signalling you to discard it. You hesitate, feeling uneasy about giving up the only thing you have to defend yourself, but his eyes narrow, brows pulling downwards in frustration.

Usually, you’d try to put up more of a fight, but something irks at you. The gun he easily holds in hands isn’t like one you’ve seen in person before, its bulky, long, like something from an action movie. The vest that wraps around his body is heavily layered and stocked with what you can only assume is ammunition.

He wasn’t just someone who managed to get their hands on big gun, he was someone who knew exactly what to do with it. 

And with the understanding of that, you slide your knife towards his boots.

“Look, I—"

“Check her bag.” He cuts you off, seemingly speaking to someone else. Someone you were unaware of.

Another man appears from the side of you, surprising you as he stomps his way over and grabbing your rucksack off the floor. 

Like the other, he’s similar in age, and dressed in the same intimidating attire, except he's slightly taller and sporting a very worn cap on his head.

“How'd you get in here?” He asks firmly, unzipping your bag. He sounds southern English.

“I—um, picked the lock.” 

He only hums at your response, raising his brows momentarily before beginning to dig through the contents of your sack. There’s harsh silence as he does, an overwhelming feeling of being a deer in some headlights as your eyes flicker between the two men.

“I didn’t know it belonged to anyone.” You’re finally able to look around the room, now that daylight is allowing its contents to become visible. It’s barely filled, derelict and tired, only a few pieces of tatty furniture scattered around. “I was just looking for somewhere to hold up for the night.”

They don’t reply, only a look from the man who’s searching through your belongings, as other remains still, gun still pointed towards your face.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Only if you give us a reason to.” The man in-front of you snaps.

“There’s nothin' in here…nothin' useful anyway.”

The rucksack ends up beside you again, landing on the floor with a thud.

"Am curious.” The Scot sounds prying. “How've you manage to survive this long with a shitty knife and an empty rucksack?”

“I—” 

You stop yourself. Gulping down the lump that has seemingly formed back in your throat. You don't know these people from Adam, they're strangers, and strangers, especially in this day and age, meant fucking danger. Those who are left aren't people that you can be open and honest with, letting all of your vulnerabilities lie bare, it only gives them opportunities to use it against you, and then they take, and take, and take.

But, what do you really have to lose? The worst thing that could happen is they think you're lying and it ends with a bullet hole in through skull. And when you think about that, it's not even really the worst thing.

“I’ve only been on my own for a couple of days. I was in a camp but we—” You look down at the floor. “—it’s gone now.”

“Gone?”

You nod gently, eyes still burning into wood in-front of you.

“Another group, they came, and they just destroyed everything…murdered everyone. There's nothing left.”

“Where?” The man to your left quizzes, your eyes meeting his. His intense glare has been replaced by something that resembles sympathy and concern.

“Near Burnsall, about a mile down the river, on the golf course near it.”

The two become silent, you watch as they both turn to each other. Eyes saying more than words, a mute conversation unravelling between them. You become on edge, your mind starting to work overtime, thoughts tripping over thoughts, wondering if they were about to end your life, change it, or make you wish that they chosen the first one. And once you see the Scot shake his head at whatever the other was getting at, you become even more alert.

Suddenly, you jerk as he lunges towards you, his gloved hand wrapping harshly around your bicep and hauling you to your feet.

“Well, looks like it’s your lucky day…ya comin' with us.”

#captain john price #simon ghost riley #price x reader #ghost x reader #price x female reader #ghost x female reader #apocalypse au #price x reader x ghost

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part one

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

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

“Why is she even here?”

“Steve!”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair–“

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

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

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

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

Waiting to dig into you and squeeze tight.

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

Waiting to leave you for dead.

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

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

Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So fuck “King Steve” Harrington.

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

“Can I sit?”

The sudden sound of someone else made you jump.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey now, that’s not true–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steal a Winnebago? Eddie. Fuck that–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy Hagan’s stupid laugh.

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

“Need some help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? My period? So original.”

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

“Explains you being such a bitch.”

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

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

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

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

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

So he wouldn’t get a second chance.

And he wasn’t worth your time.

Not then and sure as hell not now.

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

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

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x you #steve fanfic #steve x reader #steve x fem #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #because of you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[zepskies]

Take Me Home - Part 1

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from. 

AN: Welcome to my first ever Big Sky series! I’ve been wanting to get to this for a while now. I’m so glad I finally get to start sharing this with you! I truly hope you enjoy the ride. (Note: This is set towards the beginning of season 3.)

Song Inspo: “Fly Away” by John Denver. And remember, you can listen to the full Take Me Home Playlist ⬅️ here.

Word Count: 4,400

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, a bit of setup, “Glamper Girl,” and a side helping of cops enjoying baked goods…

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 1: All of Her Days

“This really feels like cheating,” you mused.

Yet again, you surveyed the sheer size and luxury of this tent you were supposed to be “camping” in.

Between the giant king-sized bed with crème and burgundy comforters, a two-seater dining table, a dresser (with a vanity), and even a small bookshelf, it looked like the Taj Mahal of glamping.

“Can’t you just enjoy it?” your best friend replied, poking a teasing finger into your side. She smirked when you flinched and gave her some playful side-eye. “My parents are the ones footing the bill, anyway.”

“Of which, I intend to pay them back for my half,” you said. Mary just rolled her eyes and waved you off. Her parents’ money was something she’d never had a problem spending.

“Come on, they’re getting ready to go on the hike without us,” she said, tossing her little purse over her shoulder. You were a bit more practical with your backpack, filled with a bottle of water, a couple snacks, bug spray, and your sketch pad.

Mary bumped your shoulder with hers as you two walked out of the tent, and you gave her a smile. You were glad she insisted on this little week-long excursion. It gave you exactly five more days to enjoy the fresh air of no responsibilities, before you returned to reality.

“So where are you guys from?” you asked a couple of walking companions on the early-morning hike.

The woods of Helena, Montana were vast and deep, and you found them a bit intimidating. You were a city girl, through and through, but you were learning to appreciate the mountains and the steep trails flanked by dense trees. You were also grateful that you weren’t alone. 

Emily seemed to be a nice girl around sixteen, while her stepfather Avery was a lightly graying man in his 40s. You pegged his accent as English, the “casual posh” kind. On a scale from Dame Maggie Smith to Dick Van Dyke's attempt at cockney, you’d put Avery on a Benedict Cumberbatch level.

“Well, I met her mother in Houston,” Avery replied, nodding at the girl beside you. “She and Emily joined me here in Helena after we were married this past spring.”

Emily confirmed with a nod. “Yep, starting school here in a few months.”

At that, you could smile. “Me too, actually.”

Emily gave you a confused look while she fiddled with an app on her phone.

“What? You’re still in school?” she asked.

“No,” you laughed. “I’m—”

“She’s a college professor,” Mary tacked on. “AKA: a giant nerd.”

Emily tried not to smile at your expense. You just shook your head at your friend.

“Thanks,” you said wryly, despite your amusement. “We can’t all be personal trainers. One can only take so much Spandex.”

Mary rolled her eyes and prepared to fire back a retort, but your attention shifted back to Emily, who seemed to be debating whether to press a red button on her phone. You thought it looked like a voice recording app.

You followed her line of vision and saw Paige and Luke up ahead—a young “happy couple” here at Sunny Day Excursions. They were whisper-yelling at each other, sniping something about Luke’s birthday. Apparently, he had a problem with getting another year older.

Don’t we all, you thought, with no small amount of sarcasm. The guy had been a sour apple since the start of this trip, and to be honest, he was starting to get on your damn nerves.

“This is like, prime time stuff for my podcast,” Emily whispered.

You looked over at her. “Oh yeah? What’s your podcast about?”

“Relationships, lies, that sort of thing,” she replied.

You almost grimaced. Good luck finding willing subjects for that one.

Mary snickered on your other side. She leaned close to your ear so only you would hear.

“God, Paige’s voice is so effing annoying. Like a chipmunk on helium,” she said. “I feel sorry for him.”

You shot her a dry look. “He’s the one asking for it, if you ask me. But they’ve been going at it the whole time. Makes me feel sorry for both of them.”

You shook your head and kept walking on the trail. Mary sobered as she stared back at you. She was reminded of why you two were really here, and what you’d been through this past year…

What you all had been through.

You and Mary fell behind Avery and Emily on the trail, giving Mary the opportunity to touch your arm and stop you in the middle of the trail.

“Do you really plan to stay here?” she asked. “In dusty-ass Montana? With the snakes and the bears and the old hicks?”

“Well, I got the key to my apartment before we got here,” you said. And she knew that. “My aunt is letting me crash with her until the rest of my things ship over in a couple of weeks, and I start a new job in the fall. So yeah, I’m staying.”

Mary’s lips pursed. She gave you a long look, but you held your ground. You even popped your Airpods in for good measure. You were done with this conversation.

She huffed and kept walking.

You watched your friend go in annoyance. You knew she would try to talk you out of your decision at some point on this trip, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

Heaving a sigh, you looked up at the clear sky above you, filtered through the tall trees. You took a moment to collect yourself in this great big no man’s land, where you could finally let yourself slow down for a minute, and breathe.

You raised the volume in your Airpods when a particular song came through.

“All of her days have gone soft and cloudy. All of her dreams have gone dry,” crooned the soft melody. You nodded to the rhythm of the mellow notes, but all the while, you tried to blink through the sting of tears.

“All of her nights have gone sad and shady. She's getting ready to fly…”

You rubbed your left hand, where you still had the tan line of the ring you used to wear.

“It’s really okay, sweetie,” Mary tried to console you, rubbing her hand between your shoulders.

After the hike, you all had returned to camp and sat down to brunch. It was an amazing spread, with waffles and muffins and Danishes, eggs done three different ways, toast with jam, assorted sandwiches, coffee and orange juice (and sparkling wine for the adults).

But even with a huge plate of appetizing food in front of you, you were sulking a bit. You had your face covered by your hands as you rested your elbows on the table.

“One of my only goals on this trip was to ride a damn horse, and I couldn’t even do that,” you said.

Sunny Barnes and her husband Buck were the heads and hosts of this whole trip. And after the hike, their son, Cormack, had tried to help you onto the nice chestnut mare the handler had brought out of the stable for you. But your entire body had locked up in fear at the prospect of being vaulted onto the horse.

In fairness, she was huge. And you were both afraid of heights, and animals that could buck you off its back and trample you.

You hadn’t been able to speak. You just shook your head vigorously every time Cormack asked you if you were okay.

So he’d graciously patted your back and gave the mare to Emily instead.

“I’ve never been able to ride a horse either,” Avery offered in commiseration. You lowered your hands and gave him a wan smile.

Emily was carving an apple with an impressive (and somewhat scary) looking pocketknife. She shrugged.

“It’s not so hard,” she said. But, perhaps realizing how she sounded, she looked up and gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I mean, I’m sure you’ll get it! It’s hard in the beginning, but once you get used to it, it’s like riding a bike.”

Right. A bike with hooves, you thought, ripping a piece of bread from your egg and cheese sandwich.

Mary bumped your shoulder with a teasing smile. “You just got showed up by a high schooler. Again.”

You pursed your lips in amusement. You tossed the piece of bread. It hit her dead between the eyes. You giggled at the way she jumped with a start.

“Real mature,” she shot back.

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a giant bite of your sandwich for good measure. “I learned from you.”

Even Emily snickered, making Mary roll her eyes in amusement.

Shortly after, Avery and his stepdaughter were finished with brunch and got up to get back to their tents.

You glanced over and noticed that Emily had left her knife on the table, now closed in its sheath.

Sheriff Beau Arlen may have still been relatively new in town, but he considered himself a consummate professional.

He’d agreed to accompany Cassie, the local private investigator (and his friend), up to this mountain pass to look for a missing backpacker. Questioning Buck and Sunny Barnes and their crew was just good old-fashioned, thorough police work.

But if it also gave Beau a chance to check on his daughter up here “glamping” with her half-baked stepfather, then he couldn’t pass up on that opportunity, now could he?

After talking to Buck and Sunny, who hadn’t seen hide or hair of the backpacker, Beau let Cassie take care of questioning Cormack Barnes while Beau found his daughter outside her tent. After giving her a big hug and inspecting her “tent” (Really? he thought. Looks more like a hotel room than a tent.), he asked her how her trip was going so far.

“Good, Dad. But you really didn’t have to come all the way out here just to check up on me,” Emily said. She was amused, but no longer surprised to see him.

“No, no, no. I didn’t, okay?” Beau refuted. Though at the look on her face, he knew he wasn’t fooling her. She was a sharp kid. “All right, maybe not the only reason. We had to talk to Sunny about a missing backpacker. It’s something Cassie’s investigating.”

Emily’s amusement faded into surprise, and then concern.

“Wait, what?” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just, you know…parents probably didn’t get the memo that ‘off-the-grid’ was part of the deal,” he said, giving her a meaningful raise of his brows. Maybe his daughter didn’t have to screen so many of his calls while she was on this trip.

“Overprotective parents, huh?” Emily dryly remarked.

“The worst,” Beau agreed, shaking his head.

But he smiled. Just seeing her made his whole week better…and it alleviated some of the hurt in his heart. Not getting to be with her on a trip like this stung. And knowing Avery was the one who got to be there for her grated on him.

Beau was already missing too much of his daughter’s life, and he still wasn’t too sure on how to deal with that.

Speak of the devil, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Avery approaching. Beau forced himself to look as close to pleasant as he could get around his ex-wife’s husband.

While Mary went back to the tent to freshen up, you grabbed Emily’s pocketknife and went to look for her so you could return it. It had a wood-carved hilt and had her initials, E. A., engraved on the side. The knife looked special, not the kind of thing you wanted to lose.

You found her outside her tent with her stepfather, and a man you didn’t know. He had broad shoulders and short brown hair that swept above his brow. When he turned to look at you, the first thing you noticed was the cut of his bearded chin, and then the green of his eyes.

You didn’t realize it, but your insides stilled, just for a moment. Then you remembered to smile.

Avery looked a bit tense, as did the newcomer. You sensed you were interrupting a tete-a-tete. 

“Uh, hi. I’m sorry,” you said, and extended the sheathed knife toward Emily. “Just wanted to get this back to you. You left it at the table.”

“Oh! Thanks,” Emily said gratefully.

“Well, hi there,” said the new guy. He was tall, you noted, wearing a beige jacket over a buttoned-down shirt, some jeans, and boots. It was a casual look, but all worked very well for him…in a rugged cowboy sense.

“This is my dad,” Emily supplied.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma’am,” he said, giving you a more friendly smile that you matched in kind when you shook his hand. You also gave him your name to go along with it.

“You here for a little belated vacation, Sheriff?” you added.

“No. Matter of fact, I’m here on police business,” he replied. That concerned you, but he was quick to wave a dismissive hand. “Everything’s okay here. Just checking on a missing backpacker. But it looks like we’ll have to continue our search for him elsewhere.”

You hummed at that in concern. “Well, I hope you find him.”

“I do too,” he agreed with a nod.

Then, Emily took the slight pause in the conversation as her chance to escape.

“Okay, Dad, well, we’re gonna go hike down to the lake,” she said, gesturing at Avery. “But as you can see, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Beau’s smile became a bit tight, but he nodded in understanding. He gave her a big hug, and you could see he was reluctant to let her go. Avery stood behind them. He held tension in his shoulders. You felt a bit awkward yourself, being in the midst of what was clearly an uneasy family dynamic.

Beau released his daughter. After she took off with Avery following close behind, Beau turned to you next. You tried not to blush at the sight of his handsome face.

“Sorry, again,” you said, raising a placating hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

His lips twitched upward, and he shook his head. “You’re fine. Though you don’t look like a local. You from outta town?”

I could say the same thing about you, cowboy, you thought. There was a slight southern drawl in his voice that sounded like Alabama. Maybe Texas?

“You got me,” you nodded. “I’m from Chicago originally, but…I’ve actually just moved here to Helena.”

“Ahh, a city girl,” he remarked. “Small world. I just got here a few months ago myself. Houston, Texas.”

Your smile brightened. Right on the money.

“Yeah, I figured,” you couldn’t help teasing him a little. His grin kicked up in the corner.

“How’re the mountains and fresh air treating you then?” he asked. “Better than that blanket a’ smog in Chicago.”

“We do not have smog…or, well, not that much,” you laughed, “but yes, I’m actually really liking it here so far. I mean, I just got here about a week ago. I’m still learning. Though Emily actually tried to help me ride a horse today.”

“Yeah?” His brows raised. “How’d that go?”

You had to laugh. A kind of self-deprecating laugh that had you half-covering your face to stem off your blush.

“Not well,” you admitted.

Beau ducked his head with a smile. He met your eyes in amusement, but not without kindness.

“Well, here’s a tip for ya,” he said. He planted his feet, held his hands up into lightly clenched fists. “The trick is in the legs. Grip tight, but not too tight. He’ll think you’re rarin’ to go.”

You blinked a bit wider. Was that just honest advice…or was he sort of flirting with you?

It made you blush in earnest.

“Ah. Good to know,” you said with a laugh. He treated you with a tip of his imaginary hat.

“Hey,” someone called out.

Both of your heads turned to a tall black woman with long curly hair. She gave you a polite smile before she nodded up at Beau.

“You ready to go?” she asked.

“Ah, yep,” Beau nodded. He gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry, gotta get back to the station.”

“Oh, of course,” you said. But you held up a finger. “Wait, just a sec.”

You hastened back over to the table of confections from brunch and offered them a chocolate chip muffin each for the road. Cassie politely declined, but Beau gladly took his.

“Although, are you trying to stereotype me or somethin’?” he teased.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but after a moment, it hit you. You’d just given a cop a baked good.  

“At least it wasn’t a donut,” you quipped, despite your embarrassment. Beau still looked bemused, but he let you off the hook.

“That’s okay. I’ve never been known to turn down free food,” he assured.

“He really doesn’t,” Cassie confirmed. You noticed how she was waiting, arms crossed.

“Well, there you go! Sorry for keeping you,” you said.

“Not at all, darlin’,” said Beau. His smile had a charming gleam. “Nice to meet you.”

You quirked a smile back. “Wow, you are from Texas.”

You didn’t think you’d ever been called darlin’ in your life.

Beau’s good humor shifted into slight embarrassment himself.

“Sorry. I’ve been told to stop doing that,” he said. When he chuckled, you did along with him. You weren’t offended by it, just surprised by the old-fashioned endearment.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Nice to meet you too, Sheriff.”

You raised a hand in goodbye, and Beau returned it, watching you go. Meanwhile, Cassie watched him with a small smirk. He stepped down from the short platform in front of Emily’s tent to meet her.

“Were you just checking out Glamper Girl? In front of your daughter, no less,” Cassie remarked.

Beau shot her a look of denial. “I did no such thing. I’m a professional. And a gentleman, mind you.”

Cassie rose a brow at him. It stirred up a bit of his defensiveness. 

“But, I’ll have you know that Em had already moved on when I had a friendly conversation with the glamper,” he said.

Cassie rolled her eyes. Right.

That afternoon, you decided to bring your sketchpad and your modest collection of paints to the lake. You sat on the bank and tried to paint, while Mary joined the others in swimming.

“That looks nice,” Emily’s voice startled you from behind.

You twisted to look at her, and she gave you an apologetic look. She was dressed to go for a swim in a one-piece bathing suit and some shorts. She seemed more of a conservative dresser than typical high school girls her age. Maybe that had something to do with a policeman being her father, or maybe that was just her personality.

“Sorry,” she said, raising her hands.

“It’s okay.” You waved it off and gestured for her to sit beside you if she wanted. She did so, admiring your work over your shoulder. You felt a little embarrassed by it, but you didn’t mind her watching you try to paint ripples of light on the water.

“Are you an artist?” she asked.

You shot her a smile. “You’re very sweet, but no. I just started this year.”

You’d just Googled some therapeutic techniques instead of, you know, going to therapy. You just knew that if you did, your aunt would probably tell your parents, who would never let you hear the end of it. Specifically, why it was a waste of time. Your father especially would have something to say.

But one of the sources you found suggested trying out some creative outlets to calm the mind and think productively, but not create more stress for yourself. You’d tried a few different things, but landed on painting. It was working for you so far, even if you didn’t think you were that good.

“How do you like Montana so far?” you asked your companion. “Your dad told me you guys just moved here too, a few months ago.”

“Yeah, when my mom got remarried, my dad moved to stay close to me,” Emily explained.

Your brows raised. Your painting hand paused with the brush near the page.

“Well, that’s a good father,” you said. You smiled at the thought of Beau Arlen. The way he hugged his daughter before, like she was his entire world, and the fact that he’d moved entire states just to stay with her, told you a great deal about the town’s new sheriff.

Emily nodded, but her lips were pressed. “He’s a bit overprotective.”

“Well, he is a cop,” You said, smiling. “I assume that’s just part of the package.”

“I get that,” she said. “It’s just…a bit much sometimes.”

You gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand. My dad can be like that too. He’s got his soft moments, but he can be a real tough nut too… He’s a retired fireman.”

“Wow, that’s cool,” Emily said. She looked impressed. “Did you ever want to be a firefighter?”

You chuckled. “No, and he never wanted me to. It just wasn’t my beat, anyway.”

In the many years before your father had risen in the ranks to firehouse chief, your mother had often worried about him when he was on shift. Being a firefighter in inner-city Chicago had brought some hard and dangerous calls.

But you had always been more bookish, and both your parents were grateful for that.

You sighed. Your paintbrush made a stroke of deep green on the page, creating darker shades in the bottom of the lake.

“I did end up dating one though. Almost married him too,” you muttered, before you could stop yourself. You forgot you were talking to an insatiably curious girl.

“Really? What happened?” she asked. You looked over at her, and she was staring at you with her full attention. You remembered then that her podcast was supposed to be about relationships, but you had no desire to be a subject.

“It didn’t work out,” you said at last, and with difficulty.

“Why?” Emily asked.

Your internal struggle kept you quiet. It gave time for Emily to really see the withdrawn, almost pained look on your face, the slight hunch of your shoulders. She deflated guiltily.

“Uh, sorry,” she said.

You offered a small smile. “It’s okay, honey.”

“I’ll uh, just let you get back to painting,” she said. You waved her goodbye after she got up and left, giving you one last look before she joined her stepfather in the lake.

You let out a deep breath. The teen was tenacious, and naturally curious. That in itself wasn’t such a bad thing. But as you watched her splash at Avery, laughing that weightless laugh that kids got to have, you realized how much you missed being that young and free in your heart.

Again, out of habit, you set down your brush and rubbed at your empty left ring finger.

Mary finally joined you back in your shared tent after a long night of socializing by the fire. You had kept to the tent, reading Much Ado About Nothing for one of your classes that would start in the fall. It wasn’t your first time reading the Shakespeare play, by any means, but you did want to brush up on it.

“You know, you’re actually supposed to be vacationing on this vacation,” Mary pointed out. She started changing into her pajamas for bed. You were already cozy in one of your old college hoodies and some shorts, not to mention snuggled under the warm blankets.

“I am,” you said defensively. “I hiked, I painted, I ate no less than one burger, a basket of fries, and three smores, and now I’m reading.”

“Yeah, for school,” she pointed out. “I may not be as smart as you, but I know homework when I see it.”

You shot her a smile. “You’re plenty smart, M.”

She snorted and slipped into bed beside you. It felt like the sleepovers you two used to have in college, years ago, when she’d come to crash in your dorm, or you in hers. She’d been a philosophy major (despite not giving two shits about Socrates), forced to attend college by her parents. You were an English major, working three part-time jobs just to get you through until graduation.

“Hey,” she said, laying a hand on your shoulder. You turned to her in question. She seemed more serious than usual.

“I’m worried about you,” she said. “And I’m not the only one.”

You sighed. Lowering your book, you leaned back against your pillows and stared up at the tent’s fairy lights.

“I know,” you replied. “But you don’t need to be.”

“Yeah you keep saying that, but you know the real reason I’m here, right?” Mary asked. Her insistent hand on your arm made you meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this," she said. "You don’t have to move out here and leave everything behind. You should just come home with me. Your parents, our friends—everyone wants to be there for you, like we have all year.”

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head.

“I’m not going to change my mind. So if that’s really why you’re here, and not to just spend some time with me, as my friend, then you should just go home,” you said. “I’ll leave here and go to my aunt’s house. I’m sure your parents can negotiate some kind of refund.”

Mary got angry and huffy, just like you thought she would. You weren’t playing around though. This was your life, and your decision.

If your friends and your family couldn’t be happy for you, or at least understanding, then they could at least respect you. You just weren’t sure when they’d get the hint that this was real.

You were moving to Montana, permanently.

On the drive back into town from the camping site, Beau ate his chocolate chip muffin and tried his best to listen to Cassie—to her theories on where the backpacker might’ve gone, and how best to tell the parents to keep her on this investigation.

A good part of him was still thinking about his daughter, wishing he could be there with her right now. 

And maybe, his mind occasionally wandered…thinking about the pretty shade of your eyes when you smiled at him.

AN: And there we have it, Part 1 of a new series! If you liked it, please let me know! 🥰

And a special Happy Birthday to @jackles010378! 💖 I was going to say we're both Aries (mine is next month) but forgot Pisces comes first lol. ♓

Next Time:

The trees were tall and dark now. The moon was filtering through them like the sun had during other day hikes, but it was much more ominous at night.

“Shit,” you muttered. You gripped your flashlight in worry as panic started to well up in your chest.

Now you were lost.

You jumped with a start when the hoot of a bird passed by overhead.

Shiiiit. This was very bad.

You kept moving forward on what you thought was the trail. That was all you could do, keep moving forward. You made a few turns around some trees, occasionally calling out for Sunny, or Mary, or anyone to hear you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 2

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The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part One - These Children That You Spit On

Chapter Summary - We meet five unlikely teenagers who have to spend the next eight hours in detention together. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Dysfunctional Families / Kleptomania / References to Demonianism and Satanism / References to Religious Beliefs / Sexual References / Stereotyping / Angst

Word Count - 6.6k

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-----

Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hargrove Residence.

6:30am.

~~~~~

"Billy, c'mon, I have to go."

You reluctantly pulled away from the warm embrace of the covers, or at least attempted to. Billy kept the dead weight of his arm slung heavily around your waist, trapping you to the mattress. He released a groan of annoyance as he curled it around you and pulled you into him. You spared a few minutes to stay in his warmth and shed the sleep from your brain. The grey hues of wintry light cascaded onto the room through the gap in the curtain. The room was otherwise obscured from light, making it effortless to close your eyes and fall back asleep. You refrained, deciding to focus your ears instead. The familiar chirping of birds and the quiet hum of unfortunate morning commuters on their way to work on a Saturday morning had you sinking back into your pillow. The smell of brewing coffee reminded you to stay awake. Your eyes blinked open again, and you shuffled from underneath Billy's grasp. He groaned again, this time burying himself into your neck. You giggled, planted a kiss to his cheek, and rolled him off you.

You quickly jumped in the shower, saying good morning to Billy's little sister Max, who was making her way into the kitchen, along the way. You dressed in the bathroom, checking your watch before heading back into Billy's bedroom to say goodbye.

He lay on his front, eyes still closed, but his breathing told you that he was awake. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, leaning in to kiss his cheek again.

"Billy, I'm going now, but I'll see you on Monday, yeah?"

He said nothing. You couldn't suppress the disappointment that swept through you. You turned to leave when he softly grabbed your wrist. You smiled, thinking he was going to ask you to stay, or to give you a goodbye kiss, but his gripped tightened. Your heart dropped.

"Billy, you're hurting me."

"Where do you think you're going?" He stared you dead in the eyes.

You tried to pull away. "I told you yesterday, Billy. Mrs O'Donnell gave me a Saturday detention."

"No, where do you think you're going dressed like that."

You looked at your outfit. You wore the signature green and white of the Hawkins High cheerleading squad. A sleeveless modest style vest, worn with a turtleneck layer underneath, and a green pleated skirt with yellow striping around the hem. It rested just above your mid thigh, so you pulled your socks all the way up to your knees to keep warm. "I told my parents I had cheerleading practice, so they didn't think I had detention. You know this, Billy."

"Do I? Or are you going to see your precious King Steve again?" His grip tightened even further.

He had that crazy look in his eyes that made your entire body freeze. You stopped struggling. Your chest went tight, and suddenly, it was like trying to breathe in a sauna room.

Billy Hargrove was not fond of Steve Harrington, and last Thursday night, you had snook out to go to a party as his house. You had cancelled your plans with Billy last minute after Carol begged you to go with her (not that it took much convincing). It turned out that Billy had been invited to the party by one of his other friends, unbeknownst to you. And you made the mistake of lying to Billy and told him that you were sick. 

The biggest mistake of your life.

He saw you there and started an argument that had the entire rooms eyes on the two of you. He had the same wild look in his eyes as he had now. He ended up punching Steve when he had come over to ask if everything was alright. 

"I only went to that party for Carol. I didn't even speak to Steve."

"No? Because he seemed real friendly with you."

"He wasn't! Billy, please, I don't want anything to do with Steve. Just please let me go."

He released you harshly, and you immediately brought your wrist to your chest, rubbing the sore skin.

"Get out of my sight."

You scurried out the door with tears in your eyes. 

Your first steps outside felt as though you were walking into the worlds largest refrigerator, though you were thankful it wasn't raining. You could do without the frozen shrapnel soaking you to the bone this morning. It had already started bad enough.

The sun had only just begun to rise, not having a chance to warm up the earth yet. Not that it would do much good. The temperature had been dropping more and more as the days went on, this morning being the worst yet. It had turned tomb-like silent outside with the exception of the crunching salt under your feet that had been newly laid to stop people from slipping on the first of winter's ice. A storm had come and gone the previous night, but the sky still hung sadly as a woollen grey shawl, bringing threat of another. The cold, however, was enough to calm you down. It felt refreshing after feeling suffocated in Billy's room.

You checked your watch again. You had twenty minutes to sneak back home and pretend that you had just woken up and got dressed for cheerleading practice.

You started running.

~~~~~

Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hawkins High.

7:55am.

~~~~~

You had made it home just in time before your parents woke up. You explained you were doing stretches in your room, which was why you were red-faced and slightly out of breath. They didn't seem to buy it, but the alternative presumption was far too embarrassing for them not to take your word for it.

Your father offered you a ride to school, but after that rather awkward first encounter with them this morning, you thought it best to walk. And you were glad you did because it didn't take long before they were arguing. Your mother red-faced and clutched onto the cross around her neck while your father rolled his eyes. To the outside world, it would seem that you had the perfect family, but that couldn't be father from the truth.  A lot of the times when they argued, it would be over something petty, but all of a sudden, your name would be roped in, and the entire point of the argument seemed to vanish. You see, to them, you were leverage. As soon as you got a mention, they got the upper hand. They used you to get back at each other: a means to an end. Not intentionally, of course, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. It was nothing uncommon in your household, but that didn't mean you could stand to listen to it. You grabbed your coat and left as quickly as you could, neither of your parents noticing that you were gone as they continued to scream in each others faces.

By the time you made it to the schools entrance, you wished you had brought a change of clothes as ice shot through your veins and goose-pimpled your skin. You drew your coat closer to your chest, clenching and unclenching your gloveless fingers to keep the feeling in their tips.

As you bound up the schools steps like a heat-seeking rocket, the rubber tyres of a coffee brown BMW screeched to a stop. The sudden sound echoing across the empty school premises caused you to turn quickly. Through the windshield, you saw a man in a business suit at the wheel. Beside him was his eighteen-year-old son, Steve Harrington. Your heart raced when you saw him. You weren't expecting to see him here. 

Billy isn't here. You told yourself in an attempt to calm your jangled nerves.

His hands gestured animatedly as he argued with his father. Their words were suppressed by the metal walls of the car, but you could surmise their level of volume by the thick vein protruding from Steve's neck. Then, their words exploded like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, piercing through the stillness of the morning as the door opened and Steve stomped out. Something along the lines of "No school's gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case!". And just like that, their poor version of a conversation seized to exist by the single slam of a car door. Almost immediately, the car sped off, swerving around the parking lot like a maniac before disappearing. You stood in shock as Steve held his two middle fingers up at the abandoning vehicle. It was not a home life you would have pictured for King Steve. It was a rather unexpected display you had witnessed, but to Steve, it seemed like any other day. He jogged up the stairs, hands in his jacket pockets and sporting a healing split lip, looking so unaffected by the argument that you almost convinced yourself that you had imagined it.

He paused on the step behind you, finally noticing that you were there, but only for a split second, barely sparing you a glance before moving straight past you and through the doors. You felt heaviness in your chest. No "hello." Even a simple smile would have done. But you supposed they were reserved for his real friends. Sure, you and Steve knew each other - you had friends from the same group, and you had been to a few of his parties, but you hadn't even held a proper conversation with the guy - just dribs and drabs of small talk here and there, but he was nice.

Thoughts of Billy flashed through your mind. It seems as though Billy's appearance at his party the other day had left him wanting nothing to do with you. You understood why, Billy had caused quite the scene over nothing. But there was no reason why you should be punished for his actions. You shook the thoughts out of your head. It was nothing that you should dwell on, so you continued on into the school.

The halls looked strange without their usual morning bustle. The squeak of your sneakers against the freshly waxed floor echoed as you made your way to the school library. You could hear Steve's fast pace ahead of you. His blue, straight-legged jeans and pristine Nike sneakers strode out of your sight until you were left in silence. The silence felt so loud that it rumbled from the high ceiling. You were so sure it was the cause of the last light flickering at the end of the hall. Continuing forward, you took the first left and proceeded straight until you reached the double doors at the end. A flimsy banner hung from the tiled ceiling, "HAWKINS TIGERS ALL THE WAY," with a decent enough illustration of the school mascot, threatened to fall. You treaded lightly as you moved beneath it, holding your breath in fear that any sudden movement would cause it to fall down on you. You released it when you made it safely to the other side.

Your fingers traced along the lockers as you walked, reading the bits and pieces of graffiti as you went; 'Fuck this shit, I'm out' in scrawled handwriting, 'I hate Mondays' with drips of black paint streaking down some of the letters, and a cartoonish depiction of a weed leaf smoking a blunt which made you chuckle. You walked past a trophy case, eyeing the splendid totems of athletic and academic prestige alike. A picture of the basketball team in all their glory on the top shelf, another of the cheerleading squad, yourself included, and a grainy image of the physics club haphazardly chucked on the bottom. Your white sneakers squeaked once more as you pivoted to the right before making a final left to the pine doors of the library.

Before you were six tables placed into two rows of three, with three chairs sitting snugly behind each one. You were surprised to see Nancy 'goodie two shoes' wheeler sat at the front table, with her perfectly permed hair and fur-lined jacket still on her shoulders. You didn't think it was possible for Nancy Wheeler to get detention, but then again, the same could've been said about you. Steve had strangely enough sat on the same table as her, despite every other seat being completely free, leaving an empty chair between them so as not to make it weird. Neither of them spoke to each other and instead opted to sit in silence, fiddling with their finger nails or a loose thread on their jumper. As you took your first foot in, a tall, lanky girl with short, dirty blonde hair sped past you, mumbling a quick sorry when she nearly knocked you off your feet. This unorthodox first impression of the girl, who you had only ever seen around the school halls, had commenced quite the distaste for her already. She was red-faced and sweaty, carrying her thick winter coat over her elbow, undeterred by the chilly weather. The whites of her eyes almost blended with her rosy cheeks, bloodshot like she was holding back tears. She had been in a rush to get here and away from whatever had made her upset. You imagined that's what you must have looked like this morning, and you almost started to feel a little sorry for her. She took the middle table on the left side, dumping her coat on one chair before hiding her face in her arms. If you hadn't known any better, it looked as though she was trying to fall asleep on the table.

You made your way to the table to the right of hers, taking the seat on the furthest side. You kept your coat on for now but dumped your bag on the chair beside you. With a huff, you rested your head in the palm of your hands, watching the back of Nancy and Steve's heads.

The heavy weight of the library door forced its hinges to fold and close impulsively, and Eddie slipped through the crack before it closed all the way, because god forbid he wasted his energy on something as measly as opening a door. The pride in his face when he reached the other side was as if beating the door was life or death. Like he was Indiana Jones rolling under a trap door to avoid being impaled by spikes. All he needed was a wide-brimmed fedora.

You tensed at the sight of him. You had heard rumours that he was a Satan worshiper and that he would do casual rituals on the weekends. You didn't believe it, of course, Eddie was all bark and no bite, but that didn't make you feel any easier around him. Eddie was not a good person. He had been caught one too many times trying to sell weed to freshman because they were 'naïve and easy to upsell' or trying to get them to join his little Hellfire Cult. He would spit and hiss at the teachers, setting up traps in unsuspecting students' lockers, or even straight up stealing their locks so their personal belongings were out for anyone to see. He was like a snake. Once he caught his prey, he was coiling around it, pulling himself into it. Constricting, suffocating, waiting to ascertain it was truly dead before taking a bite. His scales came in the form of clinking enamel badges, and his words were the venom dripping from his tongue. To put it lightly, he was one big bully - a miscreant.

His kleptomaniac fingers touched practically everything he walked by: picking up flyers and not even bothering to read them before dropping them to the floor, unhooking the phone from the receiver so it dangled limply from the checkout desk, and pocketing a few pencils that are no doubt going to end up missing because Eddie Munson has never brought a pencil to school a day in his life. He walked slowly, confidently, giving everyone in the room time to become aware of his presence. You could feel him eyeing you up when he walked by. You met his stare like an owl, following until you couldn't turn your head any further. You weren't going to let him intimidate you and you wanted him to know it. It was the first time you had seen him wearing something other than his usual hellfire shirt and leather jacket. He had the same dark, denim jeans with the holes in the knees and once white reeboks, only this time he wore a black t-shirt with a thick winter coat in a matching colour. Red, plaid fabric peaked out from the confines of his coat. Sensibly, he had worn a shirt over top as an extra layer to keep warm. His footsteps were wide and languid as he moved to his seat, dumping himself on the table behind you and untangling his scarf from around his neck.

Just as everyone settled in, Principal Richard Higgins strode in, stopping dead centre in the mouth of the passageway between the two rows of tables. You tried not to laugh. Principal Higgins was a sight to behold, swapping his usual grey suit and tie for flamboyantly bright pink t-shirt a size too small for his pot belly, a casual white blazer, a pair of jeans and bold coloured sneakers. You didn't notice until now that he had the figure of a lollipop, round on top, but stick thin on the bottom. You understood now why he always wore a suit; it evened him out a bit. Though he did confirm the rumour that teachers were definitely not normal.

He glanced at his fancy watch. "I would first like to congratulate you all for being on time." Though it sounded more sarcastic than sincere.

He seemed to be looking straight at Eddie as he said that. Eddie only responded by kicking his feet up on the desk.

"Now, it is 8:02am. You have exactly eight uneventful hours to spend in each others company." He began pacing up and down the aisle with his chest puffed out in intimidation (well, as intimidating as a lollipop shaped man could be), slapping Eddies feet down as he did.

"You many not talk, you may not move from your seats -" He stopped at the weird girl who had nearly knocked you over and slapped a hand on the desk. She shot up with a gasp. "And you may not sleep."

"Today," He continued, marching to the front, "we're going to try something different. I want all of you to - uh?"

Principal Higgins dropped a stack of notebook paper on the nearest table and then made his way for the pot of pencils on the checkout desk. He paused in confusion when he saw the pot was empty; every pencil hiding snuggly in Eddie's pocket. You rolled your eyes as Eddie snickered behind you. There was a long pause of awkward silence as Principal Higgins made his way around the desk in search of more pencils. There were a few quiet grunts of effort and then a "Ah ha" before he appeared back in front.

"Right, I want all of you to write me an essay of no less than one thousand words describing to me who you think you are." He began handing out paper and pencils to everyone. "And when I say essay, I mean essay. Not a single word repeated a thousand times. Do you understand, Mr. Munson?"

"Mr. Munson understands, Principal Higgins." Eddie said.

Higgins ignored him. "Maybe you'll learn something about why you're here, and perhaps you'll decide whether or not you care to return."

Silence.

"I'll be across the hall in my office. Any monkey business is ill-advised. Questions?"

You saw Steve shake his head and catch Nancy shaking hers like she couldn't believe this was happening to her.

Principal Higgins gave one solid nod to confirm that question and answer time was over before making his way towards the library doors.

"Yeah, I got a question."

He took a pause, hand clenched firmly on the door handle as he twisted around. He raised his brow at Eddie, already sick and tired of his antics.

"Does Don Johnson know that you raided his wardrobe?"

There were a few snickers, including you, trying to discreetly cover your mouth to hide your smile. Principal Higgins was undisturbed. There wasn't a thing Eddie could do or say that would insult him. At least, that's what he wanted him to think.

"You'll find out the answer to that next Saturday. Mr. Munson. Do you have anything else you'd like to say to impress these people?"

Eddie smirked, leaning across the table and clasping his hands. He accepted the challenge, staring the Principal dead in the eye. "You got any naked pictures of your wife?"

The Principal's face turned red, and he referred to him with a hateful look in his eyes. "You've just earned yourself another Saturday detention, Mister." He pointed.

His eyes scoured the room, looking for anybody else who would challenge him. "Does anybody else want to join him?

The laughing stopped.

"Didn't think so."

And with that, he left, leaving the door wide open to give him a straight view of the library through his office window. Eddie chuckled, resting his feet back on the table, clearly proud of the reaction he had gotten.

Then silence.

A lot of silence.

Eddie placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes like he was going to sleep. Nancy began fiddling with her pencil, thinking about how she was going to start her essay. Steve cracked his knuckles, and the other girl (who you had yet to learn the name of) just stared at her paper. You simply sighed, took off your coat, and began daydreaming about all the other ways you could've chosen to spend your Saturday.

The library was by no means modern, but the faculty seemed to have no appreciation for the sort of library they've been given and ungraciously added touches of their own. There was an ugly mix of deep mahogany and grey sheet-metal bookcases, a couple of fake plants collecting dust, and old academic trophies that probably haven't been touched since the sixties. There were posters, some painted, some printed, but most were horrifically Halloween themed, and a rather provocative David Hasselhoff calendar behind the front desk, which the librarian thought no one could see. 

Those few times that you had actually stepped foot in the library, you noticed it was never truly quiet. There were always whisperings of students, the whirring of printers, and the clicking of keyboards and typewriters.

But today, a Saturday, with only five students bored out of their minds, it was truly silent.

The library was so quiet that you could practically hear the books ageing. The books consumed the noise, leaving you all in a suffocatingly awkward space of ineloquent glances. Broad daylight struggled to reach the room. Not that the sun was trying to, but the blinds sought out to fight against it anyway. Instead, it was the hanging lights above that lit the maze of a room. The soft lights were enough to put you to sleep. Your eyes were fluttering softly, your head drooping--

"Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

Master, master!"

Your peaceful almost-slumber was rudely interrupted when Eddie opened his big mouth to sing that god-awful song. You had never listened to it in your life, but would gladly never listen to it again if it meant that Eddie would shut the hell up. You turned around to give him a glare of annoyance, and when you turned back, you noticed that the others had done the same. He peeked out through one eye, smirking at the look on everyone's faces, before continuing, only this time he was humming instead. Thank god.

"Shit!" Eddie sprang up, feet down, sitting up straight and alert. He startled you, and you turned again. "What are we supposed to do if we gotta take a leak?"

He pretended to undo his zipper, the childish act making you roll your eyes. "If you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Oh my god." Nancy looked like she was going to throw up. She turned and shielded her eyes.

"Try it, and you're dead before the first drop hits the floor." Steve threatened.

Eddie laughed, accomplishing his mission of upsetting the others. "You know, you're pretty sexy when you're angry, big boy."

He turned his attention to the quiet girl sat adjacent to him. She shifted under his gaze.

"Hey Buckley," She turned with a look of boredom, like she was used to his antics, "why don't you go and close that door so I can get our little cheerleader here naked?"

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you turned to glare at him. "Don't even think about it asshole."

"Why you a virgin?"

"Fuck you."

"You're disgusting." Nancy added.

"Awe, I'm sorry, you feeling left out, Princess? There's plenty of me to go around. But I suppose if you don't want to wait your turn, I wouldn't say no to a three-way."

"Ugh, you're such a creep!"

"Listen, man, if you piss me off, you're totalled." Steve defended the two of you, though you felt it was more for Nancy's sake than yours.

"Totalled?"

"Totally."

"Just ignore him, Steve. Maybe he'll go away." Nancy suggested, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him to face the front.

There was a pause. Their shoulders relaxed when they had thought Eddie had given up.

"Oh, so are you two like boyfriend/girlfriend?" Eddie teased.

No reply.

"Steady dates?"

Silence.

"Lovers?"

Nancy continued to ignore him, but Steve smouldered with anger.

"Tell me, Princess, have you two played hide the sausage yet?"

"GO TO HELL!"

"Hey, keep it down in there!" Higgins called from across the hall.

He rolled backwards on his office chair until the five of them came into view. They were all seated exactly how he left them. He rolled back out of sight.

Everybody visibly relaxed.

Eddie hid the shock of Nancy's outburst behind another annoying smirk.

"Just ignore him, guys." You advised. "He's only doing it to get a rise out of you."

"Sweetheart, you couldn't ignore me if you tried." He gave you a confident wink.

You hated that it made your cheeks flush with heat. You quickly turned before you gave him something else to tease you over.

"We gotta close them doors. How are we supposed to party with the old pinhead checking us out every two seconds?" Eddie stood from his seat and moved towards the doors.

"I don't think that's a good idea. The doors are supposed to stay open." This 'Buckley' opened her mouth for the first time since she's got here. Everybody looked at her bewildered.

It was only Eddie who didn't seem phased by this, but he still paused. "What do you mean 'supposed to'?"

"Vernon said, Dingus, and I really don't want to get on his bad side. I mean, Mrs. Clickety Clackety is already threatening me with suspension, and I can't afford that. How am I supposed to get accepted into any sort of college if I get suspended. They'll think I'm a horrible student, and I'll be one big massive reject and--"

"Whoa, Robin, slow down." Steve interrupted her breathless rambling. You were struggling to keep up with each word. She was talking so fast. Just total word vomit, like she'd been trying to keep it down since she got here and suddenly just projectiled everywhere. It didn't even occur to you then that Steve knew her name.

"So?" Was Eddie's only blunt reply.

"So, why don't you just shut up." Steve scowled. "There's four other people in here, you know? Stop thinking about yourself for once."

"Wow, you're a math wiz, Sporto. I bet you know your ABCs, too. See, I knew you were smart. You hide it well, Harrington." Steve grimaced at that. "I mean, let's face it, you gotta be smart to play basketball."

"Who are you to judge?" Steve challenged. "You don't even count. If you disappeared forever, it wouldn't make any difference. You may as well not even exist at this school."

There was a twitch in Eddie's eye. He hated how that got to him, but he recovered swiftly. "Oh? Well, maybe I'll join the basketball team or the wrestling team? Or better yet, the student council, I think you'd like some of the ideas I have in mind for this place."

He moved slowly, intimidatingly to Steve's table, stopping in front of it before leaning down so he towered over Steve. He reminded you of an adult reprimanding a little boy. But Steve wasn't a little boy. He could hold his own.

"You could try, but they'd never take you."

"Damn, I'm hurt. truly." Eddie was definitely not hurt.

"Will you just stop? If you keep this up, Higgins is gonna come storming in here. I've got a game next Saturday, and I'm not gonna miss it because of you."

"Wouldn't that be a bite? Missing a whole game." Eddie feigned sympathy.

"You wouldn't know anything about it, Freak. You've never competed in your life."

"I know, and I feel all empty inside because of it." Eddie puffed his chest as if his heart was swelling with pride. "I have such a deep admiration for guys who toss balls into laundry baskets."

"Whatever, man. You don't have any goals."

"See, that's where you're wrong, I do have goals." Eddie paused in suspense, and Steve perked up a little in his seat. "My goal is to be exactly like you."

Steve slumped back and rolled his eyes. "You're worthless."

"I compete." Robin added after a beat. All eyes turned to her. You could tell she didn't like that much, but she continued anyway. "I'm in band, and I'm on the debate team, and I'm in the Latin club and chess team. This one time, with the debate team, we had this big banquet at the Hilton and we had to get dressed up. And, uh, I didn't have any shoes so I had to wear my mom's shoes. It was kind of weird because my Nana doesn't like when I wear other people's shoes. But, yeah. It's not athletic, but I compete in a lot of stuff."

"That's not the same, Rob." Steve sighed.

"You have to be a jock to compete?" Eddie confronted.

"I was talking about athletic competition."

"What's the difference?" You questioned. Everyone turned to you this time, but you kept your attention on Steve. You could see the proud smile on Eddie's face out of the corner of your eye.

"What do you mean?"

"What I said."

Eddie's eyebrow raised in amusement, enjoying someone else putting Steve in his place for a change. If he was being totally honest, Eddie didn't really have anything against Steve. Steve's friends, on the other hand, were a different story. Eddie found himself being hounded by Steve's friends more often than not, but Steve didn't actually do anything. But he didn't stop it either. Of all of them, he was the easiest to rile up, and Eddie couldn't help but cease the moment whenever he could.

Steve scoffed but bowed out of the conversation. "You're all fucked."

"Hey man, watch your mouth. There's ladies here remember? They don't appreciate you using a word like FUCK! in front of them." Eddie gestured to you. "I don't know if you know this, big boy, but her mother is a nun!"

It was true that your mother was a religious person, but she was certainly not a nun. "No she isn't."

"Sorry," He turned back to Steve. "Her father is a nun!"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped your lips. The sound caused a mischievous glint in Eddie's eyes. You hated it.

"Higgins is leaving." Nancy proclaimed suddenly.

Eddie paused with wide eyes like a deer in headlights, not wanting to get caught out of his seat. Everyone looked down the hall in time to see Principle Higgins exit his office, not even sparing them a glance. Eddie proceeded to the doors, peeking his head out to watch Higgins drink from the water fountain at the other end of the hall. 

Eddie came back in the room. "We gotta move fast, the scumbag's just filling his tank."

Steve sent Nancy an annoyed look that said 'why did you have to tell him that?', causing her to shy away. She was already thinking the same thing herself. Eddie pulled a chair to the door, stood on it and took a guitar pick out of his pocket. With the guitar pick, he removed a screw from the door spring assembly. He jumped off the chair and the door closed behind him. 

"That's not funny, man. Fix it."

"Please fix it." Robin pleaded.

"Am I a genius?" Eddie asked, though it was more of a brag than a question, as he quickly pushed the chair back to its rightful spot.

"No, you're an asshole." 

There was a muffled "Hey!" from behind the door and everyone rushed to act as casual as possible. Eddie quickly took his seat, only this time he sat next to you. You tensed uncomfortably, smelling the faint cigarette smoke on his coat. You wanted to smack him for being so stupid. You just prayed that Higgins wouldn't notice he swapped seats. 

The door busted open. 

"Why is this door closed?" There was fury in his eyes.

Everyone remained silent, avoiding meeting his eyes. Steve turned to look at Eddie as if deciding the best way to rat him out. 

Eddie jumped in before he could say anything. "How should we know, we're not supposed to move, right?"

Higgins singled out Steve, obviously noticing how he had looked at Eddie. "Why is that door closed?"

Steve looked to Eddie once again. You were cringing at how obvious he made it. You could feel Eddie shaking his leg under the desk. A nervous habit? Perhaps Eddie was afraid to get caught. Or he was just furious at Steve for even thinking about being a snitch. He lowered his eyes at Steve, a glare that said, 'Go on, I dare you'. Steve backed down.

"We were just sitting here. Like we're supposed to." Nancy answered for Steve, who was taking a suspicious amount of time to reply.

"The wind must've blew it." Robin added.

"It just... closed, Sir." Steve reluctantly agreed.

Principal Higgins eyed Eddie anyway and pointed a thick sausage finger. "This looks like the mindless sort of crap you'd find amusing, Munson."

"I think a screw fell out of it. I heard something that sounded like a screw falling out." Eddie tried to persuade.

"Yeah, right. Give me the screw."

"I don't have it."

"Am I going to have to turn you upside down and shake you?"

"I don't have it, Sir. Screws fall out all the time. The world is an imperfect place."

"Give it to me, Munson."

He smiled suggestively. "Where do you want it?" 

"With all due respect, Principal Higgins," you interrupted before he made things worse for himself. "Why would somebody steal a screw?"

Eddie looked at you in surprise, but you made it clear to him that you didn't do it because you liked him. Higgins walked back to the door.

"How do your parents put up with you, Munson?"

"They gave up on me a long time ago, Sir." He said it with such sincerity that your heart actually ached for him.

Higgins opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He realised how pointless it was to go after him. Instead, he went to the door, trying his luck at opening it and hoping it stayed that way. It didn't. He tried again, this time grabbing a chair to hold it open. 

"That won't work. The door is way too heavy."

Higgins ignored Eddie. He pushed the chair against the door and let go. It threw the chair across the room, and the door slammed with an echoing bang. There were a few gasps of surprise and snorts of laughter. 

Higgins fumed, eyeing the room for a solution. "Harrington, get up."

Steve unwillingly got up from his seat as the Principal directed him to grab one end of a bookcase.

"How come he gets to get up? If he gets up, we'll all get up. It'll be anarchy!"

You elbowed Eddie's side to shut him up. He wasn't making this better for himself, which would no doubt end up with all of you getting punished. The two of them heaved together, and Steve actually ended up doing most of the work. The odd book fell to the floor, nearly tripping them up as they hefted it along slowly. They struggled for a few more minutes to slide the bookcase over to the door. Only when they finally got it in place did Eddie open his mouth again. 

"That's very clever, Sir. But what if there's a fire?"

Higgins hadn't thought of that, but he didn't let it show.

"I think violating fire codes and endangering the lives of children is unwise at this juncture in your career, Sir." Robin chimed in and then sunk back in her seat under the Principal's stare.

Higgins turned back to Steve. "Alright, what are you doing with this? Get this outta here, for God's sake! What's the matter with you? Come on!"

Steve wanted to kill Eddie for opening his big mouth and then Robin for supporting him. The two of them struggled again to move it back to its original place. Once done, Steve sat back down with bated breaths. 

Principal Higgins started towards Eddie, sweat dripping from his forehead, despite barely lifting a finger. "You're not fooling anybody, Munson. The next screw that falls out will be you."

Eddie muttered under his breath. "Eat my shorts."

"What was that?" Higgins barked.

"Eat. My. Shorts."

"You've just bought yourself another detention, Mister."

"Ugh, I'm crushed." Eddie faked a wince.

"You just bought yourself another."

"Well, I'm free the Saturday after that."

"Another."

"Hmm, beyond that, I'm gonna have to check my calendar."

"Another."

You looked at Eddie fearfully. He was getting absolutely slaughtered by Principal Higgins. Although, no matter how much you dislike him, you couldn't help but be moved by his defiance. 

"Cut it out." You whispered to him.

He ignored your plea, keeping up his front. He wasn't going to let this scumbag of a Principal break him. Not in front of the others, and, for reasons Eddie didn't quite understand yet, certainly not in front of you. He dared Higgins to give him another. 

"Okay, Munson, your ass is mine for the next two months."

"I'm thrilled." 

"You sure would like everybody to think that, wouldn't you? Maybe if you spent more time trying to do something with yourself and less time trying to impress people, you might be better off." Higgins brought his attention back to everyone else. "I'm not gonna put up with any more crap from any of you. Next time I have to come in here, I'll be coming to crack skulls." 

He set his threat with a hard, angry glare and finally left the room. 

The silence set in once again.

~~~~~

<<<Masterlist // Next>>>

~~~~~

Taglist: @cruwushes @the-ch0sen-on3 @namelesshumanperson @ali-r3n @cadence73 @munsonssweets @ahoyyharrington @mewchiili @yourdailymemedelivery @httpsunflowers @b-irock @coolglittercornbae @sav12321 @cumslutforaemond @siriuslysmoking @learninglinesintherainn

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #mini series #cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #stranger things #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #the breakfast club #the breakfast club mini series #the breakfast club fanfic #stranger things x the breakfast club #enemies to lovers

[endless-ineffabilities]

Masterlist 📝

A regularly updated list of my works; all are x f!Reader unless otherwise stated. If you wish to be tagged for any specific story, or all future works with a certain character, please comment on the specific post!

Please do NOT copy, repost, steal, or translate any of these! My works should only exist here, on Tumblr. I have not and will not post them on any other platform, nor do I consent to any other individual doing so.

The Sandman

Morpheus / Corinthian

Ineffable (series) *on hiatus

Corinthian

Easy on the eyes (series) (18+) *on hiatus

Morpheus

Only you can set alight the fire in me (oneshot)

House of the Dragon

Daemon Targaryen

Without you, I would not be (upcoming series)

This world was never meant for a fire like yours (part one - part two (18+) - unalloyed - part three.one - )

in the shadow of your heart (part one - part two)

She is my heart (oneshot)

ñuha mērī jorrāelagon (oneshot)

feast (oneshot)

rogue ink (oneshot)

turning red (oneshot)

Aemond Targaryen

prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me?

part two: and what of your love? (18+)

part three: the flames that divide (18+)

part four: the aftermath

part five: never tear us apart

part six:

part seven:

some jealous Aemond Targaryen scenarios

burn them all for you (oneshot)

a little game (modern au oneshot)

hmm (a christmas drabble)

sepār iā sylutegon (just a taste)

your heart's serrated edges are much like mine own (oneshot) (18+)

sapphire-hearted - part one - part two - part three -

dragonfire (oneshot)

Daemon and/or Aemond

A dance with two rogue dragons (oneshot)

If these walls could speak (18+)

midnights imagines : question...? - anti-hero - labyrinth - lavender haze - maroon (part one - part two - part three - part four)

dialogue series: King? -

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker

As I believe in you (oneshot)

there's hope for us, yet - part 1 - part 2

MCU

Bucky Barnes

babydoll (oneshot)

reconnaissance - one - two - three

Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes

The Bolter - part one - part two - part three - part four - part five -

World On Fire

Tom Bennett

tongue in cheek (one - two - three - four )

John Wick 4

Marquis Vincent de Gramont

le marquis et le moineau - (ill)fated - first dance -

#masterlist #morpheus x reader #the corinthian x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #the sandman netflix #bucky barnes x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #steve rogers x reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [2]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: The King invites Hugo for a ride. And for some reason, you too.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have still totally made up servant/nobel dynamics because I wanted to and also let's forget about the plot of the film, yes?

Warnings: overuse of italics, typos, power dynamics because he's the king, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2522

________________________________

“Need any help there?” The Earl of Delton’s voice ran up your spine like a clammy hand. The implications were clear. 

You shouldn’t be here.

And you couldn’t agree more. 

“No thank you, my lord.” You said as curtly as you could get away with as you mounted the horse in one quick smooth motion. 

Hugo beamed, missing Delton’s jibe because of course he did. “She’s a better rider than me, Johannes.” He said happily, addressing Delton. 

Delton raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze solidly on you for a moment before he turned to Hugo and began discussing their lands. 

You breathed in deeply, trying to calm yourself and shrug off your nerves. But you kept thinking back to the night before. To you encounter in the stables. 

Part of you had thought it was a dream, believing that there was no other way to explain it. But then, after breakfast, a servant had come to Hugo to tell him that the King had requested he join him for a ride and small hunt. 

Which had been fine. 

Until the servant almost mentioned you had been requested too. 

Hugo had practically preened. “Invited by the King!” 

“This is an exceptional opportunity to increase our standing with him,” Edith had been equally giddy while you helped her son get ready. Your stomach twisted itself in knots. 

Would the King call you out as a harlot the second he laid eyes on you? Would you be thrown from the castle without a single coin to your name? 

“He must have been impressed by my praising of you yesterday.” Edith smiled warmly at you.

You swallow. “Me, my lady?” 

“Of course!” She laughed, “I told him all about your prowess with a bow.” 

“As did I!” Hugo grinned. “He surely must want a demonstration.” 

You nodded uneasily. 

“Now, now,” Eidth patted your shoulder affectionately, “do not worry, do not dwell on it. Nothing you can do would cause embarrassment to our name.” 

“Hmm.” You nod and try your best to smile. 

When you’d arrived with Hugo at the stables, you had helped him mount Stefan and assumed you would be accompanying the group of noblemen on foot. 

The head stablehand had surprised you though, recognising you from the day before when he saw you with Stefan. 

“You’re Earl of Bowhale’s servant, yes?” 

You nodded. 

He had smiled kindly, “his Highness requested this horse be made ready for you.” 

“For me?” 

Your utter look of dismay made him smile again, pityingly. “For you.” 

The horse was a chestnut stallion, a hand smaller than Stefan. You had stroked him a little, trying to get a judge of his temperament. 

Stefan had whinnied, obviously not liking that your attention was on someone else. 

You give Stefan a sympathetic smile. “What’s his name?”

“Alaric.” The head stablehand nods. 

“Alaric.” You repeat.

“One of the King’s own.” 

That doesn’t sit well in your stomach.

You wait a little nervously outside with the others.

“That’s a fine horse you have there, my lady.” The young man smiled at you as he encouraged his own horse to take a few steps closer to you. You recognised his family crest as Whitehaven.  

Your mind short circuited a moment, trying to explain that this wasn’t your horse and that you were not a member of a noble house at the same time. Your mouth hung open, panic gripping your chest as you started to speak. 

And that was when a nearby servant announced the King. 

You jumped, forgetting yourself for a moment, until everyone else bowing around you reminded you to do the same. You kept your eyes trained on the floor.

“Now, now, there’s little need for that.” You can hear the amusement in his voice as he addresses the group. “My ego isn’t that big.”

There’s a light chuckle amongst the nobels, and you relax ever so slightly. 

As you look back up though, his eyes are trained on you. 

He smiles and you look away quickly. 

Heat rises to your skin as you feel his eye roam over you for a long moment before he clears his throat and gently pulls on the reigns of his horse. “Let’s head out.”

There are twenty one of you in total. The King, seven nobelmen, and thirteen servants. 

You fall to Hugo’s side a step behind, mirroring what other servants seem to be doing for their corresponding lords. 

The King leads. He talks candidly to the other lords, ignoring you completely and you start to relax. 

The group follows the trail into the forest, all being far too loud to actually hope to catch anything. But you’ve gathered that this is much more of a ‘let’s have a chat’ hunt, than ‘we need to find dinner’ one. 

The servant of Lord Shepten rolls his eyes when his master drones on about the lack of rainfall the past two months, and you both share a smile. 

Despite the Lord’s bemoaning the stream running parallel to the trail is moving strong. It widens, quickly being joined by other streams and becomes a small river. The water level isn’t particularly deep, easy for a horse to move through without getting their rider’s feet wet, but the bank is sunken down and steep. A bit of a sudden drop, and not something that you, or a horse, could easily climb out of. 

As the time stretches on you fall further back as Hugo moves closer to the King. It’s nice to see him so exctied, passionately talking to the King about his lands.

You’ve been riding for nearly forty minutes, the Earl of Delton being the only person to fire a shot. A waste of an arrow at some bird he couldn’t even see properly, when you come to a makeshift bridge across the river. 

The King stops. 

The bridge itself looks… uncooperative. Rickety. And narrow. Barely wide enough for one horse at a time. But you can see the care that has been taken in making it. How the wooden logs have been tied and stacked. 

“We’ll cross here.” The King says. 

A few of the Earl’s exchange looks. 

“Here, Your Highness?” Delton questions, a touch of nervousness in his voice. 

King John smiles at him, but the expression is anything but kind. “Is that a question?” 

“No sire, I…” Delton swallows and his manservant speaks for him.

“My lord was simply checking that he heard you correctly, your Highness.” 

King John nods to the servant. A much politer action than his words to the Earl. 

“Should we dismount?” The Earl of Cotington asks.

“No need.” The King clicks his tongue and flicks his reigns, his horse moves surely, smartly walking over the bridge with no trouble at all. When he has reached the other side you notice the King clicks the fingers of his left hand and your horse moves forward without your command. 

“Hey,” you pull on the reigns. 

“Pay no mind,” the King calls from the other side. “Alaric doesn’t like to be outdone.” 

You glare at him as your horse moves across the bridge, before you remember yourself. You catch the King’s grin of amusement at your expression as you look away.

“Seems your servant can’t control such a beast.” Delton says to Hugo, loudly. 

You bite your lip and barely manage to resist turning your head and telling him that his mother is a whore.

You miss the scowl that crosses the King’s face at Delton’s comment.

Just as you suspected, the bridge is firm and steady, and Alaric moves with intention. 

But nerves swim in your stomach, pull at your lungs. There was no way that Alaric moved simply because he wanted to. King John had signalled him with that click. 

The second all four hooves are on firm ground the King’s horse moves back a step. There’s a small crunch, then crash as the bridge collapses into the river. 

There is an exclamation from the other side, the Earls all shouting over the top of each other in a rather dramatic display. 

The King however stays calm, a small smile on his lips when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. 

“It’s fine!” He calls out to the others, silencing them immediately. “We will cross further up and travel back to the castle and meet you there.” 

There are some faint grumbles and exclamations of dismay before King John guides his horse towards the path, grinning wildly once his back on turned to the Earls. “Come on, servant.” He hisses. 

You swallow nervously and follow him further into the forest. 

It’s only a few paces until the path widens and he falls back so that he is riding next to you. 

You stare straight ahead, every muscle in your body tensed. In your peripheral vision, you can see him looking at you with a bemused smile. 

He lets the silence hang for a moment, seemingly savouring your discomfort. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asks politely enough, though there's an undercurrent to his tone that riles you up. 

You frown as you look at him and he chuckles. 

“You certainly did run off quickly last night.” 

You look away from him quickly, hear rising to your face.

“I should be insulted.” He continues to tease, but panic still grips your chest.

“I did not mean to cause you insult, I…” you blurt out and then pause when you see his expression and scowl at him. “You’re mocking me.” 

“Only a little.”

Your frown deepens and he laughs. The sound is not unkind. 

“You made the bridge collapse, didn’t you?” You ask.

For a moment you think he’s going to deny it, but he nods, still grinning. “I did.”

“How?”

“It was set up to.”

“Yes but how-”

“Let a king have his secrets.” He smiles sweetly and it’s infuriating. 

You seethe for a moment, breathing deeply. “You also have Alaric well trained.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“To come to you whenever you gesture.” 

Genuine amusement blooms on his face. “I am pleased that you didn’t miss that.” It sounds oddly like praise coming from his tongue. 

“All this just to talk to me?” 

He shrugs but nods.

“You could have just ordered me to see you.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” He moves a little closer to you. “Besides wasn’t this more theatrical?” 

You can’t help but smile slightly. “I did not know you had a love for the dramatic, your Highness.” 

“One must have their vices.” He says quietly. 

You both ride in silence for a moment. 

“What is your horse's name?” You nod your head towards the white mare. 

“Guinevere.”

She pulls at the reigns slightly when she hears her name. 

“I didn’t take you as a lover of Arthurian legend, your Highness?” You inject a slight tease into your voice hesitantly. 

But you needn't have worried, his eyes light up happily. “It seems there’s a lot of misguided views you hold about me? I am to be feared. I have no love of stories.” He tuts in jest. “Someone must be spreading false rumours about me around the kingdom.” 

He looks at you again and your stomach twists. It’s such a gentle gaze. Something you feel almost undeserving of. 

You shake your head and look down at your reigns. 

There is another stretch of silence, but this one is more comfortable. 

After a while, you come to a clearing and the King reaches out, lightly touching the back of your hand. He points to the far side where deer are grazing.

For a moment you think he means for you to draw your bow, but he just looks at them happily. “They often graze here.” 

“You hunt them here?” 

He shakes his head. “Not in the meadow. I like there to be spaces that the deer feel as ‘safe’, it encourages them to stay in the forest and not move too far on.” 

You nod.

“We could stop here for a moment, rest?” The question in his voice gives you pause. It seems strange for a noble to ask your opinion like this, let alone the King. 

“Are you tired, your Highness?” You tease and he chuckles as he dismounts. 

To your surprise he moves to your left side, his hand outstretched to help you down. You swallow, a little giddy as you touch his fingers, allowing him to help you get down. 

His other hand lightly touches your hip as your feet touch the grass. 

“Should we hook their reigns to a tree?” You ask, gesturing your head towards the horses.

“No need,” he keeps a hold of your hand. “They will not wander.” 

Both Guinevere and Alaric have started to nibble at the vegetation underfoot. 

King John guides you to a tree. It is old, with a thick heavy bark and a wide canopy. 

“I used to sit under this tree as a child and read.” He smiles at the memory for a moment before he looks back to you, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “When I was trying to hide from my Princely duties.” 

“I did not take you as someone who would shy away from your responsibilities, your Highness?” Your voice comes out surprisingly sure of itself despite the nerves squeezing your throat. 

His grin widens. “Well, it looks like that someone who spreads false stories about me is at least whispering one positive one into your ear.” He reaches out, using his free hand to softly touch your cheek. 

You swallow nervously, the action making a loud clicking sound. He seems to take great amusement at your obvious distress and leans a fraction closer.

“Why did you run off so quickly last night?” He raises his eyebrows at you playfully. “I didn’t even get a goodbye kiss.” 

“I’d argue that you did.” You whisper, your voice timid. But he laughs kindly. 

“I suppose you could be correct.” He drops his hand from your face, but extends his arm. 

You take it, a little hesitantly. 

You walk around the meadow, the King stopping and pointing out different plants and trees as you go, giving you snippets of facts and tales he’d read or been told, before you make your way back to the horses.

He offers to help you mount, and you accept without a second thought. 

Your nerves had all but disappeared by the time you near the castle. His company has turned oddly pleasant as he continues to talk. But what is the most puzzling thing is how he stops, asks you your thoughts and listens intently to your answers. 

Just before you both enter the castle grounds he stops you, and places a pendant in your hand without a chain. It’s heavy, bearing the seal of the King. 

You frown, but don’t get a chance to ask any questions. 

“Come to my rooms tonight, after dinner. Show that to the guards, they’ll let you in.”

“Your H-”

“I’ll take ‘no’, as a personal slight.” He grins wickedly, giving you a quick wink before he turns Guinevere and trots into the grounds. 

_____________________________

Thank you so much for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho @lunar-ghoulie @dumdaradumdaradum @plastichearts @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @spxctorsslxt

#king john #robin hood #robin hood 2010 #king john x reader #x reader #king john x you #x you #king john x female reader #x female reader #king john x f!reader #x f!reader #king john x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

[mykneeshurt]

Divinity

Archbishop John Price x F!Reader

Warnings - explicit smut, religious themes, so much blasphemy, breath play, minors DNI, 18+

Archbishop John Price.

You’d had run ins with him before. All perfectly innocent of course. He was in town and he wanted to see you.

It was late, much later than normal for any type of meeting, especially in a Cathedral. Your city had an impressive gothic cathedral located in the centre of the cobbled streets and winding alleyways. The building its self was surrounded by beautiful grounds, a crumbling graveyard and various statues and tributes to those deemed holy enough.

Spires reached for the sky, gargoyles adorned the balconies meant to ward off evil spirits. But they couldn’t keep you out. A large circular stained glass window glistened in the moonlight as stone arches surrounded it.

You felt somewhat nervous. You weren’t too sure why.

Pushing the great wooden door it creaked open, it was a deep walnut colour with black iron details. On entering the Cathedral you took in is glory, high stone ceilings, various candles littering the walls and floors in their cast iron holders. Stained glass windows of Saints lined the walls, worn wooden pews lined up filled the hall. A red carpet led straight to the altar, this was only used when his Holiness was in town. And the red carpet led straight to him.

Straight to the Archbishop John Price.

He was sat in the Cathedra, like a king on his throne. Legs spread as his hips splayed towards the ceiling, his hand resting on the arm of the chair as he surveyed the kingdom before him. His eyes fixed onto your form immediately, watching as you slowly made your way towards him. Your dress swayed in time with your hips, capturing his eyes with the hypnotising motions.

Hands clasped behind your back you smirked as you approached the altar. He was dressed in all black, a singular gold ring on his left ring finger. Symbolising his commitment to God. You could see his chest moving slowly as he breathed, chest clearly tight with anticipation. Much like your own.

The moon illuminated his form in the dark surroundings of the Cathedral, his eyes overshadowed by his brow but with the slight blue hue still shining through. As you stood in front of him he raked his eyes up and down your form, over your curves, your breasts, legs and finally locking onto your eyes.

Biting your lip you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, hands now clasped in front of you signalling a silent prayer. Leaning forward he cupped your jaw, legs still spread as he pulled your bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I hear you’ve been quite busy little one’ he whispered as you rubbed your cheek into his palm. ‘I needed to get your attention’ you purred softly.

‘And you thought you’d do that by committing the sin of lust? By seducing my disciples of God like the succubus you are?’

You loved it when he talked to you like this, describing how you corrupted his priests, how you made them succumb to your spell, making them give in to their most carnal desires. You stared up at him through your lashes, trying to give him your best doe eyes. ‘I’ve seduced you before John. You know I get what I want.’ He chuckled under his breath, this time you raised your hand to his face. Pulling him closer. Your lips hovered over his, breath tickling the sensitive skin.

‘So give me what I want.’

Slowly he sat back, flashing a look to his lap, beckoning you to take a seat. Standing up you straddled his lap, your knees barely fitting between his muscular thighs and the wooden cathedra. Holding your hips he pulled you further into his lap, his firm cock grazed your aching core as you let out a soft whine. ‘Take it little one. Show me what you want’ he whispered into your neck, placing tender kisses between each word.

Nipping at his lip you dropped your hand to his cock, rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers. A hushed grunt exuded from his throat at the contact, subtly pushing his hips up. Desperately trying to get more friction. Giggling to yourself you kissed his neck, your breath gliding along his soft skin. ‘Tell me you want me John’ you whispered into his neck, desperation seeping through your voice.

He wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling you away from his neck. Forcing you to look at him, his clear blue eyes pooled in the rays that shone through the stained glass windows. His beard peppered with dark and white hairs, his bottom lip plump from where you had nipped it. ‘As God as my witness, I want you.’

Rolling your hips you smiled, eyes lighting up like the fiery pits of hell. ‘Then fuck me like you mean it.’

In one fluid movement he had you bent over the cathedra, dress gathered at your waist. Dropping his hand he caressed the back of your calf and onto your thigh. Fingertips gently grazing your soft skin, kissing the back of your other thigh he groaned, the vibrations tickling your now wet cunt.

Letting out a breathy moan into the wooden chair his name danced on your lips. ‘Don’t tease me John. Fuck. Me.’ Your words were harsh and commanding, but you always were when you weren’t getting what you wanted. Nipping the crease of your ass he chuckled against your skin, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. ‘Don’t rush me little one. I’m taking my time with you. I want to worship you.’

A slow whine made its way from your chest, ricochetting off the sandstone walls at his words. Tentatively he moved your panties to the side as he traced your lips with his fingers, whimpering at the sight of your glistening cunt. Kissing his ring he plunged two fingers into you, the cold metal grazed your folds as be began moving. Pumping his fingers as you came undone beneath him. ‘Fuck. I’ve missed that sound’ he whispered, ‘miss the way you hum my name. This cunt. Like God made it just for me.’

You were losing yourself at his words, ready to honour this man before his God.

‘John please’ you begged, voice hoarse with need and pure lust. Pulling his fingers out he gripped you by the waist forcing you to be flush with his cock. It took all of your energy to stand, but you managed to rest your head on his shoulder as he brought his fingers to your mouth. A silent demand to taste yourself. Opening your mouth he slowly ran his fingers along your tongue, your warm, slippery tongue. Moaning at your taste he kissed your neck as he rolled his fingers in your mouth.

Wanting to feel him inside you, you spun around in his grasp pulling him with you as you stepped back to the chair. Sitting you spread your legs gesturing for him to kneel before you. Keeping his eyes on yours he dropped to his knees, a glint present in his eyes. As he went to bury his head in your folds you placed the ball of your foot on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Leaning forward you grasped the rosary that was hidden beneath his shirt.

Using the rosary like a collar you pulled him towards you. He crawled over you, placing his lips on yours. Coaxing you into a kiss his tongue invaded your mouth, still tasting of you. As the kiss deepened you wrapped your legs around his waist. Rolling your hips you whined into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Without any warning you grasped his hair and pulled him away from you. He hissed as you held him forcefully in your grasp. ‘Don’t make me ask again’ you ordered. Holding his head there he smirked down at you, dropping his eyes to your lips and back to your eyes.

Playfully rolling his eyes he bit his lip as he pulled at his belt. Still hovering above you he worked his cock in his hands before slowly pushing into you. The stretch would have made the devil himself blush. He was thicker than average and it stung in the most beautiful way. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out, mouth agape with sweat beginning to gather on your neck.

‘God John’ you whined whilst gripping his shirt. ‘God ain’t here love, but let’s give the angels something to talk about.’

With that he began thrusting into you, your head pushed against the back of the cathedra while you gripped onto him to stay steady. He buried his head into your neck as he whispered words of affirmation with each thrust. ‘You feel so good around my cock’ he breathed, voice laced with desire and ecstasy. You were so cock drunk you were unable to find words, only various moans and whispers.

Dropping your hand to your clit you applied pressure, pushing yourself further to your climax. Eyes closed you let your mind wander, Archbishop Price fucking your pussy, Father Garrick taking your ass, all while Father Riley had his cock in your mouth while Father McTavish watched.

He gripped your hips as he upped his pace, his pubic bone adding even more pressure to your clit. ‘Don’t stop, please’ you whined, your climax edging ever closer. ‘That’s it little one ’ he cooed, cupping your jaw once more. ‘Tell me when you’re close’ you whispered, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. ‘Already am.’

With that you pulled at the rosary that was dangling between you, gripping it close to his neck, cutting off his blood supply. Humming to yourself you watched as his pupils blew wide. ‘Mmm good boy, now cum for me. I’m not letting go till you fill me’ you whispered. A choked breath escaped him as he became sloppy, desperate.

Removing your hand from your clit you ran your fingers against his lips, allowing him the honour of tasting you. He hummed in appreciation trying to savour your taste as he fought for air. With three more thrusts he came and came hard. Filling you entirely. Just as he did you released the pressure from his throat allowing a rush of air to fire through him. Dropping his head to yours he rested on your forehead, breathing heavy and fast.

‘Stick your tongue out’ he ordered. Doing as you were told you stuck it out and peered up at him with innocence in your eyes. Fake of course. In a smooth motion he pulled out making you feel empty and gathered his cum on his fingertip. Slowly he dragged it across your tongue ‘this is my body, I give it to you.’ Greedily you licked your lips and swallowed.

Just as he went to sink himself in again you stopped him, he looked confused, ‘if I cum now, I won’t get to do this again. Maybe you come to mine later and teach me more about God.’

————

Sorry this has taken so long. Life has gotten in the way. I don’t even know if I like it lmao

Taglist - @deadbranch @villainsoftheweek @glitterypirateduck @luminousbeings-crudematter

#call of duty #cod mw22 #cod au #alternate reality #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #john price #captian price #john price x reader #call of duty fanfic #price mw2 #price x reader #captain price

[thedovesaredying]

Flames of Green | CoD x GoT/HotD | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Part 1.

Artwork by Elizabeth

You're the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest child of the current king with the blood of the Targaryens flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, you're due to be married off to a mysterious Northern lord by the name of John MacTavish. At least your closest friend and member of your guard, Simon Riley, will be by your side throughout it all.

A/N: I'm back in my House of the Dragon era, so I'm mixing hyperfixations. The Cannibal doesn't get enough love, he's a nasty bastard and he deserves to cause some chaos. It will eventually be a Ghost x Reader x Soap relationship and likely a bit of a slowburn. Literally just for my own entertainment, but I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

It’s times like this that you mourn the loss of your youth. Forced to sit in silence while discussions are held by old men around a table, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of your future marriage to every potential high lord in Westeros. Your opinion is never considered, let alone asked for by any of your father’s advisors, your compliance expected regardless.  

If you had been born a man you could have your pick of any woman in the kingdom to take as a wife, but instead, you’re forced to simply accept whatever man is placed in front of you. Such is the burden of being the princess and heir to House Targaryen. You will be made to give up the right to rule the kingdom to the high lord assigned to you, never to touch the ever-elusive Iron Throne that should have been yours by right.  

You had never really taken the prospect of marriage too seriously in your youth, always considering it a problem for the you of the future to deal with. You didn’t care to forge lasting alliances with other ladies and lords, too busy dragging your poor best friend, Simon, through the gardens and dirtying your extravagant dresses. 

But those days were over. 

Talk of wedding a powerful lord and bringing forth the next line of Targaryen children is all that fills your ears now. You’re forced to entertain every man, young and old, that wishes to gain your favour with a polite smile and feigned interest. You don’t even have your dear Simon to offer you his companionship and a break from the cruel realities of the world. No doubt he would have entertained you with his dry remarks about each man set before you.  

It has been years since you last saw Simon. He was taken from the Red Keep by his father and sent to squire for another lord in the hopes of teaching him the art of warfare. Lord Riley was a foul man, constantly berating his son for spending his time with the Princess rather than roughhousing with his fellow boys. He considered the boy too soft and squeamish at the sight of blood to make a good future lord of their keep.  

You disagreed, of course, Simon was perfect just the way he was; gentle and kind to all those around him. Your friend couldn’t hurt a fly, but he was still one of the bravest people you knew.  

You dread to think just how much he would have hated being drawn into battles, forced to kill other men with his own hands. The letters he occasionally wrote to you always steered clear of depicting the violence you were certain he must have been subjected to, but you’re far from naive enough to hope he has yet to participate in any bloodshed. As the years dragged on, word from him has grown scarce, however, to the point where you can hardly remember when you heard from him last.  

What you do know, is that he had been sent to offer assistance in maintaining peace throughout the Stepstones, killing raiders and pirates that would endanger trade routes to King’s Landing.  

But that was almost six months ago, and there has been little else to soothe your vexed nerves over his safety. He had made a promise to you the day he left, that once his training was done he would return to your side, this time as a knight who would offer himself to your Queen’s Guard once the time was right. Never again would he leave you, more than happy to forfeit the ruling of his own homeland if it meant he could keep you safe.  

You had clung to that promise every day for years after his departure, but with each passing moment it become harder to hold out hope of seeing him again. After all, what is one promise between children in the grand scheme of things?  

It’s a blessing when you’re finally relieved from the meeting, escaping from the suffocating air within the council chambers and fleeing to the safety of your room. You don’t even pause to ensure one of your guards is following you, getting straight to stripping from your dress and replacing it with your riding gear.  

As the carriage carries you away from the city and toward the Dragon Pit your nerves begin to settle. The constant odour of sweat and excrement quickly gives way to fresh air the further away you get. It’s a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky and wildflowers blooming all along the road. It’s a genuine shame that your day has started so poorly, otherwise you’d have loved to wander the palace gardens and enjoy the midday sun.  

The ground is rocky outside of the dragon pit, and you’re jostled around a bit until the carriage comes to a stop. Although this is your destination, the dragon you seek is not here. Your dragon is far too large to be housed within the Pit.  

Unlike your younger sister, you were not blessed by the Gods to have your dragon egg hatch while you were in the cradle. All throughout your childhood you sat next to it and prayed for the hatchling to come forth, promising you would care for the creature and love it more than anything. But the baby dragon never arrived.  

Many said that it was a sign from the Gods, that you were unfit to be the heir if even your own dragon refused to hatch for you. It was a heavy sentence hanging around your neck, weighing you down and making you feel as though you are worthless, despite the fact you have more power than most of the people laughing at your situation.  

None of them are laughing now.  

You see your dragon stretched out atop one of the nearby ridges. He’s so large that his wings and tail drape over the edge of the rocks, entirely unconcerned by the humans fearfully gathered beneath him as he snoozes away in the warmth of the sun. His scales are like coal, absorbing every ray of sunshine that he can.  

The Cannibal may not be as large as Vhagar, but he’s far older and, as many would argue, far meaner than the old girl. Where most dragons have vibrant, golden eyes, you’re greeted by a pair of sinister green the moment you draw near. His go-to reaction to most things is aggression, and you’ve seen many people meet their end in a blast of emerald flame for merely disturbing him.  

It’s for that precise reason you’re stunned to see someone standing beside the grumpy old beast. There’s only one person other than yourself who could get anywhere near the Cannibal without immediately being swallowed whole. The man pauses his rubbing of your dragon’s scales the moment he sees you, only to earn a displeased whack from the Cannibal’s snout. You bite your lip to force down the grin that’s threatening to spread across your face when the man drops down to one knee, his head bowed respectfully.  

“Lord Riley,” you nod, “I do believe that’s my dragon you’re touching.” That earns a groan from the Cannibal, his massive head twisting away from you both, as though already bored of the conversation.  

“A thousand apologies, princess,” Simon grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “your dragon was growing impatient.” The dragon in question huffs, his tail twitching like an agitated cat.  

Simon looks so different from the last time you saw him. He’s both taller and broader, completely filled out with muscles. When he stands again, you’re face to face with the rather intimidating bone mask adorning his face. You’re not certain if it’s real bone, but at that moment you could have cared less, throwing yourself at the large man.  

He catches you easily, holding you tightly against his larger body. It’s entirely improper and if anyone other than your guards witnessed such an interaction there would no doubt be whispers abound. Perhaps it’s a good thing Simon decided to meet you somewhere so private.  

“When did you get back?” you ask, leaning back just long enough to look him in the eye.  

“We docked late last night,” he answers, and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with each word. His deep voice soothes something within you, your stress dissipating like mist at dawn. “We received word that the King’s Guard now has an open position,” he continues, and then much to your shock adds, “I’m here to fill that position.”  

You pull away from him almost completely, only your hands still gently curled around his gauntlets, “but I heard that your father was recently taken ill, don’t you need to return home?”  

While the mask hides the majority of Simon’s face, you can still see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly, “I made a promise to serve my future Queen,” he takes your hand from his arm and presses the back of your palm to where his lips are beneath his mask, “if you’ll have me, princess.”  

You can feel your face burning with the intensity with which Simon stares at you. “I’m certain my father will be delighted to have such a well-regarded warrior in his service,” you smile, gently pulling your hands away from the knight, despite the urge to keep holding onto him.  

Before you can continue the conversation, the Cannibal turns his head back to your again, nudging at you with an irritated huff. His breath is scalding against your skin, yet it doesn’t burn you, thankfully. You place your hand against the beast’s snout, feeling the thick scales shift under your leather gloves. “Gīda,” you coo to the dragon, waiting until he lowers his wing to the floor to provide you with a way to climb onto his back. He’s far too large for you to mount the same way you would a younger dragon.  

Once settling into the Cannibal’s saddle, you grin down at your friend, “I look forward to seeing you in the keep, my lord.” You only have the time to see Simon’s quick nod, before your dragon is leaping from the edge of the ridge, forcing an end to your conversation. You can feel his clear exasperation through your bond and ensure to give the old dragon a scratch to the neck.  

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #game of thrones #house of the dragon #crossover

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

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

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds. 

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead. 

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception. 

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!” 

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking. 

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water. 

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did. 

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!” 

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched. 

You felt useless. 

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict. 

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating. 

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him. 

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

 “...I think he loves the beast!” 

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face. 

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff. 

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.” 

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!” 

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing. 

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove. 

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace. 

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him. 

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that. 

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk. 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue. 

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?” 

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely. 

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?” 

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly. 

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?” 

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!” 

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost. 

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic. 

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.” 

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.  

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.” 

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person. 

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?” 

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?” 

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.” 

You see his gaze fall down you once more. 

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material. 

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?” 

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.” 

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing. 

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it. 

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room. 

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek. 

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?” 

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars. 

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great. 

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back. 

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking. 

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you. 

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply. 

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.” 

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle. 

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression. 

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.” 

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron. 

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.” 

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp. 

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him. 

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.” 

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.” 

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?” 

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked. 

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that. 

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms. 

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense. 

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

 “...I think he loves the beast!” 

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him. 

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth. 

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned. 

Simon. Ghost. 

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago. 

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns. 

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home. 

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.” 

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay. 

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands. 

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.” 

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to. 

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?” 

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.” 

And that was that.

—

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that. 

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness. 

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger. 

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice. 

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression. 

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you. 

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection. 

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years. 

You. 

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock. 

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp. 

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose. 

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First. 

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more. 

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him. 

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales. 

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him. 

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?” 

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention. 

They’re given a knife. 

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs. 

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s. 

MacTavish and Simon. 

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.” 

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict. 

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give. 

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle. 

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows. 

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later. 

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?” 

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?” 

Brown meets blue. 

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm. 

The King is dead. 

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly. 

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?” 

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.” 

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.” 

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you. 

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger. 

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.” 

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.” 

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive. 

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps. 

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back. 

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair. 

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.” 

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh. 

John wastes no time. “Of course.” 

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water. 

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies. 

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last. 

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale. 

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail. 

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.” 

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.” 

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John. 

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver. 

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back. 

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest. 

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill. 

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for? 

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch. 

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright. 

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another. 

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes. 

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk. 

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away. 

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air. 

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light. 

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes. 

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make. 

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen. 

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass. 

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly. 

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle. 

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile. 

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.” 

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?” 

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks. 

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.” 

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious. 

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck. 

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

TAGS:

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

#cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty mw2 #x female reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #john price fic #john price #captain price #captain john price #cod mwii #john price x female reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain johnathan price #price x reader #price mw2 #price cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod x female reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic

[bubuslutty]

headcanon: John Price likes to play with your clit until it hurts.

pairing: fem!reader x John price

word count: 1.4k

tags: dom!price, sub!reader, overstimulation, cumming untouched, oral (f receiving), subspace, fingering, manhandling, strength kink, pain kink ig, stomach bulge, size kink, rutting, making out, biting, crying, squirting, dirty talk, praise kink, spit kink, face slapping (not too hard tho, doesn't hurt), aftercare, use of words such as cunt + hole, she/her, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, no physical descriptions of reader

warnings: THIS AINT NO RATED MOTHER FUCKING PG SHIT. THIS SHIT RATED PORN.

summary: uhhh I got this hc from a tiktok slide show abt nsfw cod hcs okay 🧍‍♀️ my gallery is filled with them.

a/n: I had to take multiple breaks while writing this. it's proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes, bon appétit bitches 💞

☆ John would spend hours between his lovey's legs, mouth sucking, licking, nipping and tongue shoved inside her wet hole repeatedly, mean and intense.

☆ would also pinch and rub her little clit, making her whine and cry even more

☆ would absolutely devour her, kiss and suck and bite her inner thighs, making the skin red and sensitive using his teeth and beard

☆ beard rashes!!!

☆ he would beg for her to squirt on his face, "Come on, lovey. Do it, do it for me, please?"

☆ King of dirty talk + praising at the same fucking time!!!

☆ "You taste so good, lovey. Look at your cunt, it's all wet, hm? Are you going to cum? Drench my face?"

☆ At first he would probably go gentle and slow, continuously kissing her stomach and hips while his fingers are deep inside her, opening her up just for his mouth, not even his cock.

☆ "Look at you, drooling all over me pillows. Did I fuck you stupid, sweetheart? But I'm just using my hands and mouth."

☆ "I haven't even fucked you properly, your sweet cunt's crying for me, hm?"

☆ "Sweet little slut, do you like having your clit sucked? Hm, yeah, yeah you do."

☆ Then at some point he would lay on his back, roll his baby on his front, chest to chest, pin both of her hands on her back with one strong hand and use the other to mercilessly fuck her hole with three fingers until she's crying and screaming, clit repeatedly rubbing against his happy trail, leaving wet marks on his skin and making her clit all red and swollen.

☆ John thrives in feeling her shake against him, her sweaty chest heaving up and down while she has her face buried in his neck, mouthing at his skin, unable to shut her mouth and stop any noises from spilling out.

☆ he can even feel her stomach bulging out when he drives his fingers in a bit too hard, which never fails to make his cock jump, all swollen and dripping all over itself and balls.

☆ and it would hurt. her pussy is aching and her clits all swollen and rubbed raw. but it feels good. so fucking good as long John is there. as long as he's the one touching her.

☆ He would keep this up, for so fucking long, changing positions and all, just to turn her into a mess, a literal rag doll, unable to open her eyes properly, or even able to remember her own name.

☆ He would lay her on her stomach and proceed to rut against the space between her cunt and hole until he comes all over her ass.

☆ John would lay on his side, drag his baby on her side, her back glued to his warm and ticklish chest, throw one of her legs over his thighs and bury his fingers inside her cunt while his other arm is cushioning her head and his fingers are holding her mouth open.

☆ He would kiss her swollen lips, spit inside her mouth and rub her own drool all over her pretty pink lips while she's panting and whining.

☆ John would manhandle her the way he wants all the time, not afraid to use his strength to get what he wants.

☆ At some point, he would lay her on her back, hover above her legs, pinning her against the mattress while using one of his hands to pin her arms above her head, to stop her from squirming.

☆ He would grab her chin between his bigger thicker fingers and hum, seeing her glazed eyes, eyes absolutely dark and fucking gone. And he hasn't even fucked her with his dick. But it's alright, because his baby is so fucked out of her mind, she hasn't even noticed.

☆ "Lovey, look at me."

☆ Lovey doesn't look at him, she can't even see straight and just keeps panting with her mouth open, face squished against the soft pillows.

☆ John slaps her cheek, never too hard to hurt, making her gasp and he grabs her chin a bit hard, dragging her face towards his.

☆ When she finally manages to meet his eyes, he smiles, eyes full of love and adoration, "There she is."

☆ "What's your name, lovey?" John asks and watches his baby blink at him, as if he spoke in a different language.

☆ He reaches down with one hand and pinches one of her nipples, making her jump.

☆ "What's your name?"

☆ Lovey frowns, trying her damn hardest to focus her eyes on his face, pouting.

☆ John just waits in silence until she cracks a smile and starts uncontrollably giggling, "I don't know…"

☆ Captain John Price, special forces and captain of task force 141, served over 18 years in the British army, fucking cums right then and there.

☆ He moans, his dick jerking and pulsing hot cum all over his Lovey's thighs and she matches his moan as soon as she feels it, throwing her head back and arching her back.

☆ He didn't even need to touch himself and he came so hard, his vision was swimming and he had to press his forehead against his girl's, collecting himself while his thick thighs kept twitching.

☆ Lovey is not able to understand just what happened, she just knows John came and she's happy he did, but tomorrow she will remember and John will be fucked for the rest of his life.

☆ She will have more reasons to keep him wrapped around her finger, and he isn't complaining one bit, it's just different, from anything he's ever experienced, and it's a bit scary, someone having this much power over this beast of a man.

☆ "I love you, I love you, love you so much, Lovey. I love yo-" John says, trying to calm down, and then Lovey raises her head with all of the energy left in her body and kisses him in the mouth.

☆ John immediately shuts up and lowers his head, deepening their kiss even more, devouring her sweet little mouth.

☆ When his thighs stop shaking, he pulls away, making her whine, and he shushes her, keeping a hand wrapped loosely around her neck.

☆ "I'm not leaving you, Lovey."

☆ After collecting himself as much as he can, he lifts her off the bed, both naked as the day they were born. She shivers, snuggling closer to his warm chest, "I know, but you have to pee, love."

☆ He carries her to the toilet, helping her sit down because she's absolutely fucking useless by her own, and he watches her pee, arms crossed and makes sure she doesn't fall sleep and cracks her head open on the wall.

☆ When she's done, he shuts the toilet's seat and helps her sit down, "Stay here, I'll run the bath, hm?"

☆ Lovey hums, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes while John runs the bath as quickly as he can. He doesn't bother with a bath bomb, oils or salt like his girl usually likes. The only reason they're having a bath instead of a shower, is because she's literally unable to stand up on her feet, and he can't wash and carry her at the same time, it'd be dangerous for both of them.

☆ When it's warm enough, he carries his love to the bath and washes her body as quick and as he can, and washes himself, then he stands up, rising himself with the shower head and rinses her right after.

☆ He dries her with the biggest fluffiest towel they own and helps her slip on a pair of soft underwear.

☆ John makes her sit on the armchair next to the window and quickly changes the sheets, leaving them next to the door, he'll take care of it tomorrow. And when he's all done he slips on his own pair of boxers and gets them both in bed, clean and warm.

☆ He's laying on his back, Lovey half laying on him, one of her legs thrown over his, head and hand on his chest, while he's smoking one of his cigars, content and comfortable, muscles truly relaxing and head empty.

☆ Lovey's breathing went back to normal, she's asleep, half of her weight on his body, reminding John that this isn't a dream. And he's never been happier.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear

#bubuslutty writes #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price smut #cod mw2 smut #task force 141 smut #task force 141 headcanons #john price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #john price #cod x reader #cod mw2 John price #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 captain John price

[beansricejc]

juices like wine

werewolf!john wick x f!reader

synopsis: on a full moon’s night, you think you’ll be safe in this house alone with your fellow monster hunter.

warnings: monster!jw, cursing, pussy drunk activities, oral (f receiving), squirting, sniffing, watered down spec of masochism, dbf!john, age gap, dub con(?)

authors note: thx for all of ur messages, life is just too much rn and I’m attempting to keep up haha, here’s that spooky thing I promised

“Uh, are you sure this will-“

“Of course it will!” I rolled my eyes, tightening the cuffs on the iron cuffs on John’s wrists. “My dad’s book says that werewolves can’t break through iron. And his book is never wrong.”

John flashed me a skeptical look with his eyebrows raised before rolling those thin brown eyes. Hunting monsters has always been our side gig. Although, things became a little tricky when he had accidentally been bitten by a now dead furry friend, almost a month ago now. Tonight was the full moon, and there haven’t been any side effects but John insisted on taking no chances.

My partner in crime sighed, grunting a bit with discomfort as the iron restraints dig into his flesh a little.

“It better not be wrong. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happened.”

My hand grabs his bearded and chiseled face, forcing John to give me his attention. There’s always been… tension, between the two of us. Yet neither have acted on it. He was my dad’s best friend after all, before my dad became vampire food on a job gone awry.

“Nothing is gonna happen.” I reassured him, my fingers squeezing his face a bit harder this time. John nods to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “It’s only for a night. Hell, I can just turn The Office on for you while you’re in here.”

Light hearted humor got me nowhere tonight. I’m an idiot. A fool. A fucking moron. That’s what I’m telling myself as I creep through the house on the second floor. A silver dagger in one hand, a phone in the other, with Charon on the other line, the closest Hunter in proximity to us in the state.

“His senses are better, he’s faster, stronger, you need to get out of there or just kill him.” Charon pleads. I grunt quietly.

“I can’t leave-“

A loud and bone rattling howl bounces off of the walls of the house, startling me. I froze in my tracks, cursing under my breath. I hang up the phone and slip it into the pocket of my leggings.

“You smell even better during a full moon.”

My breathing stops as I feel the breath of another behind me. I know damn well who that person is, his voice is much deeper and gravelly than normal, this isn’t him. This isn’t the John I know.

A yelp escaped my lips as two paw-like hands grab me from behind, tossing me over a huge shoulder. John’s shirt is mostly ripped all the way off, since his transformation took place under just a simple tee shirt and flannel pants.

“John! Put me down!” I shouted, legs thrashing as my fists beat at his huge back. Thud, thud, thud, it did nothing. I hadn’t even noticed that John had tossed the silver blade aside until I had tried to use it.

A deep throaty chuckle erupts from John’s mouth, right before he tossed me onto the bed of the master bedroom. I land on silken sheets as my eyes widen, experiencing John as half man, half wolf, for the first time. Fangs peek from his lips as his beard had become much more untamed and wild, even his hair is much longer and crazy.

Muscles bulge from his shirt, before he gets frustrated and rips it off with an irritated roar. The shreds of the fabric land on the wood floor, as his evolved muscles ripple over my cowering form on the king sized bed.

“Such a pretty girl. I’ve always known better than to have a piece of you to myself.” John speaks lowly, his red eyes linger over me. “But I can’t control myself tonight. I’m sorry sweetpea.”

“Wait, John, just, wait!” I know damn well it’s to no avail. His paws grab my thighs and push my legs to the mattress, as his nose buries itself in my clothed crotch. Frowning, I scream in objection but my squirming and resistance is futile. I can’t even beat John while we spar, of course I won’t even have a chance while he’s half man, half creature.

“Fuck, you’re ovulating.” John salivates and takes in a deep breath to get the scent of my cunt imbedded into his feral brain. With one tiny motion of his razor sharp claws, despite my avid protests, he sliced the crotch of my leggings open like butter.

“Hey hey hey! No! John, this can’t happen!” I stammer out quickly. John is far too heavy and I don’t stand a chance.

“Don’t worry. My cock is too big to give you right now.” John insists, dropping his pajama pants and tugging on his huge erection. It matches his insanely big body, one that I’m just realizing has been growing larger and larger ever since he began his chase.

My jaw dropped as I notice he’s got to be at least seven feet tall now, with a cock that’s about 10 inches long, but 4 inches wide. John seriously had a comically large and furry dick at the moment, and I had no idea if I should have laughed or just stayed quiet. So I picked the latter.

John drops to his knees, as both of his hands spread my thighs even further, taking a longer inhalation of the heat between them. Squirming under him, I couldn’t help but whimper and whine out of the pure tickling sensation. The feeling of his beard and nose on my folds were unfamiliar to say the least.

“John, get o-“

I stop talking and let out a moan as his big nose brushes against my clit. His long spongy tongue swiped efficiently on my folds, making them pliable enough to then plunge in a finger.

John let’s go of my thigh for half a second so he can shred apart my sleeping shirt, my tits falling out of the fabric. My nipples harden from the sudden air exposure. John growls against my cunt in response to that sinful visual. One of his paws smack my left breast, earning a gasp from me, while his tongue worked overtime inside of me.

Head like this only existed in porn, right?

Apparently not. Apparently, you can get head like this from your local werewolf.

My fingers dug at the bedsheets and also his head of messy long hair. My fingers even brush against his newly grown canine-like ears, I keep forgetting that this is only happening because John has turned. That meant, he was eating my pussy and needing to inhale my scent on pure instinct. If he doesn’t, he’d go insane. He’d lose control. Maybe even kill someone.

The mere thought of my vagina actually being the death of someone kinda has me in a chokehold at the moment.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

John continued to lick, suck, thrust, whatever he could to with his tongue to get my taste and scent locked into his memory. He’s even so desperate that he has managed to scratch up my thighs and stomach in the process. The cuts aren’t anything too deep, maybe a bit more than a cat claw. But I’d be in denial if I claimed the slight sting of his nails and there euphoric head I was receiving wasn’t a delectable combination.

A knot forms in my lower region, an unusual feeling. Not like an orgasm, no, this was something else entirely. I had no idea what to expect, but it sure as hell was shocking when I began to squirt all over John’s bearded face.

My cum splashed onto his cheeks and nose, even a bit of his forehead. The dribbles from my pussy coat his unkempt beard, and he catches his breath with an exhausted smile when he pulls away.

With my legs trembling and moans spilling from my mouth, I laid under his beastly frame, helpless. Exposed to my elder Hunter, it was a shock to see him as some vicious monster. My heart was nearly about to give out from the intensity of the orgasm, and from the pure shock I was still trying to comprehend.

While he collected my juices from his face and sucked them off of his fingers, my mind is racing as I wonder, is he even going to remember this tomorrow? When he shifts back, is it going to be awkward between us from now on? There’s no way he actually felt so strongly for me… right?

If he didn’t recall eating me out like it was his last day on earth, how am I going to drop that bomb? John’s hands grab my face, much like how I had a few hours earlier. His moist nose and forehead press against mine, smushing in a little. My own juices smear against my small face. John’s red eyes demand my full attention from mere centimeters away.

That same rough voice gives me a growling chuckle.

“Been waiting three years for that one, babygirl. Maybe now you’ll notice me.”

#john wick one shot #john wick #jw #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #keanu #spooktober #spooky fic #kinktober

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

You are his lover. When Morpheus was captured, you fell into the deep sleep. He has no idea until he returns to his realm where Lucienne tells him what happened. Unable to help you until he gets his tools back, he is more determined than ever to get his full power back.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Some more episode content, but my plot picks up again here too.

Chapter Three - Dreams do come true

☆☆☆

The ruby has been altered. Someone had changed it. This was not good. If Morpheus couldn't use his ruby, he would not be back to full power.

He wouldn't be able to wake you.

Morpheus needed to figure out how to get his ruby back. How to get that power back.

He found him.

John Burgess. That was his real name. He had many throughout his life, while his mother, Ethel, moved them around. The ruby had been given to him by his mother. She had stolen the tools when she left Rodrick Burgess.

John had been using the ruby to make people more honest. To make the do and say what they really felt.

No more lies.

It did not end well. The people he was playing with died. Morpheus walked in to claim back his ruby.

Morpheus walked into the diner. The lights were mostly out, and some were flickering. Blood puddled on the floor. John stood when Morpheus came in.

"Hello. I'm John." He spoke softly. "I'm glad you're here. The powers gone out, so there's no TV, and no one left to talk to."

"What is it you think you're doing?" Morpheus asks.

"Saving the world from its lies."

"The ruby wasn't made for that." Morpheus tells him.

"You're The Sandman. My mother was right, she said you would be coming for it."

"You must return it to me so I can repair the damage you have done."

"I'm not giving it to you. It's mine."

"It is harming you, John. And your world."

"It's revealing the truth." John says. "This is the truth of mankind."

"No. You're wrong. This is the truth of mankind." Morpheus shows him how things were meant to be. These people with their lives and their dreams.

John abused the power he has.

"The ruby is hurting you, John. It has too much of my power within it. It stole more when I tried to use it." Morpheus explains.

"Then perhaps if I use it to steal the rest of your powers, I will be the king of dreams."

"If you would rob a dream lord lof his powers, you shall do so in his realm. In dreams."

John turns to find himself standing outside a mansion. The Burgess mansion, to be precise. He goes inside, following a cloaked figure. He follows her into a room, only to discover his mother under the hood.

Then he's back in that room at the hospital being spangled by her.

A dream. A nightmare.

This isn't real.

He uses the ruby and finds himself in the throne room. It's still in disarray. He stands and looks up at the shattered stained glass windows.

"Is this your palace, dream lord? Is this your throne, king of lies?"

Quiet.

"Well it's mine now!"

John uses the ruby, and the walls come burning down. The palace sets alight, and everything burns.

"Are you watching? Can you see me? Using your own powers to burn away your lies."

"You must stop."

The fire stops. John turns to see The Sandman in his helm.

"It is not too late to save yourself."

"Oh, you think it's me that needs saving?"

"Your father stole the ruby from me and cursed you with it." Morpheus tells him.

"You mean he blessed me with it.

John holds the ruby up in his hand. It glows. "Your reign ended when my father captured you." He walks towards Morpheus. "Your kingdom is my birthright."

The ruby appears to be taking all of Morpheus' power.

"Your power resides within me. How does it feel to know I hold your life in my hands?"

Morpheus crumples to the ground.

"You're hurting... the dreamers." Morpheus manages to say.

"Well, it's time they woke up!"

John crushes the ruby in his palm. The shards fall to the ground beneath him. The palace is gone.

"I did it." John stands. "I killed him. I won."

"Thank you, John."

John looks up to find himself standing in the plam of The Sandman. He isn't dead. He was very much alive.

"But I killed you..."

"You destroyed the ruby and released the power inside. I would never have thought of that. I had forgotten just how much of myself I had placed in the jewel." Morpheus explains.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I could. Perhaps I will. But the dream stone was not made for mortals, and it came to you through no fault of your own. So no, John, I will not kill you."

Morpheus lays John down in his bed.

"Sleep well, John."

Morpheus walked away. He had his powers back. He was going to fix everything. He was going to wake you.

The rebuilding could begin.

☆☆☆

Morpheus entered the room quietly. Matthew and Lucienne were giving him space. The raven promised to tell the Liberian everything that had happened.

You were so still. Sound asleep.

Morpheus did not make a sound as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for your hand. His long pale fingers curled around yours gently. His thumb stroked over your ring.

"I'm here, my love. I came back."

He reaches out with his other hand to touch your cheek softly. He leans over you ever so slightly.

"I am home."

He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. As he does so, his hand remains wrapped around yours.

Wake up, my love.

☆☆☆

You are standing in nothingness. Dark as far as you can see. There is not a soul in sight. There is not a thing in sight. Just nothing.

Wake up.

Wake up.

You can hear it echoing in the dark. A voice. Soothing, familiar. It sounds like home. Where is home? How do you get to it?

Wake up.

"I'm trying."

You stop and take a deep breath. You loft your hand and look at your ring. He is home. He will take you home. You lift your hand up and gently press your ring against your bottom lip.

"I want to go home."

I am home. Wake up.

"Morpheus?"

"I am here, my love. Wake. I shall be there."

You close your eyes and take some deep breaths. You think of the palace. The throne room. Your room. The room you share with the king of dreams. You smile.

"My love."

Your eyes open and suddenly there is something. Someone. No more darkness. You feel warmth. You feel him.

"Morpheus?"

Your eyes meet his blue ones, and he smiles. You go to say something but don't get the chance. You're scooped up into his long arms and pressed against his chest. You feel your heart beating as you wrap your arms around him.

"You're home."

"Yes, my love. I am home."

You cling to each other, scared to let go again. You grab the back of his coat to feel the fabric against your skin. You inhale sharply to remember his scent. You squeeze him to make sure he is really there.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"What for?"

"For leaving you."

"You did not leave me. Not by choice."

He pulls away and settles his hands on your arms. He takes a good look at you.

"I was captured and kept prisoner in a basement for a century. Our realm crumbled. You slept, unable to wake until I was able to wake you. It is my fault."

You reach out and cradle his face.

"No. No, it is not. Never say that."

He spent the next few moments looking at you. You're still as beautiful as the day he left. He feared that if he had been trapped any longer than he had, he would have forgotten your face. He never wanted to forget you.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too."

Morpheus once again takes you in his arms and holds you. He needed time with his wife. He has a lot to make up for.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 -

#symphony of dreams #morpheus x reader #the sandman #female reader #dragon writes

[radioactiveparker]

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part Three - Hallway Vision

Chapter Summary - During an adventure through the maze of school hallways, we see the Criminal become the hero, and the King become the villain. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Emotional Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Vandalism / Strong Sexual References / Drug References / Angst

Word Count - 5k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

(Part One) (Part Two)

~~~~~

Saturday.

October 25th, 1986.

Hawkins High Library.

1:00pm

~~~~~

"Let's take off. Dick's gone cruising." Eddie poked his head back into the library.

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No, Buckley. It means Higgins has just left his office."

You looked at the others as if this was an easy yes; you wanted to leave this library. Steve and Nancy didn't look too fond of the idea. Robin was torn between not wanting to leave, and not wanting to be the only one left behind. 

"How do you know where he went?" Nancy asked, as if his answer would determine hers.

"I don't. But he's gone. He wouldn't've come to check on us first if he wasn't going somewhere for a while. Jesus, I've never seen so much chicken shit in one place in my life."

She didn't find that answer very reassuring, but if Nancy was anything, it certainly wasn't chicken shit.

Robin looks at her, then back at Eddie. "I'll go out in the hall for a minute, but I don't wanna leave." As if that was proof enough that she wasn't chicken shit.

You really wanted to get out of that library. It had felt a lot bigger when you had first got there, but now, five hours later, it was starting to get suffocating. You didn't want to see another book for the rest of your life. 

"Do you mean take off for good?" You asked hopefully.

Eddie shook his head. "For good? No, just down to my locker."

"Okay." You agreed simply, taking your place beside him.

He smiled at you. "Being bad feels pretty god, huh?" 

You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a playful shove. The others looked like they were starting to consider it. Eddie's locker wasn't that far away. They would be gone for five minutes tops. If things went well, that was.

"What's the point of going to a locker?" Steve questioned.

"Why don't we just stand in the hall for a minute? That'd be fun, huh? If we get away with it." Robin attempted to persuade.

You and Eddie ignored them, taking the chance to slip out the door. The longer you all spent debating it, the less time you would have to get back.

Steve, Robin, and Nancy looked at each other.

"I'm not chicken." Nancy disclosed boldly, shifting on her feet and crossing her arms.

"I am." Robin gulped. At least she was honest.

"You two gonna stay?" Nancy flicked her eyes between the two of them.

"Not if you don't." Steve leaned against the door frame, like his answer showed her some sort of compassion, that he was thinking of her. 

"What do I have to do with making up your mind?"

Steve gulped. Not the reaction he was hoping. He cleared his throat and accepted defeat. "I don't know. I guess if you're not scared, I shouldn't be... not that I am. I'm not scared. Not of Principal Higgins."

Nancy stared at him like she didn't believe him, then left before he could dig the hole any deeper for himself. Steve was crushed as he watched Nancy walk away. He felt like he had just blown a chance at impressing Nancy. His shoulders slumped, and Robin patted him on the back.

"Maybe you should think for yourself for once. It's healthy." 

She hadn't said it in a bad way, but it had still injured his dignity. He brushed her hand off him and left without a word. Robin turned to the empty library. She debated sitting back down, but she had visions of Higgins storming through the doors and hounding her with questions. At least if she got caught in the halls, she'd have the others with her. She quickly followed after Steve.

Nancy and Steve caught up with you and Eddie, with Robin running behind, trying to catch up. You all hurried up the steps as quietly as possible. You made it to the teacher's lounge and paused, hearing noise coming from inside.

"For cryin' out loud!" Principal Higgins hit the vending machine. His soda can was stuck inside. 

You and Eddie ran across the open doorway while he was distracted. You tried not to think about the way Eddie had grabbed your hand to pull you along. Higgins rattled the coin return and started banging on the buttons. Steve and Nancy went next, taking a big lunge across and landing on their feet silently. Higgins let out a defeated sigh and started rummaging his pockets for more change. Finally, Robin made it across, just in time before the Principal turned around after having no luck. Eddie turned to make sure that everyone had made it across. He hadn't realised that he was still holding your hand until you wiggled it out of his grip. Your face flushed, and you awkwardly wiped your hand on your skirt, suddenly feeling the perspiration on your palm. You took a step away from each other at the same time. Eddie cleared his throat, and the others eyed him, wondering why his demeanour had suddenly changed.

They all turned when they saw his eyes staring behind them, paralysed in panic. Principal Higgins had walked out of the teacher's lounge. 

Everyone froze.

The Principal paused, looked down at his watch, turned the other way, and walked down the hall. Everyone released a breath when he was out of sight. Eddie led you down another hall until you reached his locker.

His locker was so ugly it hurt your eyes. The white paint on his locker was non-existent. It was a horrific amalgamation of stickers from bands you've never heard of, spray paint graffiti, and lettering scratched into the metal with handwriting so bad you couldn't even read it. When he opened it, the inside wasn't much better. The stickers and writing wrapped around the inside of the locker door. It was a stunning mess of clothes, bags, papers, books, cassette tapes, and auto parts. You'd hate to see what his bedroom looked like. 

Not that you were thinking of being in his bedroom.

Eddie started fishing through his locker. Nancy was revolted by it. 

"You're such a slob. Your maid take the week off or something?"

"This is on purpose, Princess. Don't worry." Nobody believed him. "It discourages nosey people from going in it. Like cops."

Eddie smiled when he located what he was looking for. He pulled out a greasy, stained shopping bag. Out of the shopping bag, he took a smaller brown paper bag, and out of that, an even smaller paper bag. Then, with great drama and a huge, proud smile, he reached his hand into the final bag.

"You ready for this action?"

He slowly took out a baggie bulging with marijuana. Your mouth hung open in shock. Nancy looked at it like it was infectious.

"No way, man. Put it back." Steve insisted, making a reach for it.

Eddie stuffed the baggie down the from of his pants with a smirk. Steve pulled a disgusted face; there was no way he was going to take it from him now. 

"Let's go."

You all turned and quietly crept back down the hall. You were about to turn the corner when Eddie stopped you. Professor Higgins was standing outside of the teacher's lounge again, holding two cans of Coca Cola after finding some spare change in his office draw. He was only five yards away. You all scooted backwards to hide behind the corner. You bravely peeked a head around. Higgins turned and made his way down the hall. He was on his way back to the library. You told the others.

"We're screwed!" Robin cried

"You asshole!" Steve seethed. "I knew this was a lost idea!"

Nancy shook her head in disbelief. "We're finished. This is just great." 

You had a bit more optimism than that. You turned to Eddie. He got himself out of shit all the time. What's one more? You had faith in him, and he had felt it in how you spoke your words. "What're we gonna do?"

Eddie thought hard. Higgins' leisurely footsteps echoed down the hall, each one diminishing your chances of getting back to the library undetected. 

"We'll go around, cut through the lab, and double back. C'mon."

Eddie urged everyone to start running. You all swerved around corners and scrambled downstairs, sacrificing volume for speed. You narrowly escaped Higgins' sight when you turned and corner and seen he was walking head on towards you all. He was too busy sipping on his Cola to notice the group of students at the end of the hall. At least he had decided to take the scenic route back to the library. He was unintentionally buying you all some time. You all ran in the opposite direction again.

"Cut through the cafeteria." Eddie directed, starting to run down the hall to the right.

"The gym will be faster." Steve countered.

"What? No, you don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm through listening to you. You'll just end up getting us into more trouble. We're going this way." Steve had managed to persuade the others into following him. 

Eddie hardly spent time in school, and he certainly never used the gym. He couldn't remember if it was quicker or not. He didn't like not being in control. He felt like he was running off a cliff head first with a blindfold on. He watched as the others followed Steve down the hall to the left. It was just you and him left. You stared at him fearfully, listening to Principal Higgins' footsteps grow closer. You started backwards slowly, encouraging Eddie to follow. He did with a scoff of annoyance. The two of you quickly caught up with the others, falling behind while Steve led the way. After a couple of twists and turns and another almost run in with the Principal, you reached the gym doors. Steve pulled on the handles.

They were locked.

Sheer panic set in.

"Great idea, shitbag." Eddie spat at Steve.

"Fuck you." He tried the doors again to double check that they were locked. 

They were. He kicked them bitterly.

"Fuck you, why didn't you listen to Eddie?" You defended. 

You crashed back on some lockers and folded your arms in frustration.

"We're dead." Robin whimpered.

Eddie looked at you. You had probably given him more credit that what he was worth before when you had asked him for help, but now, as you stared back, he wanted to prove himself to you. You seeing the clogs working in his brain and the change in his eyes.

He didn't take his eyes off you. "No, just me." He said heroically.

"What do you mean?" Steve's voice finally drew his eyes away from you.

"I'm gonna take the rap." He pulls his baggie of marijuana out and shoves it down Steve's pants. "Keep your unit out of it."

The girls giggled. Steve was horrified that a group of girls were laughing about his genitals.

"I mean, what if the bag broke and the dope seeped into his thing and it got high?" Robin laughed.

"Can you imagine this airhead running around with his little weenie stoned?" You cracked up.

"Little?" Steve looked wounded. "It's not that funny." 

The girls just cracked up more. Eddie smirked.

"I don't want this, Eddie!" Steve begged.

"C'mon King Steve, I'm gonna save your buns! It's your fault we're in this mess, the least you could do is hold on to that until Dick leaves." 

The girls were still laughing. You meet Eddie's eye and he starts laughing too.

Steve turned back to the group of girls snickering behind him. "Excuse me, but I don't want to do this. Eddie's making me, so I'd appreciate it if you guys would stop with the jokes. Okay?"

Eddie turned and started running back down the hall. "Just get back to the library!"

There was a pause as the girls calmed down. No use in trying to be sneaky when you can't stop laughing. 

"Eddie, wait." He paused, eyebrows raised in interest at your voice. "Be careful."

Eddie beamed and shot you a wink before sprinting down the hall.

"That stuff couldn't really happen, right?" Steve's voice quivered with concern for his unit.

With a roll of your eyes, you urged the group to start towards the library. You lead the way, taking Eddie's route through the cafeteria. As you ran through the halls, you could hear his loud singing, but he was too distant for you to understand any of the words. If you could hear him from all the way over here, Principal Higgins would most definitely already be on his way to catch him. 

You managed to get them all back to the library safely. Everyone was huffing for breath, and Steve kept adjusting his pants. Everyone took their seats, except for Nancy, who was peering out of the doors to keep an eye out for Higgins or Eddie. 

Nancy gasped. "Higgins' got him! He's gonna get reamed."

Steve recoiled at the name. "I do not want these drugs in my underwear anymore."

"Shhh!"

Nancy rushed from the door to her desk. No sooner was she seated than the door opened up, and Principal Higgins shoved Eddie in. He was red-faced from running around, and he had managed to tie his hair back into a low bun that you thought suited him. His red paid shirt was half hanging off, and he was carrying one shoe in his hand, but he still had a big shit-eating grin on his face. You wondered what on earth had happened. He made his way towards his seat next to you, hopping on one leg as he tried to walk and put his shoe back on at the same time. 

Higgins crossed his arms impatiently. "Mr. Munson has taken it upon himself to visit the gymnasium. So, I'm sorry to inform you that you'll be losing his company for the remainder of the day." 

Eddie chuckled to himself as he sat back in his seat next to you.

"Everything's a joke, huh, Munson? The false alarm you pulled on Friday? Are false fire alarms real funny? What if your home was on fire and the fire department was over here answering a false alarm?"

"I'm not that lucky, Sir."

Everyone suppressed the urge to laugh at Eddie's wisecrack. 

"Fine, what if it was your dope on fire?"

"That's impossible, Sir. It's in Harrington's underwear."

Everyone cracks up again. Steve turned red, adjusting himself in his jeans not-so subtly.

The Principal turned his attention on everyone else. "You like this? You think Munson's funny? Do you think he's cute?"

He got no reaction from anyone. Eddie glared at Higgins as he made his little speech, trying to hide his embarrassment at the fact that the Principal had managed to one-up him. 

"I bet Y/N thinks I'm cute." He mumbled under his breath. Eddie had spoken your actual name for the first time. It sounded like honey running off his lips. Your eyes widened, but you pretended not to hear. 

Higgins continued. "Go visit Big Eddie Munson in five years and see how goddamn funny he is." He smiled and leaned in close to Eddie. "You look like you're gonna cry, Munson."

Eddie was struggling to keep himself from striking Principal Higgins across his smug fucking face. How dare he humiliate him in front of everyone. How dare he humiliate him in front of you.

"You're not tough, Munson. You're pathetic." He reached out and grabbed Eddie by the front. "Let's go."

Eddie smacked his hand away. "Get your fucking hands off me! I'd expect better manners from you, Dick."

Eddie shuffled around the table, planting a big kiss on your cheek as he left. You almost gasped in surprise. As he walked away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Why he was carrying sunglasses in October, you had no idea. You had learned it was probably better not to question him. He lay them on the desk in front of Steve. 

"For better hallway vision." He sniped.

Principal Higgins walked out, holding the door open for Eddie as he shuffled languidly behind him. He turned his head and looked at the others. 

He held up a peace sign in farewell. "It's been a slice, ladies."

The door closed behind them.

The room was silent once more. 

You reached a hand to your cheek where Eddie had kissed you. The skin was tingling under your touch. You couldn't help but smile at the memory of his surprisingly soft lips. Billy flashed through your mind again. Your heart dropped into your gut. How could you have let Eddie have that effect on you when Billy was waiting for you at home? The thought had your body tingling again. But not the good kind. 

Everyone awkwardly glanced at each other. You realised now that somehow Eddie had been the glue that was holding you all together. You had all bonded over your inadequacy to tolerate Eddie that, now he wasn't here, you had absolutely nothing in common.  You were unable to prevent the disappointment swarming in your chest.

"Principal Higgins is a total meat head." You broke the silence and everyone turned to you.

They all had the same sort of sorrow in their eyes. The girls agreed with you, but Steve shook his head like he didn't have any regrets.

"The freak asked for it."

The insult upset you more than it probably would have upset Eddie. "Hey! It isn't fair that Eddie gets treated like that. We all left. He saved our asses."

"Oh, get a life, Y/N."

You thought Steve was starting to come around to you after your talk on the way to the teachers lounge. You guessed not. "He sacrificed himself so we could get back here. I didn't see you volunteering."

You had wounded Steve's dignity. "I didn't want to leave in the first place. He got us into it, it's only right that he take the shit for getting us out of it." He bit back.

"You weren't forced to go!"

"Munson is a troublemaker."

"Yeah? So what does that make you?"

"Meaning what?"

"Wimp."

CCRRAASSHH!!!

Everyone turned in the direction of one of the seclusion rooms. There is a gaping hole in the ceiling where the tiles had crashed through, and Eddie splayed, stunned, on his back on the table. After catching his breath, he sat up and shook the dry plaster out of his hair. He sauntered out into the main library like nothing had happened.

"Miss me?"

"How did you do that?" You bewildered.

"Smoke and mirrors." He winked, taking his rightful seat beside you.

"Goddammit!" Footsteps came hurtling towards the library doors.

"Shit!" Eddie ducked underneath the table. 

His tall, lanky body hardly fit underneath. He shuffled upwards until his upper half was tucked between your legs. You cringed, trying so desperately to close your legs so Eddie didn't look straight up your skirt, but your legs were trapped on either side of his shoulders. 

Principal Higgins stood at the door, red-faced and puffing. "What was that ruckus?" 

"What ruckus?" You played dumb, jumping in before Steve could open his mouth and rat on Eddie. 

Higgins eyed them all up. You all sat like little angles, up straight and arms folded innocently in front of you.

"Could you describe it, Sir?" Robin asked.

"Watch your tongue, Missy."

Eddie shifted in discomfort, adjusting himself so his back didn't ache as much. He eyed your white keds. Only a slight discolouration in the laces and few specs of mud from when you had crossed the school field, but otherwise clean. He moved back slightly so he didn't get any dirt on himself. He followed his eyes up your white socks, tracing the green trim at the top of your knee. He was glad to be under the table when he flushed at the sight of your bare skin. The soft flesh of your thighs enticing him to follow higher.

There was a sudden knock from under the table from Eddie accidentally banging his head. You jolted in surprise, hitting your hands on the table to disguise the sound. The others copied, tapping their own little beats.

"What was that noise?"

"What noise?"

Eddie hoped that the sight he saw would never leave his mind. It was enough to send anyone into a cardiac arrest. His mouth hung open as he ogled straight up your skirt. You hadn't worn your spandex briefs since you weren't actually doing any cheerleading, and instead had opted for a pair of baby blue cotton panties. Eddie's mouth was watering at the excruciatingly tender bulge. In his entire life, Eddie would not be able to duplicate the raw power of this moment. Eddie's eyes were locked in a stare, hand trembling and eager to touch.

"Really, Sir, there wasn't any noise, just ---"

You shot up straight with a gasp, hands reaching underneath the table and into Eddie's hair. You could feel it tickling the skin of your thigh as his head moved further between your legs. The others looked at you with alarm. You pulled gently on his hair to urge him to stop, but couldn't find yourself putting in any effort to resist him. Your hand stayed weaved into his curled as he continued to delve in deeper. Your legs had started trembling when you felt his lips graze your inner thighs before placing a soft kiss there. Your mouth hung open in shock before you came to your senses. You quickly covered your gasp with a cough.

The others joined in and you couldn't be more grateful. The four of you sat in a coughing fit with Higgins eyeing you all suspiciously.

"What that the noise? The noise I just made. Was that it?" You thought fast.

Eddie's nose prodded at your mound. You suppressed another gasp and slammed your thighs closed around his head to stop him from moving any further. Eddie snapped out of his trance at the sudden pain on either side of his head. He slapped your leg to tap out, and you relaxed your thighs. He moved away from you, rubbing his ringing ears. When you felt him leave, you gave him a deserved kick to the arm. He hissed in pain, but Higgins hadn't heard it.

The Principal scowled. "I didn't catch you this time, but you can bet I will." He pointed a finger at you. "You!"

You tensed.

"I will not be made a fool of."

And with those final words, he stormed from the library.

Everybody held their angelic expressions for a couple beats and then, assured that Higgins was out of earshot, Steve, Nancy, and Robin break into laughter. You shoved your seat back and kicked your legs at Eddie as he scrambled out from under the front of the table. 

"You're such an asshole." 

Eddie tried to keep as serious as he could, but struggled to contain his laughter at your anger. "What?" He asked innocently.

"You know what."

"It was dark under there, it was an accident."

The others seemed to take interest in your spat. They wondered what had Eddie laughing and felt inclined to join in.

"What?" Steve asked.

"None of your business." You slumped back into your chair and crossed your arms, angry and embarrassed.

Eddie saw your wet eyes and soft pouting lips. He started to feel bad. He hadn't meant to upset you.

"I couldn't help it, okay? I'm sorry." 

You refused to look at him. He placed a gentle hand under your chin and guided your eyes to meet. His voice was much softer. "I'm sorry."

You hadn't said it out loud, but Eddie could see the forgiveness in your eyes. You relaxed under his touch, feeling the truth in his words. He smiled tenderly.

"What did you do?" Steve asked again, still hoping for a laugh. 

Eddie had clearly embarrassed you somehow. Steve thought it was only fair to get a few jokes out on you after you and the other girls had made fun at him in the hallway.

"Shut up." Eddie snapped, and the moment was over. 

He held out a hand to Steve who just looked at it in confusion. He reached like he was going to shake Eddie's hand but he slapped it away just before they clasped hands. Eddie looked at him like he was as thick as pig shit. 

"You smoke all my reefer or something? The dope, waistoid. Give it to me."

Steve's eyes lit up at the disclosure, wondering how he had managed to forget. He reached into his pants and tossed the baggie to Eddie, murmuring a 'good riddance' to it under his breath. Eddie sat back next to you and opened the bag on the table. You stared at it in curiosity.

You had never smoked weed before. You had never smoked period. But Billy did. He always tried to force you to smoke it with him, but you refused. It wasn't that you hadn't wanted to do it, it was because Billy wanted you to. It was kind of like when your parents ask you to do something and it immediately puts you off wanting to do it. He'd call you a killjoy, or Miss Priss, which always got under your skin. But what made it worse was that Billy always got horny when he was high. He struggled to contain himself around you, even when you told him no. Luckily, he had never done anything, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he would. 

You knew Eddie wouldn't be like that though. You had never seen him stoned, but there was something about him that told you smoking with Eddie would be okay. He wouldn't pressure you into trying it if you didn't want to, and if you did, that was okay too. Eddie sold weed to people all the time, heavy hitters and noobs alike. He had taught plenty of people how to smoke before. You could try it for yourself, without Billy's untoward provocation. 

He patted his pockets then looks troubled. "Do you have any papers." He asked no one in particular. 

Then with a shake of his head, he answered his own question. "Why would you dinks have papers?"

"You're not smoking in here." Nancy looked fearful.

"Yeah? Watch me."

"If you want to smoke, go back to where you were before. Before you fell through the fucking ceiling." Steve ordered on Nancy's behalf.

Eddie reached over and pretended to click a switch to turn Steve off.

"What can I use for papers?"

"A book?" You suggested.

"What about the smell?" Nancy quizzed.

Eddie regarded her off-handedly. "Take your shoes off, that'll mask the smell."

Nancy's mouth hung open in offence, She knew her feet didn't smell so the insult hadn't wounded her pride too much. But it was still embarrassing none the less. Especially in front of Steve.

Eddie ignored her and turned to you. "Book pages are too thick."

"How about dictionary pages? That paper's real thin."

Eddie looked at you impressed, eyebrows raised and a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. The look of pride made your stomach flip. You took a great deal of pleasure at his silent praise. He walked over to the dictionary stand. 

"You can't tear up a dictionary." Robin protested. "What if somebody needs a word and you smoked it?"

Eddie ignored her, opened a dictionary and ripped out a random page. He couldn't care less if he had caused someone a minor inconvenience. There was more than one dictionary in the world.

He pointed at Nancy. "Hey Princess, watch that door. This is a police matter if we get caught."

Nancy tensed. She didn't like that idea very much. She swallowed hard. Eddie walked to the back of the library where the comfy chairs were and plonked himself down on one of the bean bags, making himself right at home.

You got up to follow. Steve looked at you completely pissed off at you for encouraging Eddie's behaviour.

"Loosen up." You scoffed.

"I'm not getting my paper written." Nancy sighed to herself.

"You know," you continued, "he's not all that bad. I'm kind of getting used to him."

"You're just bored."

"Why are you acting like this towards me, Steve?" You'd had enough of the way he was talking to you. "I thought we were fine after I apologised."

It was like when you were alone together you were fine, but in front of the others he hated your guts. You thought he had some nerve calling Eddie out at lunch for trying to keep up with his image. He was being such a hypocrite right now.

He scoffed. "It was hardly an apology."

"It was hardly an apology because I had nothing to be sorry for. I told you already what Billy did wasn't my fault."

"I know!" His voice softened. "I know."

Nancy gave him a gentle look, as if urging him to apologise. He sighed in defeat, tracing a finger along the split in his lip. Suddenly it didn't hurt as much anymore. Like holding this grudge over you was a constant reminder of the pain Billy had given him. He knew apologising was the right thing to do. He opened his mouth, but his time was up.

You shook your head in disappointment. You didn't know what you were expecting from him. Perhaps Steve wasn't as nice as you once thought. It was crazy how things had turned out. In the beginning, you thought for sure that this experience would have given you a chance to make amends with Steve, maybe even become friends of some sort. Turned out that you grew apart from Steve and found yourself feeling closer to Eddie. A notion you had never entertained in all your years at Hawkins High.

You walked away before Steve could say another word to you. 

~~~~~

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