#the downside (?) is that my fic is long as hell

[ceruleanchillin]

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all. 

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you. 

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft. 

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct. 

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

:)

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms. 

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time. 

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you. 

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart. 

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey. 

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.” 

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge. 

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle. 

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual. 

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more. 

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats. 

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him. 

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back. 

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you. 

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him. 

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him. 

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members. 

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again. 

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy. 

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break. 

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs. 

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn. 

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes. 

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that. 

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.” 

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment. 

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there. 

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him. 

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back. 

                                                                                                                               His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration. 

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.” 

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain. 

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that. 

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone. 

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back. 

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.” 

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly. 

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It’s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap. 

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense. 

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him. 

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you. 

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.” 

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound. 

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings. 

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave. 

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length. 

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss. 

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth. 

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

#cod #141 x reader #cod x reader #reader insert #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #Biker!141 #gaz #ghost #fem!reader

[keikikait]

ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

for my other megumi fic, click here (warning - smut!)

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: you love your new apartment, as small as it is. it's in the perfect place, right next to the train station, and is cheap as hell. the only downside? your neighbour, who revs his bike outside your window every morning.

warnings: NO SMUT!, no angst!, multi part series, kind of enemies to lovers, slowburn?, megumi is kinda rude lmaoooo, the girls are fighting!, he says sweetheart twice, reader is kinda down bad lmao

a note: sorry for the delay, i've been busy with work! also, 8 square metres is about 86 square feet :).

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

The rent was cheap. Suspiciously cheap. 

You should’ve been wary, but you didn’t have many options. After a bitter fallout with your roommate, you needed to move out quickly. You should’ve paid more attention to the listing, you realise, as you stop in front of the building and it sinks in that your new digs weren’t 18 square metres.

It was eight square metres. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have much furniture with you, needing to sell it all to afford the move. Your apartment was essentially one long, two-story hallway, just enough for your desk chair and TV. 

You get settled in quickly, trying to liven up the place by replanting your herb garden outside on your small porch. The apartment doors faced an alley, and on the other side of the alley was another apartment building. You didn’t know how much sunlight your basil would get, but that’s a problem for future you.

A problem for the current you, however, was your neighbour's motorcycle. The bike is an exact replica of the legendary Honda Super Cub that was used in the original anime Akira, and as pretty as it is, that shit is loud. His apartment is right on the edge by the sidewalk, meaning the only place he can park it is right in front of your window.

You’ve tried everything. Earplugs. Noise-cancelling headphones. Ear plugs under your noise-cancelling headphones. Sleeping with a white noise machine. Nothing works. You only moved in a month ago but you’re already sick of this mysterious man and his bike. You don’t run into each other often, catching glimpses of him as he drives off in the morning and comes home at night. You didn’t want to be that neighbour, the one that complains about every single little thing, but it was driving you mad. He revs his bike so loudly and for so long, that you’re starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.

You wake up that fateful morning and decide you’ve had enough. You wait for him to return home, hyping yourself up in the mirror before heading outside to confront him. You idle nervously in front of his front door for a few seconds before knocking. 

He answers, looking exhausted, his hair a mess from his helmet. “Yeah?” You have to admit, he’s pretty cute. Tall and lean, with bicep muscles that strain against the fabric of his black t-shirt. And you swear you can see some eyeliner smudged on his water line.

You smile, trying to come across as calm and casual, slightly flustered by how attractive he is. “Hey. I’m your new next-door neighbour,” You gesture with your thumb. “I don’t wanna be that person, but would it be possible for you to not rev your engine so loud in the morning? It’s just…it’s right by my window, and it’s really loud.”

He lets out a sigh of frustration, not exactly in the mood for what you're throwing at him. It was already 9 pm on the third day in a row that he had worked the late shift, and this was not something he needed right now. He looks at you, his expression a mixture of irritation and confusion. “Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I park where I park, nothing is going to change that. You just moved in, this is how it's been and how it's always going to be.”

You blink, a little taken aback by how rude he was being. “I understand that, but surely I'm not the only person in the building who gets inconvenienced by your bike.”

He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. The last thing he wants to do after a long shift is argue with someone about something as insignificant as noise. “Look, if you don't like it, then move out. I don't see anybody else complaining. You're the only one.”

You clench your jaw. You had some experience with bikes, your ex-boyfriend being a mechanic. You knew it was possible to make the revving quieter, it just seems like he didn’t care. “Can’t you just buy a muffler silencer?”

He lets out a short, sharp laugh, one that doesn't hold a single trace of humor.  “A muffler silencer? For a Super Cub? Are you serious? That would be like asking a Ferrari to be quiet.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just be okay with how loud your bike is, man.” You say. “I’m sure it inconveniences everyone in the building, but no one wants to be the person that confronts you.”

He seems to be holding back from saying what he wants to say, taking a shallow breath. “Look. It's my bike. I can do whatever I want with it. No one else is bothered, so why should you be any different? Why do you care so much?”

“You’re not the only person who works early mornings.” You say. “You aren’t the only person in the world, you know.”

That strikes a nerve, clearly, but he still doesn't seem interested in hearing what you're saying. He just rolls his eyes, looking away at his bike for a moment before looking back at you. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but in case you haven't realised, you're not that important.”

“Neither are you.” You say impulsively. It was mean, and you didn’t like being mean, but he wasn’t giving you any other option.

He glares at you, his expression darkening. It's only for a moment, but you can see there is actual vitriol in his eyes. “Look, I'm going to make this simple for you. If you don't like the noise, then move out. That bike is not going anywhere. It has more meaning to me than you'll ever understand.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Akira meant so much to you as a kid,” You say sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t keep doing this, man. Buy a muffler silencer.” 

He laughs, but there's a slight tinge of bitterness to it. “Oh, so it's just a cartoon to you? It’s not an influential masterpiece that changed motorcycle and animation culture forever? Okay, great. Good to know.” He is starting to get worked up, but then he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. “Look, like I said, I am not doing anything to this bike. Not the mufflers, nothing.”

“Then park it somewhere else.” You snap. “Keep it away from my window. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

There's a flash of annoyance on his face. “There's no place to park it away from your window unless I block the sidewalk, which I guarantee you would cause more inconvenience. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

“Are you always this rude and stuck up?” The question stumbles out of your mouth before your mind can process it.

His temper flares up. He takes a step towards you, putting his hands on his hips as he glares at you. “Are you always this entitled and self-absorbed?”

You take a step back. You hate to admit it, but the way he towers over you is arousing. His cologne fills your nostrils and you find yourself getting lightheaded. It was slightly spicy, with a hint of vanilla and coffee. 

You ground yourself, swallowing hard. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want us to come to a reasonable compromise.”

He glares at you, his eyes boring into you as you step back. You can feel the heat on your skin as if every drop of sweat in his body has been activated by the situation. His cologne is overwhelming you, filling your whole body. “There is no compromise to make here. You don't like the noise, tough. You're just going to have to get used to it or move out. That's it.”

Your eye twitches. “You’re such an asshole.” At this point, you didn’t feel bad being mean to him. He kind of deserved it.

He laughs, seeming almost amused by your temper. “You're one to talk. You come barging up to my apartment, demanding I make changes to my bike, and then you get mad at me when I tell you not to waste your time. Look in the mirror, sweetheart, and then come back with the right to tell me I'm an asshole.”

Fuck. You shouldn’t like the way he says sweetheart, but it causes your throat to dry up. “I tried to be nice to you,” You say. “You’re the one that got defensive and rude.”

“Nice? Maybe in your little dreamland that's what you think you were doing. Maybe you even believe that you were just being friendly and reasonable, I don't know. But in reality, all you were doing was pissing me off and acting like some sort of entitled princess.” He takes a step closer to you, his finger pointed in your face. “But one thing is certain. I’m not changing anything about my bike just to make you happy.”

He’s so close to you that it makes your head spin. You step back again, leaning against the railing surrounding his small porch. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame me for being upset.”

He doesn't seem interested in letting you off the hook yet, not when he looks so close to snapping. “It doesn't matter if you're upset or not. You don't get what you want by coming here and giving me an attitude like a fucking brat.”

You swallow hard. Fuck. You shouldn’t be attracted to this man, he was rude as hell and didn’t seem to care that he was inconveniencing not only you but everyone in the building. But you couldn’t help yourself. He was so pretty, and he smelled so good, and his voice was so nice. You were going to have to change your panties when you got back home. 

You stand up straight, trying to stay headstrong. “You’re being incredibly rude about this.”

“And you're being incredibly entitled. There's only one of us that needs to change here, and it's not me.” He narrows his eyes, his gaze still burning into you.

You lick your lips. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere by arguing.”

He gives another one of those short, sharp laughs. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip. “You finally said something smart. I didn’t know it was so difficult for you. Now, are you ready to accept that you're not going to get what you want, or do you want to keep wasting my time?”

Your eyes narrow. What the fuck? “Excuse me? Did you just call me dumb?”

A smirk spreads across his lips. “You heard me. Or did you need me to repeat it for you?”

You let out a sharp laugh, moving off of his porch. “You know what? Fuck you.”

He raises his eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. “Oh, so you've switched from demanding to insults? Real mature, aren't you?”

You head over to your apartment, laughing again. “I should’ve known trying to reason with you would be impossible.” 

He calls after you. “You're damn right it's impossible. You come here, make some demands, and then get mad when I tell you no. You're a spoiled brat who always gets her way, aren't you? Well, today's a bad day for you, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, holding the door to your apartment open. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He says, smirking slightly. “I’m not into brats like you. I think you need to be taken down a few pegs. You need someone to put you in your place.”

You scoff and flip him off before slamming the door behind you, and just like that, you have given up. 

He leans against his door, crossing his arms and smiling as he watches you leave, his eyes on your ass. He’s just a tiny bit disappointed that you gave up so quickly. He's got to admit, it was pretty fun messing with you, watching how angry you get. He thought you looked cute like that, your cheeks all red and flustered.

Maybe next time…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

dedicated to the lovely @whereflowerswenttodie

#keikiwrites #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #biker!megumi #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk megumi #enemies to lovers #slow burn #neighbors to lovers #✿: megumi! #f!reader

[fox-fic-and-ink]

warning- torture, violence, Hazbin Hotel typical etc

I can't help that I like Alastor equally dapper and disturbing. Formal apologies to Husk as I keep making him the target in all my works. The downside of being a favorite. 😭

Also. Am I the only one who thinks those wings are a trophy/threat above Husk's bar??? I may not be long/deep enough in the fandom to have seen it discussed but the moment I first saw them, my brain was firing on all cylinders. They dont match him exactly but the vibe and the symbolism are there!!! And who is to say Sinners dont reform in stages in Hell? Those could be new wings that didn't have a chance to mature and form the cute little poker chips before Alastor ripped them off and mounted them.

What I'm saying is I do believe the torture demon did some torture. Ha! I believe Husk did too but that's a separate long post about a separate fic.

Anywho...Alastor being a smug, creepy, asshole makes me happy. He is so not a Huskdust fan. *tosses some WIPS below*

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin husk #huskerdust #huskdust #fanfic #wip snippet #husk/angel

[kurosstuff]

Feel free to ignore this if it's too confusing, I myself got a lil confused while writing this.

A'ight so.

✨siren!vaggie x human!fisherman!reader x siren!charlie✨

One of the two gets overly curious and gets caught in one of readers nets, maybe charlie (sounds like smth she would do) and reader finds her and vaggie trying to get her out. Reader pulls out her fish knife to cut the net but vaggie gets the wrong idea and tries to stubornly fight her on land with her bare hands while the reader is franticaly trying to explain that she just wants to help. Just some silly first meeting shenanigans.

OMG Y3S- THIS IS SUCU A GOOD IDEA HELLOz

Also Idk anything fishing. I went fishing once when I was a little kid also short fic♡♡

LIKE UH- Charlie being a siren which? Are cruel creatures the counterpart to mermaids who are innocent(in a human aspect) kind? Like she actually is? He'll y3ah.

Siren! Charlie x fisherman!reader x Siren!Vaggie: unexpected meeting

Being a fisherman is fun- you don't have to worry about other humans stealing from you. Not usually- nor interacting with them. Just can sit back on a your deck waiting for something to catch in your net.

But there's a huge downside. You'll have encounters with other monsters. Land or sea doesn't matter. But- the one you've always hoped to never encounter. The one you like all over fisherman were warned about.

Sirens.

As beautiful as they are- just like mermaids yet oh so different. Known for luring any human to crash or to get into the water. To eat. Hell apparently- they don't always need to eat. They hunt for sport.

They hunt humans for fun

Shivering at the thought, you hummed, having to be more cautious as you set a net out into the ocean humming softly. Apparently, more monsters have been spotted - blinking, you turned hearing your name be called seeing the grumpy old man go up to you huffing. "You be careful, ok, kid?" The man grumbled the as usual Beer in his hand, making you frown - raising an eyebrow, he grunted "you don't know do you?"

"Know what-"

"The fucking siren sightings" he cut you off growling glaring in the water "twos been spotted near the town. You gotta be careful. You know the rules with handling them, right?" Seeing you nod, he hummed, patting your shoulder "after you're done. Come to my bar. I'll get you a drink. On the house. Owe you one anyways-" without waiting, he walked off.

Sighing, you nodded, slowly moving to set out your net. Never was a fan of using the pole. Making sure it was ready, you cast it into the water moving to sit on the chair you brought along sighing.

Now. You wait.

-

It was uneventful. Hours you waited. Nothing- it usually didn't take this long to get a pull from any fish. It was always active. Now? It wasn't. Like the fishes weren't around.

It was weird.

You almost gave up abour to pull the net in calling it a day- wasn't unrare of getting nor good pulls. Just rare to get none.

Before a pull from the net making you grin, "YES!" You cheerer pulling the net in- needing to use more force "fuck big catch today huh-" taking so much longer to pull in then usual.

You wondered what fish you caught' or like your luck. What trash did you bring in

But the second you pulled the net our. You stared at the being in the net. "What the fuck" you choked out confused at what you were even looking at.

A siren.

A fucking siren is in your net.

"H-hi, my names Charlie-" the siren spoke speaking, but you didn't really hear her as you stared. Confused. "So uh.. can you.. let me go?"

"But.. your.. a siren. You'll know?" Gesturing to her claws making her look down yelping looking up at you like a kicked puppy. As if you just told her a horrifying thing

"I'd never hurt a human!" She stuttered out, shaking her hands,"not intentionally - accidentally yeah sure their like super fragile, but.. no- no- sorry i -" she rambled. Blinking, the more you watched, the more you sighed. She - wasn't actually that dangerous. Well. She is. All sirens are

But she was like- a puppy? A sea puppy,

"Ok"

She froze, looking up at you, confused, her rambling cut short "ok I'll get you free-... need to get my knife to cut you free. That's the only way ok?" Seeing her nod, you hummed, pulling out your large knife walking to her

A bubbling noise was heard as you cut the net freeing her- not seeing her panicked face. As she watched the water. "Hey, you ok -" you were cut off by a blur jumping out of the water snarling loudly with a deep hiss charging right at you

"VAGGIE! NO-" the one siren from the net screamed out as another jumped onto you cutting your arm making you kick her off scared- terrified.

Is this how you die? From helping a siren? To be killed by another?

How unlucky can you be?

Holding your cut arm from the grumpy snarling siren- apparently named Vaggie as Charlie? You think - rushed forward, smiling, acting as if she was a mermaid. But - she's a siren, right? "Oh! Yes! I am a siren! But uh.. don't worry, me and Vaggie won't hurt you well... not again!" Charlie laughed awkwardly, rubbing her neck making you flush in embarrassment.

You said that aloud.

Sighing, glancing at vaggie, kicking the knife you used to free the taller siren for from you praying. That wasn't a mistake the snarling slowed, calming down "no no- i- sorry I was just trying to get some food- I uh- didnt mean to trap you.. didn't know sirens like- came here?"

Charlie grinned, nodding excited "oh! Me and my girlfriend Vaggie-" gesturing to the grumpy siren who glared you down "were cutting through were to meet with some mermaids-!" Smiling happy ad you hummed

"Mermaids? Seriously. Ok- Charlie, right?" Seeing her nod in agreement, making you hum softly "the mermaids aren't here. Well not now. Their off doing some hunting and what not. But careful you two. People know your here and not everyone will be nice like I am to you two"

That caused Vaggie to be on edge more so then she was already while Charlie? Didn't look worried at all.

Which concerned you.

"Wait' Charlie- don't tell me are you still gonna continu-" you were cut off by Charlie jumping into the lake. Swimming off as Vaggie stared at you. Unreadable

"I'm sorry" she spoke for the first time Grunting it out as if she never- or hardly spoke or apologied "Charlie does this. Jumps into things without much thought" making you nod slowly trying to understand- before you could reply to her.

She was gone. Following Charlie.

Staring off watching them both disappear you sighed. "..that's it I quit" you grumbled turning to pack up

#hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie #MONSTER AU

[jacks347]

I've had this Bastard Warrior mafia AU for GB rolling around in my head for a good long while so imma lay the bare bones here in hopes it'll motivate me to finish the fic-

Cindergorn Casino, one of the last businesses in New Tennessee that hasn't fallen into mafia hands.

How?

Because of the relationship between a worker and a certain...protector that has made every other family looking to get their hands on it absolutely terrified.

You can thank Miss Faith, a humble poker table attendant that has been loyal to the casino for many years. She has a bit of a following that forms her regular customers, known for having a bit of a bite to her attitude that draws people in.

Namely one hot-headed enforcer from the biggest family in the city that's known for having a playboy attitude and a short temper.

Albus bounces between the casino and The Forge, a popular bar a few streets up where he languishes with one of the bartenders. Devlin, a kind man with a prosthetic arm from an...incident when he joined the family.

Faith caught Albus’s eye after watching her lay into a cheater she caught at her table one night. He was shit at cards (though he'd never admit to it) but getting to be around someone so interesting was enough to make him learn.

Now the other informants and enforcers that wanted to take the casino for themselves and their families are too terrified to attempt it because if word got back to Albus that some greedy mafia executive had control over his faithful attendant, he'd raise hell.

Whether or not she knows, no one can tell. The downside of trying to read a poker attendant, they have the best poker face out of everyone at the table.

And that's the vague idea. Maybe now I'll actually finish it-

#asmr roleplay #good boy audios #gba bastard warrior #bastard warrior #gba albus #gba faithful #gba devlin #mafia au #i really need to finish this #its such a cool concept #but brain says no #maybe now ill do it #we'll see #stay tuned

[freak-accident419]

Masterlist

(divider by @cafekitsune) All of my JHutch fics in one place :) all is gender neutral reader! <3

⭐️ - my personal favorites

Josh Futturman:

File Room Confessions | WC: 1.5k | Summary: You and Josh snoop into the employee records room to find more information about his biotic co-workers. However, one conversation leads to another.

⭐️ Good Tidings | WC: 2.9k | Summary: You and Josh barely have any time to yourselves due time traveling nonstop, trying to save the fate of humanity. However, being at the Futturman’s Christmas dinner party granted you two a fair amount of time. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

His Silver Lining | WC: 2.7k | Summary: Josh had been adjusting fairly well to the year 2000 after tragically getting stuck in it. Though for quite a while, he had developed a crush on you ever since he first met you during his new job at Blockbuster. He finally gets the courage to ask you out—which was inviting you over at his place to watch a horror movie.

⭐️ Make Me (Joosh/J-Futz x Reader) | WC: 3.7k | Summary: You come by Joosh’s house a year since you’ve broken up with him, after realizing you left your box of important belongings there. Seeing each other again after a long time sparked not only bitterness and resumed arguments, but also unresolved tension. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

⭐️ “Hachi Machi!” | WC: 2.2k | Summary: After coming back to 2017 from ‘69, Josh realizes that his and Tiger and Wolf’s interference made some ripples in his timeline, such as the gun hanging in his parent’s house, the Blapple, Ray disappearing, and ultimately Dr. Kronish working alongside Stu Camilo. He’s relieved to know that you are still his partner in this timeline, but when one thing leads to another, he discovers one small change about you. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

The Little Things | WC: 1.8k | Summary: Upset that Josh has been overly stressed and traumatized recently, you decide to surprise him with a short getaway, a temporary escape—you were going to take him to see a dinosaur.

Billy (Burn 2019):

⭐️ Good Lucking Boy - Part 1 | WC: 3.4k | Part 2 | WC: 3.0k | Part 3 | WC: 3.1k | Summary: You go to a gas station and notice something peculiar. Immediately after, you wake up and acknowledge your current situation: in a chair, tied up to a stranger with your backs to each other, with restraints promising no way out. While you two figure out a plan to escape, you bond in the process.

Strange Honey | WC: 2.4k | Summary: One night at a bar, you meet a very mysterious man with a burn on the side of his face. As the tense and strained person you see him as, you decide to offer him some ease, giving the wannabe cowboy one hell of a ride. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

⭐️ depollute me, gentle angel | WC: 2.7k | Summary: It’s been days ever since the incident at Paradise Pumps. Days ever since Melinda. Days ever since Billy ran into your arms immediately after coming back home. They say time heals all wounds. But they’re never really truly gone. (TW: implications of past SA)

Mike Schmidt:

Baby Fever | WC: 2.0k | Summary: You never liked babies. You always believed they were burdensome and irritating. However, after having a baby lay peacefully in your arms, you made the decision—you wanted to raise one with your husband, Mike.

⭐️ Isn’t it Ironic? | WC: 2.8k | Summary: You attend an old friend’s wedding that you were surprisingly invited to. One downside—it was raining when everybody least expected it. Lucky that the whole ceremony and party were indoors, the event prospered, and you meet someone during the reception.

Derek Danforth:

High On You (GN!AFAB!Reader) | WC: 1.2k | Summary: You read over the statistics and analytics for Derek’s company, as he requested. Except, while you do this, you’re on his bed, lower half of your body exposed as he does lines of cocaine on your thigh—then he eats you out. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

⭐️ Ya Ne Prava | WC: 4.4k | Summary: Because everyone seemed to fail him, Derek Danforth decided to call you up to kill Mr. Clay. You are an assassin that had an intimate, yet complicated relationship with Derek in the past, sharing a bittersweet history together. You realize that you’re going against a Beekeeper, and felt obligated to spend one last night with your old lover, as this mission doesn’t guarantee your survival. But you’d do anything for him—even if it meant dying for him. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

⭐️ Soft Spot | WC: 1.7k | Summary: After a long, frustrating day of work, Derek comes back home to you for comfort. Being the tough, asshole-ish, and reckless man he was on the outside, he easily melts into you with sweetness and submission. After all, he had such a soft spot for you

You Were Everything (GN!AFAB!Reader) | WC: 2.3k | Summary: It’s been a few years since the divorce. When you accidentally got pregnant by Derek, he left immediately out of fear, leaving you pregnant all alone. Compromises and communication had become established and all he could do now was call your daughter. But one day, just like some others, he asks to see her in person again.

You Can’t Spell ‘FWB’ without ‘Friend’ | WC: 2.9k | Summary: Ever since the night before, you and Derek had become best friends with benefits. Bored at a fancy rich person party, you two decide to hook up again. However, when you’re inexplicably taken out of the mood, you two decide to do something else for the night: hang out like the best friends you were. (18+ content, MDNI)

⭐️ That’s A Wrap | WC: 3.5k | Summary: You and Derek are pornstars. Filming your next video, things start to go wrong and you two just end up messing around and having a laugh together. However, as your laughs diminishes, things begin to become increasingly intimate between the two of you. (smut, 18+ content, MDNI)

Clapton Davis:

The Unlikely Postulate of Clapton’s Love Life | Headcanons

Sean Anderson:

Not yet :(

Franklin Fox:

Not yet :(

#josh futturman #future man #josh futturman x reader #future man x reader #future man 2017 #billy burn x gn!reader #billy burn #billy burn x reader #burn 2019 #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #clapton davis x reader

[montrealmadison]

Congratulations on 400 followers! I’m newish to the fandom and your blog was one of the first I followed!

Pair: Nursey/Dex

Song: 28

Vibes: first date (can include smut if it fits in)

Congratulations again!!!!

thank you so much and welcome to the fandom!! this is only the second time i've written nurseydex and it's an honor to do so for you ❤️ i did not manage to squeeze the smut in but i did provide the lead-up so i hope that's acceptable. please enjoy these banana nut muffins being dorky and awkward on their two first dates

28. nurseydex + first date + I Love You More Than You Think by Rizzie Kicks for @hrtstppr95

I think that we know that we know each other really well I know I wanna know you for the rest of my life Because no matter the length of time that’s gone by When I see you, it’s fine It’s like I just saw you last night 

Dex is thinking about why fancy restaurants invest in stupid shit when Nursey says, “Poindexter, I don’t think this is working.”

Their table is a good one, tucked into a private corner and partially hidden by a big potted plant. The downside to this is that apparently nobody thought to install overhead lighting in this swanky Boston seafood bar, and the candle holder—which, for some reason, is shaped like a miniature lobster wearing a chef’s coat—is doing a terrible job at casting light on the worried expression that Nursey is wearing. Dex looks down at his clenched hands in his lap and can’t help but mirror what he can see of the frown.

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God, he knew he was going to fuck this up. Dex doesn’t do a lot of standing on ceremony, but even he can admit that first dates are a big deal, that they deserve care. When Nursey had come to him with this grand plan for a fancy, candlelit dinner, his treat, he’d known it might be uncomfortable, that he might have to pretend to get it. This kind of thing isn’t him, not at all.

But it is Nursey. He looks right here, casually elegant in a blazer he doesn’t wear to games, half-empty glass in his hand with the ice clinking soft at the bottom. He’s been so excited for this, talking it up all week to anyone who’d listen. Of course it’s Dex who doesn’t fit in. Four years in this weird parallel world to the one he’s used to and he still can’t make himself take the shape of someone who belongs in both.

“No,” he agrees, eyes dropping back to his hands. There’s a long fresh scar along the base of his thumb, the brightest thing in the room. “Sorry.”

“Shit—Dex, no.”

Nursey’s hand appears in his field of view, warm and brown and stark against the tablecloth. Dex looks up, surprised, and finds Nursey’s face much better lit and clearly concerned.

“I just meant, like—you look uncomfy, dude.” He bounces the outstretched hand lightly on the table until Dex reaches up to still it with his own. “Are you having a good time?”

“Oh.” He feels wrongfooted by how much Nursey notices. “Uh, yeah, I guess… not really.” 

The thought’s only out there for half a second before he scrambles after how wrong it sounds in the air between them. “I mean, with you, yeah. But it’s, um, fancy here. Didn’t wanna… ugh, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” Nursey considers the watery Coke in the bottom of his glass, then drains it in one. “That’s not on you, ‘kay? I should have thought of that.”

The ensuing silent discussion, born of many years of finely honed skill at arguing silently on the ice, leads to an agreement that they need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Nursey flags down the server for the check; Dex lets go of Nursey’s hand on the table and spends the next ten minutes cussing out the stupid lobster, who, thankfully, does not respond.

They don’t speak again until they’re back in Nursey’s (asshole) Jeep. The parking lot is packed; the only space they’d been able to find is out in the farthest row from the restaurant, looking down the hill that faces Route 9. The air is freezing in the way that precedes a blizzard. Every leaf is crackling with frost, and even with the doors closed and the engine shuddering to life, Dex can see his breath.

He can see Nursey’s, too, when he says, “Dude, I’m really sorry.”

“S’okay.” Dex shivers. “Really. Not your fault I can’t hang.”

“Poindexter, come on.” The collar of Nursey’s sweater is folded funny over the top of his coat. Dex’s eyes stick on it. “That’s not it. I should have picked somewhere we would both have fun.”

Asshole Dex says in his head, Oh, you think? 

Civilized Human Dex, perched on his other mental shoulder, says, Hey, you agreed to this. Be an adult. 

Dex the Walking Basket Case tips his head back into the seat and wonders how long the chirps would last if he fessed up to talking to himself like this. Out loud he says, “It’s really okay, Nurse. ‘Sides, night’s young.”

Nursey turns the heat up as high as it’ll go, makes that noise that means okay, I’ll bite. He reaches over and folds Dex's fingers into the warmth of his palm, a conciliatory gesture that Dex can never admit makes him feel all soft in the middle like a homemade Bittle pie. “That’s true,” he says. “Any ideas?”

Dex leans on the cold window, lets it chill his overheated skin. Without really thinking about it, he says, “We could go skate.” 

It’s more to break the silence that’s fallen than anything else. When he turns back around, though, it’s to find Nursey looking at him with interest.

“What, at Faber?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it locked?”

Against all odds, Dex finds himself smirking. “Come on, Nurse, I’m the captain. You think I don’t have keys to our own rink?”

Nursey’s grinning too, now. This is what Dex loves and hates about him, the way it comes so easily. He never wants that to change, no matter how much he used to tell himself otherwise. Despite this failure of a night, he thinks, he’s happy.

“Well,” Nursey drawls. “‘Swawesome.”

He pulls their hands apart and squeezes Dex’s thigh twice. Dex bats him away, smile stretching despite himself, and says, “Just drive.”

---

Faber is cold and quiet, no signs of life but the hum of the heating vents far above. Dex hits the ice first, sketches a long, curving line towards the box and then back toward the bench. He can’t really see Nursey, but hears him follow through the dark just the same.

The air between them is suddenly charged, heavy. They don’t speak. They don’t even really skate together, each carving their own loops at opposite ends of the ice, watching each other out of the corners of their eyes. Dex feels oddly naked. It’s a weird combination of silk tie and suit pants and his grimy skates, marked up by the years.

He stops on the blue line, bracketed by a big white square of moonlight. The windows are gorgeous, especially without the fluorescents to compete, framing the sky and the spreading branches of the linden tree that Shitty always told the story about getting stuck in. In three or four months they’ll play their last game here, a thought that settles leaden and cold in Dex’s stomach. He watches a cloud pass over the moon. If there’s someone out there to hear him, he thinks, then let them hear him wish, desperately, for five more minutes.

Someone does hear, because there’s sudden warmth at his back. Nursey’s chin settles heavy on his shoulder, and his hands curl around Dex’s bare forearms. Dex leans back and lets Nursey hold him for no reason other than that he likes to, and Dex likes it when Nursey likes the things he does.

“Feel better?”

It’s a whisper. Dex’s whole body goes cold, then hot.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good,” says Nursey, nosing into the side of Dex’s neck. “Nice save.”

Dex shrugs and feels Nursey’s head move with him. He has the weirdest sense that the two of them have become the same being, moving in tandem, breathing as one. “I wouldn’t mind doing dinner again,” he says. “Don’t want you to think it wasn’t a good date.”

Nursey frees his thumbs from where they’re tucked under his fingers and runs his hands lightly up and down Dex’s arms. “Well, I’m flattered,” he says. “Still. We’re just two college idiots, man, no need for fine dining just yet. Sorry.”

Annoyance sparks in Dex’s gut. He was starting to enjoy this, feels like he doesn't need to be reminded every five minutes of how sorry they both are about the whole thing. “Will you stop apologizing,” he groans, and goes to turn around, but Nursey’s massive hands clamp down swiftly on his arms, and he freezes in place.

“No,” Nursey says.

Dex’s heart is suddenly slamming against his ribs, just like that. Huh. Mood officially un-killed.

“As a matter of fact,” he continues, “I was thinking about how to make it up to you.”

Oh—oh. 

Dex is not the poetry guy of the two of them, but Nursey makes him feel like that last long look before a kiss. Maybe they don’t make sense together. Maybe they’re only going to belong in each other’s lives for a little while. College relationships can be like that. But here, now, Dex is in the place where he and Nursey became a team twice, and that means something. Dex knows it does.

“Yes,” he says.

Nursey finally releases him and spins him around so they’re facing each other. He quirks an eyebrow, but he’s smiling, and the moon in his eyes is huge and bright.

“You didn’t even hear my proposition, Poindexter. I had this whole—”

Dex cuts him off with a kiss. The two of them together might not be logical or satisfying, but they’re a damn good twist ending, and besides. The night is young, and he knows what he wants.

When he says yes again, Nursey just shakes his head, laughs, and pulls him towards the tunnel to the locker room.

#will poindexter #derek nurse #nurseydex #omgcp #omgcheckplease #my writing #efickegster 2024 #this was such a fun one #i would really like to write the smut this was just getting too long #would def come back to this one #anyway ENJOY

[toburnup]

Is there a way you personally think people should support your fics?

Whenever I write I’ve always been a ‘I’m grateful someone read it even if they didn’t enjoy it’ type of person but recently I’ve seen a lot (like seriously a lot) of people saying, if you don’t comment on fics (on ao3) you aren’t supporting them or the creator. I know I don’t feel that way about what I write because I’m not really a good writer and I’m just happy if one person likes it because that means someone took time out of their day to read but now I think maybe I’m an asshole for not like commenting on everyone’s fics?

You’re like the best writer of fics imo so I’m wondering how you feel about all of it? And I’m sorry that I haven’t left any comments on your work if that’s truly the correct way to support!

well. this has been a topic of conversation for a long time, and everyone will have a different take on this, but here's mine.

the downside to reading without commenting is that hits on their own.... don't really mean anything. hits just mean someone opened it, it doesn't even mean that they read it. i've opened lots of fics, started reading, found out it wasn't for me and closed it. it still registers my hit. kudos means they technically scrolled to the end of the page and clicked a button. they're nice, but i consider kudos w/o a comment to be the equivalent of "i didn't hate it" (i'm sure many would disagree, but this is my take!)

so, yes, i'm a firm believer in leaving comments. i will always comment on a fic when i read it, because if i had 5-10 minutes to read a fic, i have 30 seconds to write a quick comment. if i had an hour to read a fic, i have 5 minutes to write a longer comment. but i have the same mentality for eating out - i only go out to eat when i have the $ to leave a tip.

obviously, there are some fics where i end up leaving much longer comments, but i build that into my reading time (so if i'm about to read a friends fic where i know i'm gonna Ramble, i hold off until i have adequate time). does that mean i sometimes don't get to fics right away? yes. but for my own sake, i'd rather read it and write a comment while it's fresh.

i don't think you're an asshole lol, but i think you're kind of devaluing comments. and devaluing your effort as a writer! you're putting hours of free work into something they enjoyed, i don't think it's too much for you to ask for people who engage w/ your work to leave a comment.

the biggest pushback i see from people who don't comment is that it takes a long time, or that they don't know what to say. and to that, i say: i have people who simply leave a 💕 in a comment and that's enough. it still tells me way more than a lone kudos. and the people who put the time into leaving longer comments are just my heroes. the backbone of fandom, imo (my repeat essay commenters are like.... truly amazing, amazing people).

confession, i used to be a kudos-no-comment reader. i still remember the first comment i left as an adult (this was a few years ago) - it was on a WIP that hadn't been updated in ? a couple months, and i was like. i NEED to tell this person how much i loved this. and i felt stupid as hell writing the comment, but i powered through out of sheer stubbornness. and the author replied, and they said something like "i've been struggling writing the next chapter, and this helped!" and then they fucking updated the fic like 2 days later 😭😭 it changed me, i swear. so, with that...

comments are especially important for ongoing fics, because people will only leave a kudos once. that ratio of hits:kudos:comments can mess with the author (like 1000 hits, 100 kudos, and 10 comments is significant!). that's why i'm (now) a big believer in reading WIPs and supporting them along the way, it's disheartening to see the hits go up and nothing else.

i'm very grateful for the amount of comments i get! i think i'm really lucky in this way. occasionally i'll get a comment from someone who tells me they've never commented on any fic before, and like!! yay! the first one is toughest, but it only gets easier after that.

another important aspect of comments is it builds relationship between the reader and writer. i love seeing familiar usernames and icons, and i notice when people haven't commented in a while and it always makes me happy when they pop up again. i also really like replying to comments. it takes... multiple hours but it's my favourite part of the process second to writing the fic itself. i also occasionally will poke around on someone's profile and if they've written a fic, i'll give it a read. it's a good way to make new friends.

anyway. i'm not saying all this to tell you to comment on my fics, but more to gently encourage you to reframe how you think about comments in general. it's like... why we clap at the end of concerts. just because we're in the room doesn't mean we enjoyed the show, so we do things like cheer! clap! scream! we make our opinion heard.

comments are like clapping 💙 it's free to do, and shows our appreciation. why wouldn't we do that?

#long post #on fanfiction #vio answers #thank you for asking! #ao3 #comments are like reblogging on tumblr #(altho rb'ing is easier) #it's simple and free!! just do it

[artiststarme]

The Long-Lost Wheeler

This fic is based on this post from @kcsplace! I'm sorry it was such a long wait but thanks for letting me use your idea! There was no way I could compress all of my ideas into a one-shot so this will be a series. I hope you like it!

~*~*~*~

Eddie had never known who his mom was. He didn’t know her name or what she looked like. All he knew was that she left him with his dad when he was barely two months old and never turned around to look back. He would dream of meeting her as a child. His childish mind would dream up faceless women hugging him, making him lunch, playing games with him, and anything else moms were supposed to do with their sons. He would imagine being part of a happy family when he saw the other kids at school getting picked up by their moms and dads. 

After so many disappointments though and so many years gone by, he gave up hope on ever meeting her. She didn’t want anything to do with her own kid? He didn’t want anything to do with her. The nameless, faceless woman that gave birth to him was nothing but a surrogate in his mind. Just a stranger that brought him into this hard world to abandon him when the going got rough. From then on, he viewed her with little more than mild disinterest. 

Whenever he had asked his dad about her, he never had anything good to say. Old Richie Munson said she was a manipulative bitch that was always too good for everyone around her, always looking to find something better. His old man would get upset whenever Eddie brought her up and on one fateful occasion, shaved his entire head because ‘he looked too much like her’. After that, Eddie never asked his dad about her again. 

A few months after he moved in with Uncle Wayne, he felt safe enough to ask him if he knew who his mother was. Wayne was a lot more tactful and nice with his description of her. He told Eddie that she was just a scared lady, unsure of what she wanted and too skittish to take care of little Eddie with his dad. He made her sound like leaving Eddie was a byproduct of escaping his dad and Eddie lost some of his anger towards her after that. He’d been trying to get away from his dad for eleven years, he couldn’t fault her for fleeing when she had the chance. 

He thought about her even less after the Upside Down once he had a group of friends close enough to call family. They filled the void that his dysfunctional and fractured family had left behind. He also found an unexpected best friend in Nancy Wheeler. They had a lot more in common than he thought they would and they got on like a house on fire. Things were finally going well for Eddie which was ironic since it was a near death experience and week in hell that led to it. 

Hellfire was back in action after being banned from the school due to its “Satanic connotations” and was now being hosted in the Wheeler’s basement. Eddie didn’t have his throne anymore or his chalice of Mountain Dew and it smelled a bit like a sweaty armpit. However, he was surrounded by his friends and the happiness he felt more than made up for the downsides. 

They were on their fourth day of the campaign when everything blew up. The entirety of Hellfire club was situated around the Wheeler’s kitchen on the singular snack break that Eddie allowed over the course of the day. All of the boys were talking amongst each other while Eddie relaxed against the counter happily watching his friends being happy and munching on baby carrots. Everything was fine until Karen Wheeler walked in carrying several grocery bags that Eddie immediately went to help her with. 

“Here, I can help you with that,” he said, leaning down to her height to take some of the heavier bags out of her arms. 

“Oh, thank you. Mike never helps with the groceries, you would think one would want to help their mother-” Karen abruptly stopped talking once she made eye contact with Eddie. He stalled a bit in response before setting the bags down on the counter next to where he was previously situated. 

She nodded at him jerkily before moving over to Mike and dragging him by the ear just out of sight, not out of hearing though. Eddie could hear what she said loud and clear. 

“Michael, what is he doing here? You didn’t tell me that you were going to have that… that boy over to my house!” She sounded pissed and Eddie narrowed his eyes as he listened. 

“Who, Eddie? He’s my friend, I told you he was coming over. You said it was okay for me to have my friends over to play Dungeons and Dragons today!”

“I want him out of my house, Michael. Don’t invite him over again, he’s not welcome here.”

“What the hell, mom? Why? He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Now, Michael!”

Eddie didn’t know what the fuck was going on but he knew when he wasn’t wanted. Prior to the Spring Break from Hell, he would have rebelled and relished in the unease his presence caused. However, with the majority of the town still gunning for his arrest even after he was proven innocent, he knew not to make waves. 

When Mike turned the corner into the kitchen, still glowering and angry, Eddie clapped his hands to gather the rest of Hellfire’s attention. “Alright my fellow gremlins, let’s call it a day. We’ll resume our merciless quest next Friday. Expect a call with the updated Hellfire destination sometime next week. Godspeed.” 

Understandably this caused an uproar with the Hellfire members protesting and even Mike tried to convince Eddie to stay. “No, no, no, we’re all done for the day. We don’t want to overstay our welcome. We’ll wrap up the campaign next week. End of discussion!”

He gave everyone one last look and made this way back downstairs to pack up his things. He didn’t really blame her, he thought as he grabbed his things hastily. He wouldn’t want an alleged murderer in his house either. When he made his way past Karen on his way out of the house, he paused in front of her. 

“Thanks for letting us play here a few times. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, Mrs. Wheeler. I didn’t mean to. We’ll meet somewhere else next time,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

And with that he walked out of the Wheeler’s house with the dulcet sounds of Mike screaming at his mother following behind him. 

When he brought it up to Nancy just a few days later, she was perplexed. She had no idea on why her mother would be so vocally against having Eddie in the house. Karen Wheeler was known to be the perfect doting mother. To have her kick Eddie out of her home and to hate him so blatantly was almost unfathomable. She told Eddie that she would get to the bottom of it and she did. She didn’t expect to discover that Eddie was her long-lost brother that her mother abandoned. Now how was she supposed to tell Eddie?

Permanent tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @kcsplace

#steve harrington has a type and they're related #Nancy and Eddie are best friends after Spring Break #this was supposed to be a one-shot but got a little bit out of hand #the long lost wheeler #stranger things #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #karen wheeler #eventual steddie

[kirawaswrong]

ocean wave blues come

summary: Things at work have been hectic, but you and Chuuya can find solace even in the smallest moments.

pairing: chuuya nakahara x gn! reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 1.4k (A shorty, but a goody!)

warnings: Language, slightly suggestive at one point

note: Hello! Thank you so much for your support on my other fics. This is just a little sweet idea that kind of came out of nowhere and I had to get out. Also maybe next I’ll write a proper smut fic. Hope you enjoy!

Working for the Port Mafia had its perks. There was notoriety, the pay was good, and everyone in Yokohama knew not to fuck with you. The job also had its downsides. Every day, the violence you faced would be enough to make most grown men cower in fear. Your safety was never guaranteed. It was hard to get close to coworkers, as they may not live to see another day. But as hard as those conditions were to endure, they became part of the job.

The past few weeks had been particularly tough. Many goods were being traded at once. The exasperating ADA kept interloping on mafia turf. And, within the organization, traitors had to be dealt with on a daily basis. 

While you and your peers were being run ragged, you could only imagine the stress Chuuya was under.

Chuuya Nakahara was an executive of the Port Mafia. He had to a short fuse, could come off as abrasive, and was a threat to any enemies that crossed his path. And he was also your boyfriend.

He’d been your trainer, which was why you were so good at hand-to-hand combat. The two of you became close and began dating shortly after training ended. 

It was important for both of you to separate your work and romantic relationships. Chuuya was still your superior, and you gained no special treatment from dating him. Though you were friendly during working hours, you showed no displays of affection. Per your mutual request, Mori seldom sent you on missions together. 

This made the last few weeks hell for your relationship.

At the end of a long workday, Chuuya would often give you a ride back to his place. He’d open up an expensive bottle of red wine and pour two glasses. You’d overlook the city in his penthouse and talk about your day. Bitching about work and how stupid some people were often help you both feel better. If that didn’t work, taking things to the bedroom often did. His heavy-lidded blue eyes peeked from between your thighs. He did unspeakable things to you with his fingers and his tongue. It was hard to remember your worries when he scrambled your mind.

Those nights were nonexistent now. You rarely got off of work at the same time. When you did, you were both so exhausted that you went to your own homes and passed out.

On a busy Wednesday morning before work, Chuuya texted you. He invited you to have lunch in his office. This was something you’d never done before.

Part of what made the chaotic weeks so difficult was that you saw Chuuya at work all the time. He headed a meeting at least once a week. You’d walk by him in the halls, going in separate directions. Sometimes, he was the one who ordered you to go on missions. Getting to see him as a coworker and not as your partner somehow made it worse.

The proposition of lunch meant at least 30 minutes of uninterrupted time together. It felt like a life raft entering the vast sea when you’d been treading water for days.

As you limped back from dealing with a vendor who tried to refuse to pay up, you noticed Chuuya’s office was empty. A weapons trade was falling through and he had to go deal with it in person. Work had once again snatched the life raft away. Before you had time to be too upset, you were off on another mission.

At long last, the day was over. The moon hung low in the dark sky. Hardly anyone remained at the base. You knew you should consider yourself lucky, as others would be working until day broke once more. The thought of showering and crashing into your bed was heavenly. As you collected your things, a light at the end of the hall kept your attention. Chuuya’s office.

You had been under a lot of pressure, but you wondered how much more Chuuya must be under. Were the past few weeks even that difficult for him? He’d been at the job much longer than you. His strength and perseverance were admirable, but how did he do it? 

Before you could stop yourself, you were knocking on the oak of his office door. 

“Yeah?” he called out.

For a millisecond, you regretted it. Not out of fear, of course. The days of finding Chuuya intimidating were far behind you. You worried that bothering him may have been the last thing that he needed. What if he wanted to be alone?

With all this in mind, still you peeked inside. 

His office was tidy as usual. An original piece of artwork hung on the wall. His coat and hat hung on a rack by the door. The maroon pillows sat just so on the velvet settee. The anomaly was the mahogany desk, which hid beneath stacks of paper and manila envelopes. Chuuya slouched over the mess, pen in hand. He looked up after receiving no verbal response. The edge in his eyes disappeared and a crooked grin replaced his scowl.

“Hey,” he said. “Come on in.”

Entering his office, shutting the door behind you. Dark circles underlined his eyes, but the brightness in them warmed your heart. 

You leaned against the wall. “Long day?” 

“That’s one way to put it,” he sighed. “Heading home?”

“I was about to. When are you off?”

He glanced at the chaos that was his desk. “At least two more hours.”

“Damn,” you said. “That sucks.”

He chuckled at your bluntness. “All in a day’s work.”

You tried to chuckle along with him.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry I missed lunch.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. Did the trade go through?”

“As well as it could,” he said. “What’d you end up eating?”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “A burger and fries from downtown.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again!” You laughed. “It’s tasty, okay?”

“Wouldn’t kill you to eat a vegetable every now and then, you know?”

“Chuuya,” you trailed off with a playful eye roll. 

“You’re the one that complains about how junk food makes you tired,” he said. 

“Yeah, yeah. Guess I won’t tell you I had a milkshake too then.” 

He made a show of shaking his head at your unhealthy eating habits before checking his watch. “Getting pretty late. Need me to walk you to your car?”

You looked at this man, with his rust-colored hair. The man most of Yokohama knew to fear. The man who cared so much for you, in his curmudgeonly way. Though neither of you said the words “I love you” often, they showed in every action you took toward each other. 

“Actually,” you said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shrugging off your coat, you put your bag on his couch to emphasize your point. 

“Babe,” he said in a soft tone of voice only you had the privilege to hear, “We can’t do anything. I gotta get this shit done.”

You gave a wave of your hand. “I know.”

His eyes trailed you as you retrieved a book from your bag. You took one of the chairs from the front of his desk and placed it next to him. After sitting down, you guested to the stapled sheets in front of him.

“Please, continue.”

“I won’t be good company,” he protested.

“I’m okay with that,” you said. 

He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna sit there for two hours?”

You sighed. “Yeah. I don’t give a shit what you’re doing. As long as I can just be here with you. But, if you want me to leave, I will.”

He blinked, mentally going over what you said. Then the grin reappeared. “Nah, I don’t want you to leave. Sit there and stare all you want.”

You snorted and lifted your book. “I’ll stick to reading, but thank you.”

Chuuya resumed his work, focusing hard on the papers before him. His eyes followed the inky words before he signed the dotted lines with a flourish. 

A few moments into reading your book, warmth and calluses encased your hand. Glancing over, you saw his eyes still raked over the papers. Without missing a beat, he raised the top of your hand to his lips. The tender kiss he pressed to it was the only affection he’d ever given you at work. 

“I’ve missed you, you know,” he murmured, eyes still on the sheaths of paper. 

You squeezed his hand. “Missed you too.”

He nodded and gave a slight smirk. He lowered your entwined hands to the desk and continued working. 

An hour later, you drifted off to sleep. When Chuuya finally finished his work, he drove you home.

#chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs fluff #bsd fluff #bsd fic #bsd x reader #chuuya #bsd #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #mine #bungou stray dogs

[goldenempyrean]

sick elizabeth and reader with “You’re home early?” and “Im not feeling too hot.”

Keep Talking

〚 Notes - Okay so I thought these two reqs paired together well :D Hopefully you enjoy this lil fic :) 〛

〚 Summary - Your day off takes an unexpected turn when a certain somehow comes home from work sick. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1083 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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You’d planned to spend your day off doing nothing but relaxing. Maybe take a long bath, watch some Netflix or catch up on some reading. There really was no limit. But it seemed the day had its own plans in store. It was just after twelve when you were lounging on the couch, scanning over the open book in your hand when you heard the recognisable click of your lock of your door as it swung open. 

“Hello?” You called out while glancing over towards the door, curiosity filling your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone to stop by today. 

To your surprise, it was Lizzie who turned the corner. She looked awful – hell, she felt it too. Her legs so weary with fatigue that the sheer weight of her body is the sole thing keeping her upright and there were distinct smudges of mascara beneath her eyes. 

“Baby?” You looked over her with blatant concern, “You’re home early. Are you okay?” 

Lizzie kicked off her heels with the most pitiful whimper her voice box can muster, sniffling wetly as she holds a very soaked tissue to her face, “They sent me home.” 

“Oh, baby. Come here,” You drop my book and scrambled up to your feet, coming over to Lizzie and taking her in the largest hug you could. There are so many different ways to feel better, but what Lizzie needs right now is love, “You poor thing. What happened?” 

Lizzie's shoulders sink as she surrenders to the support of my embrace. I can feel her forehead rest against my chin, her cheek pressed against the crook of my neck. Her skin is so warm, “I’m not feeling too hot, so my boss said I had to come home.“ 

“Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry you’re not feeling well,” you trailed off, bringing up your hand and pressing it to the side of her cheek, “You do feel hot to me though, are you running a fever or anything?” 

“I don’t know,” Lizzie's voice is a mere murmur as she sinks further into your embrace. Her forehead presses deeper into the base of your collarbone. She couldn’t keep her voice from cracking. But you hold her closer, rubbing your thumb across her cheek as she pouted. The only downside of your close contact was that Lizzie barely had enough time to turn away from you when her nose began, instead she buried her nose in her thoroughly abused tissue. 

“HEh’ktshoo! Heh'ttshoo!” 

Her sneeze is the most pitiful noise you've ever heard. You're not sure if you should laugh or cry. Her sinuses are clearly beyond stuffed up and her head is throbbing, her ears hot and her throat sore. The skin of her face is flushed, and she looks like she hadn’t slept in weeks. It broke your heart. "Oh, honey," you say, squeezing her closer as you gently took the beat tissue from her grasp, “Let me throw that away for you baby, there's some fresh ones in our bedroom, I think. How about you go up and get changed into something comfy and I’ll follow you up with some tea?” 

You felt so bad for her. She looked positively miserable and she deserved all the love and care you could give her—that and more. And as you watched her shuffle her way up the stairs towards your room, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. 

Heading to the kitchen, you threw away her gross tissue and flicked on the kettle, tapping your foot as you waited for the water to boil. Once you'd prepared a piping mug of chamomile with honey, lemon, and a sprinkle of cinnamon, you set off toward the bedroom and quietly knocking at the door to announce your entrance. 

The door creaks open slowly to reveal Lizzie lying on the mattress with her knees tucked up to her chest, face buried in arms wrapped around them, as if to comfort herself. She’s no longer wearing her work clothes. She's in nothing but a baggy T-shirt and worn-out, purple sweatpants. She has a miserable look to her that's hard to describe: at once, sad, and tired, and sick. But she was still somehow adorable. 

You move forward and crouch beside the bed, offering the mug of tea to her and gently placing a hand on her lower back. "Your tea, sweetheart. It should help with your congestion." 

In response to my act of altruism, Lizzie slowly, gingerly reaches for the mug. "Can I have a tissue, too?" she whispers with the gentleness of a dove. In the sunlight, her dark-circled eyes shimmer with the remnants of earlier tears, "You're the best..." The mug quivers in her hands and she takes a hesitant sip, but she soon relaxes, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as the hot liquid helps to soothe her raw throat. 

You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before disappearing into your ensuit bathroom remerging moments later with a box of tissues in your hand and you set the box in her lap with a smile. 

“Thank you.” Lizzie sniffled as she reached forward to swipe a few from the box and she presses the soft tissue to her nose, but it’s still not enough to ward off the incessant itch in her nose, “Hi’hischiew! Hh..HHih'ishu! Heh- He’hhtshoo!” She paused to grab another few tissues, “Ugh, ‘scuse, I’m really sorry if I'm ruining your day off, I can't imagine this is how you planned to spend it.” 

"Awh bless you, don't be absurd though honey," you shook your head as you came to sit beside her on the bed, "My day off isn't ruined at all. I'm glad that I can be here to take care of you.” 

"You're too sweet. I really appreciate this..." Lizzie's eyelids become leaden, and she begins to yawn widely. 

"Come here," You whispered, drawing her against your chest as she laid her head on your shoulder. And you let your hand come to run through her hair as you shuffled the two of you backwards before pulling up the duvet to cover you both, "What else can I do for you, my love?” 

“I don't care what you talk about, can you just keep talking?” She sniffled as she nuzzled into your side, coughing thickly into her elbow before asking, “could you maybe read to me?” 

“Of course, I could sweetie.” You smiled, kissing her forehead again, “Now, which book would you like.” 

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[burningfieldof-clover]

I just read most of your Bad Batch fics and I absolutely love them and I saw your scenarios list and there were so many good options.

I was wondering if you could do a Hunter x Bounty Hunter!Reader with "Chr B meeting chr A's kid in public and helps them out. Which makes the kid like B but B doesn't know it's A's kid." which leads to "They didn't mean for it to turn out this way. But they tried it once and couldn't stop themselves from wanting more."

Hello lovely friend I hope you didn't mind the wait! This is my first time writing for Hunter and I had a blast. Probably... too much fun because I went on and on with this one... Kind of wondering if I should make some mini-fics about the lessons that are referred to in this writing.

lessons learned

warnings: cussing a lot for some reason, general kind of "aw sad" feels, slightly "whoa that's hot" feels at the end

word count: 4307

reader x hunter

Bounty hunting. Not exactly the most glamorous job in the galaxy, but it pays well so who would deny it? It kept your ship running, your belly full. You got to collect some beautiful weapons and some breathtaking views to the places you went.

There was… one downside.

Saying you had an arch nemesis would sound strange. At first thought, you would assume it’s another bounty hunter, right? No. It’s a fucking bounty itself. 

You’ve been chasing him for years. Before the Clone Wars ended, jilted citizens or affected warlords put bounties on this clone’s head for unbelievable rates. At first you thought it must be because he’s so unbelievably dangerous, or committed some kind of unbelievably terrible crime.

No. He’s just good at his job.

Now that the Clone War is over, it’s been corporations or government bodies placing the bounties on him. It didn’t matter who placed the bounty, it was always going to be the same challenge. 

You thought back on the very many times you’ve hunted this clone, the one with a signature red bandana and half a face of a tattoo…

The first time, he made himself known to you with a blaster to your back. He pointed out he could smell the scent of your shampoo. While this was embarrassing as hell, you considered the job failed.

The second time, he found a strand of your hair caught on a tree limb in the forest he was hiding in. With frustration, you now wore a helmet that tucked your hair inside to prevent that situation from happening again.

The third time (or was it the thirtieth time?), he heard your sneeze. He heard your fucking sneeze. From an ungodly amount of distance away.

This has been going for so long. Honestly, you’ve been improving in your craft since you started hunting him. You learned some valuable lessons that most bounty hunters had probably never even thought of. You had a lovely stash of credits and could retire in a couple more years if you wanted.

Another bounty had crossed the database requiring the very clone you rival with. You took it without looking at the prize. You weren’t going to get it. You at least read details of his last known location and plotted the hyperspace jump. With a grin, you leaned back in your chair and propped your feet up on the console. It’s been a while. You could almost say you missed him.

Taking a mental checklist of all the ways you’d failed before, you parked your ship in the most crowded spaceport you could find. It would fit right in and be a little more difficult for him to locate (Lesson 16).

The bounty intel stated that he was headquartered in some kind of cantina that barely deserved to be called one. It had a couple regulars. The owner was a Trandoshan. Jedi used to visit during the war. Sounds simple enough.

A normal bounty hunter would camp out inside and wait for their mark to appear. However, the clone is a master at determining sketchy looking patrons, so that was out. (Lesson 8).

If you tried picking out an inconspicuous high ground, he usually had those covered too (Lesson 29).

If he really has chosen Ord Mantell as his homebase, then integrating yourself into society was going to be your plan. It’s something similar to the infamous long con most deviants live, but this was the next idea on your list of failed attempts at catching him. So, for the next few weeks, you lived on Ord Mantell.

It has felt like a vacation so far. No blaster bolts heading your way, no skeevy guild members to bargain with and absolutely no need to live in the most terrible of situations just to maybe catch your mark. You felt… normal. 

Today you were shopping. You only bought groceries for a few meals at a time so you would have an excuse to familiarize yourself with the setting. You learned the accent present in most humanoids in the area. It would be easy to convince anyone you were a native.

Wandering past a stall that sold a couple gifts and knick-knacks, you paused and browsed for a moment. There were some overpriced jewelry replicas, some small carved toys, a miscellaneous trinket or two… Feeling slightly nostalgic for a moment, you picked up a carved wooden tooka. It reminded you of a doll you had as a kid. How long ago were your younger years? With a longing glance and chuckle, you put it back down and carried on. 

You knew you had everything you needed, yet to continue the charade you started going through your basket of items to appear as though you were checking your shopping list. A small tug on your sleeve pulled away your focus with a start, and you almost reached for the blaster hidden under your groceries, but paused when you found a child to be the cause of the disturbance.

“Hello,” she said with a cheery tone. 

You watched her with skepticism before sounding out a wary “Hello.”

The child had notable blonde hair tucked under a hat and curious brown eyes that watched you. “I noticed that you looked a little sad,” she said with uncertainty and reached in her pocket. “So, I… I got you this. I hoped it would cheer you up.” She held up her hand and in her palm was the wooden tooka you were holding just moments ago.

It wasn’t everyday that a child tries to commit an act of kindness like this, so it warmed your heart slightly. Although, still suspicious. “T-thank you,” you told her quietly. 

A small laugh escaped her mouth. “You’re welcome! My brother has a similar toy that means a lot to him. It looks like it means a lot to you, too.” 

You couldn’t help the grin plastered on your face. “You must have a great brother,” you said as you knelt down to level with the girl.

“I really do!” She smiled at you some more, then held out her hand. “My name is Omega. What’s yours?”

Quickly, you fashioned up a fake name and gave it to her. She repeated it in her bizarre accent. 

“That’s a pretty name. Are you shopping?” Omega asked and pointed her eyes to your basket.

You looked at your basket yourself. Why is it so hard to talk to this kid? Is it really that hard to be social with anyone who isn’t a bounty? “Uh, yeah. I just finished up, actually. I’m about to head home.” 

Omega looked back at your face, wanting to continue the conversation. “I’m shopping too,” she then adjusted the straps to the bag on her back. “I’m almost done. Do you want to hang out with me while I finish up?”

This stunned you. But it also gave you the opportunity to continue blending in so you can work on hopefully capturing that damned clone. You nodded, then stood up. “Yeah, I think that would be fun. Are you sure it’s okay?” you asked her.

Omega confided in you with a cheerful “Yep! Besides, you don’t look all that dangerous.”

Oh, you sweet summer child.

With an uneasy laugh, you started to follow her. “Dangerous? Me? Impossible.” The tension in your body subsided a little as you tried to make small talk. “You, on the other hand? You look like you could take on a rabid rancor.”

Omega giggled and reached for your hand to hold onto while the pair of you walked. She said your name pointedly, “You have no idea.” She continued on chatting about small things, but for some reason you think she might have had something to do with a rancor at one point…

You only accompanied Omega for a little less than an hour, helping her haggle down some prices and looking for the best produce. She was more than grateful for your assistance, and honestly, you were beyond appreciative of the normalcy. Omega bid her goodbye and hoped she could shop with you again sometime. She ran off in the direction you assumed was her home. You were waving at her back before looking at that very hand, the one that held her hand while shopping.

What kind of humanity was this?

It’s been perhaps a month at this point. You haven’t scoped out the cantina yet so that any trace of you wouldn’t contaminate the job. You knew exactly where it was though. There was no worry there. 

Your blasters and rifle were ready to go at any time. When you weren’t in civvy clothes, you wore your field gear just in case you were ready to make your move. 

It was time to go shopping again. Part of you hoped that you’d run into Omega. The purity of her company was extremely sobering. Parts of you wondered what it would look like–feel like–if you retired and settled down. You would get to wear comfortable clothes like the ones you wear now. You’d go shopping while holding the hand of your partner, or eventually your child. You would add small wooden carvings to your list of things to buy, just to shower your offspring with love and–

What the fuck?

Your curious wondering had inserted your rival next to you as your partner. He held onto your hand and walked with you at a slow pace. He listened to you and spoke back calmly. At some point, you probably would have run a quick hand through his long hair as an action of endearment. His tattooed cheek would melt into your caress before he would press a kiss to your wrist. Your other hand was holding onto Omega’s. The three of you were a happy family–

Seriously, what the fuck?

You slapped your cheeks to get the imagery out of your mind. You shook your head as if you were trying to get rid of some tangles in your hair. Enough of those thoughts. Enough! You internally cursed yourself and were now looking forward to the end of this bounty. It’s time to get that clone off your mind for a while.

You did run into Omega again. She waved at you, calling your undercover name as she spotted you. “Let’s go shopping together!” she begged.

With a smile, you obliged. Yeah, you could do this one last time. One last time to act like a weightless being without a history of successful bounties, a ship you called a home instead of the apartment you were renting, the views of stars in space instead of the community you’ve learned to know…

In another lifetime, yeah. But not this one.

You approached Omega to close the distance. You were raising your hand to take her outstretched one–until someone ran past you quickly, ran past Omega and snatched her bag off of her arm.

You couldn’t believe how fast it all happened. Omega stumbled backward at the sudden jerk to her arm. She watched the thief run off for mere seconds before she took after him, yelling at him to stop.

Panic hit your soul as you watched. You couldn’t let this happen to her. Not a chance. No way you would let some asshole ruin your last memory with Omega. You reached into your basket and grabbed your blaster that was wrapped in a cloth. Unwrapping it quickly and dropping the empty basket, you started chasing. You switched your blaster to stun and flicked the safety off. You weren’t going to shoot blindly into the crowd–not until you had a calculated clear shot. 

You caught up with Omega. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, but he–”

“Don’t worry kid. I’ll get it back for you.”

You hasten your pace to catch up with the thief–a Rodian. He was fast but wasn’t fast enough to escape you. You had stamina and a history of chasing, so this was nothing.

He shoved people out of the way and lost some of the distance he had on you. No matter. In true, inexperienced criminal fashion, he ducked into an alley. Either he just ran into a deadend or the gods blessed him with an actual throughway to another part of the city, but it was almost never the latter. 

Sliding to a halt at the mouth of the alley, you indeed found it to be a closed end. The Rodian was attempting to climb on top of crates and boxes to get to a balcony up above. Cocking an eyebrow, you took a shot at him. The stun blast hit him dead on and he fell into a pile of garbage bags below.

Omega caught up now. She watched you approach the downed Rodian and took Omega’s bag back. The young girl was braced with a stance of caution. “Do you always carry a blaster on you?” She took her bag from you gingerly and put it on her back, with both straps this time.

You sighed. “Yeah. It’s dangerous out here.”

“So you’re not a bounty hunter or something…?”

You paused. Well, shit. Do you lie to her? She’s such a good kid! “I, uh… kind of dabble in it here and there.”

Omega stepped backward and took a defensive position. “You’re not hunting me, are you?”

The anger in her eyes told you that she’s been the receiving end of a bounty or two. Why is someone putting bounties on a child? 

“Oh gods no, no no no. Omega, I would never. People actually put bounties on you? But you’re… you’re a child!”

Omega was still defensive and creating distance between you and her. “That’s none of your business!”

You stared down at the blaster in your hands. With another sigh, you knelt down to her level. You flipped the safety on and tucked the blaster into the waistband of your pants. You held your empty hands up to show her you were harmless, show her you had no intention of harming her. “Omega, I’m not hunting you. I swear to you.”

“The last time I trusted some stranger on the street, she tried to turn me in for a bounty. I’m too trusting. I want to assume people are good. I’m always wrong.”

Your hands fell into your lap. Watching tears form in Omega’s eyes broke your heart. If there was ever a sign to get out of bounty hunting… this was it. 

“I understand,” you say to her. Your shoulders slumped. Yeah, bounty hunting was the least glamorous job out there and you knew that. Putting bounties on a child is underworld level stuff. You never thought it was real, just myths told by guildmasters to scare you. In truth, they were testing the waters to see if you’d take the job.

Omega actually stepped forward. “Wait… you’re telling the truth.”

Meeting her eyes, you nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

“I’m sorry,” Omega told you. She spoke your name to get your attention. When you looked up, you saw her hand reaching for you. “Let’s go shopping. I don’t want my brothers to think something happened to me.”

You took her hand with a relieved smile. You rose to your feet. The pair of you started walking, Omega holding onto your hand like before. “Brothers, huh? You must have a big family.”

With a grin, Omega turned back to her carefree self that you met previously, and a weight lifted off of your chest.

You swore tonight you would find the clone you were hunting, and tell him it was over. You sure were going to miss this.

Omega bid you a goodbye and another wish that you two could go shopping again sometime. It took some effort to cover the broken smile you handed her, but you managed.

Heading back to your apartment, you put on your gear and grabbed your rifle. It was time to revisit an old lesson that you already learned from just so he could easily catch you. With a shake of your head, you still couldn’t believe a child was the cause of you wanting to quit. 

Again that imaginary situation where you and your partner were browsing the shops on the very street you walked with Omega. She on one hand and your clone target on the other. The clone was dreamy, to say the least. While the chase and failed attempts to catch him were part of the fun, you learned to appreciate the beauty in him. He was strong, smart, and a hell of a better hunter than you were. You smirked. Maybe that’s why his name is Hunter.

You were set up on a building across from the cantina, rifle loaded but not aimed at anything in particular. Hunter just had to do whatever it was that he did, show up with a blaster pointed at you, then it was over with. You had no idea how long it would take for him to show up, so you took the chance to lay on your back with your head propped with your hands underneath. The sky was pretty. There were stars dotting the sky. For a moment you wondered how many of those stars you had visited before. Which one would be perfect for an early retirement?

There was no telling how much time had passed before Hunter appeared before you.

“Getting a little sloppy, aren’t we?”

You sat up while observing him. He didn’t even have his blaster in his hand. He was still in full armor, though, minus helmet, so the blaster was at his side and his knife sheathed on his arm. He crossed said arms. 

You shrugged. “I think I’m just tired.”

Hunter tilted his head slightly with a raised brow. “Why bother, then?”

You pushed yourself to your feet and dusted off your clothes briefly. “I guess I wanted to come say goodbye. I’m quitting.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. His arms relaxed at his sides. “You’ve been here for over a month just to tell me you’re quitting?”

Your jaw dropped. “How did you know? I tried my best to hide my tracks!”

Hunter nodded down to the street where you heard a familiar voice. You saw Omega was perched on the shoulder of a larger man dressed in similar armor as Hunter. Wait, is Omega–

“I could smell you all over her. Plus, I have someone at the spaceports keeping an eye out for ships like yours.” Hunter’s hand started hovering over his blaster. “So, are you going to take this as another lesson and move on?”

Looking back at Hunter, you removed your helmet. Your helmet never covered much of your face to begin with, but you figured it would be a good gesture to show your face. You held out your hand, wordlessly asking for a handshake. “I’m done hunting. This is me letting you know that I’m retiring.”

Hunter looked at you, surprised. He wasn’t sure if this was a trick or what. Assessing your body language and expression, he felt that you were genuine. You couldn’t reach for a blaster if your helmet was tucked under the arm that wasn’t offering a handshake. He would be able to react quicker than you could, and you knew that, too.

Hesitantly, he took your hand and you both shook once. He didn’t let go, though. His eyes were stuck on the hands clasped together. 

“What did Omega say to you?” he asked.

You pulled your hand away before your cheeks could show a blush. “I knew bounty hunting was shitty to begin with. I had no idea how fucked up it was. Bounties on you? Understandable. But… on children? I’d rather protect someone like Omega before the thought of even glancing at a job like that.” You set your helmet on the ground next to your rifle. You ejected the magazine and double checked that the chamber was empty. 

Hunter watched carefully, each movement you made. He could definitely hear your heart speed up. He also sensed a tint of sadness in your words. Well, anyone would be sad about the thought of bounty hunting children. 

“She’s a good kid,” you said to Hunter. You slung your rifle onto your shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you,” you added.

Hunter sensed that sped up heart rate again. Was it yours? Or his? This cat and mouse game was a highlight in his life, he thought. It was a constant he could count on. There weren't many of those anymore. 

“Wait.”

“Hm?” You turned to lock eyes with Hunter at his little command. “Something on your mind?”

Hunter paused, not realizing he let that word slip out. “You uh… You should say goodbye to Omega.” 

You stared at him for a while. “That would be hard on her.”

“It would be even harder for her to realize you just left without a goodbye.”

You pursed your lips while trying to get a read on him. You really didn’t know what he was going for. Why couldn’t he just say he would miss this too? It’s easier than telling lies. Wait… “This isn’t about Omega, is it?”

Hunter turned his face to the side to avoid eye contact. 

“Where did Hunter run off to?” 

You looked down at the street below to hear Omega’s voice. She looked up and down the street before the big guy she was with shrugged. She followed his example and they headed into the cantina.

Looking back to Hunter, you gasped to find him closer to you, a few inches away at that. What was he getting at? What was he about to do? Your rifle strap slid down your arm and the weapon clattered to the ground. Hunter looked like he was struggling for what words to say next.

“I have to confess,” he said in a hushed tone, his hands landing on your shoulders. “This game of ours?” Slowly, he was leaning toward your ear. His voice was becoming softer, almost a whisper. “It’s one of the few things that got me through the war. Kept me sharp.”

Being this close to him, honestly with him getting this close to you, made you think of all the times your paths had crossed. Never once had the two of you ever touched each other. His hands were moving down your shoulders, down your arms, squeezing gently.

Your hands started to touch his armor covering his chest in response. Not fair! He can feel the shapes and curves on your arms but you can’t reach him?

Your eyes met his and it was no surprise there was a romantic tension in both visions. “What are you going to do now?” you asked him.

The back of one of his fingers traced your cheek. The action caused your breath to hitch in your throat. You had moved to standing on your tiptoes, your lips getting dangerously close to his. 

A grin graced his lips before he finally answered you. “This.”

That grin then kissed you, taking your breath away as he pushed passion into the actions, wrapping arms around you, a hand tugging at your hair at the base of your neck. This was unfathomable. You’d been chasing this man for a couple years, chasing after some credit amount that couldn’t compare to this. You had been chasing down this very moment. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you finally got to touch that beautiful hair of his. Soft, curly, so easy to pull. He growled into the kiss, distracting his tongue long enough for you to press yours into his mouth and take your turn exploring. 

The man was phenomenal. He was a fantastic hunter. He was an exceptional soldier. He was absolutely hot as hell. 

The tangled kiss eventually cooled off and the two of you pulled away but remained in each other's arms. He looked over you with half-lidded eyes. He could comment that yours looked like the galaxy was staring back at him. The galaxy only had eyes for him.

After a few quiet moments, you giggled. “Is that supposed to trick me into remaining a bounty hunter? So I can keep chasing you down to the most secluded planets for the rest of our days?”

Hunter audibly smirked. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around if you promised to… say, hunt me down every so often?”

You laughed whole-heartedly. It caused him to chuckle with you. “Okay,” you nod, “okay. Yeah, that can be arranged.” You laid a small slap against his chest armor. “That sounds like a fair trade. I can keep hunting, you can keep getting off to it, and I get to be friends with Omega?”

Hunter moved in to kiss you again but instead bit your bottom lip in a warning. “Don’t promise me something you don’t plan on following through with.”

“Oh, honey. I never break promises.” You broke away from him to grab your rifle off the ground and slide it back onto your shoulder. Your other hand grabbed your helmet. “Care to,” you nodded to the cantina with your head, “share a drink with me?”

Hunter took a step so that he was sideways and held his arm out in a “lead the way” motion. You smiled and walked by him, more than happy with the outcome of this retirement. 

You had some kind of pep in your step you hadn’t seen in yourself in ages. On the way down the side of the building, you did have to ask him a clarifying question:

“Hey what did you mean you could smell me all over Omega?”

Hunter laughed nervously. “Well… let me introduce you to my brothers...”

They didn't mean for it to turn out this way. But they tried it once and couldn't stop themselves from wanting more.

#tbb #tbb hunter #reader x tbb #tbb x reader #reader x hunter #the bad batch

[anotherwritersblog]

Title: Mr. B

Pairings: teacher!Bucky Barnes x teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: teasing, getting handsy, almost a handjob but not quite there, suggestive/language, let's not call HR, okay? This is a teacher x teacher fic. If you think there's a student involved just because high school is mentioned, please kindly go away 🙃

Author's Note: So I was taking a class and one of the prompts had me "role-playing" a scenario where a "Mr. Barnes had to intervene a fight" and well...it turned into this. 🤷‍♀️ I could never teach high school, but I might be convinced if I had coworkers that looked like Bucky 😂 Mistakes are my own.

Long time no see. Just checking up on tumblr. See y’all next month with another piece from the drafts. Lol

Any and all reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated.

In no way, shape, or form, do you have permission to repost this anywhere

Divider by @happygowriting 💕

High school was always the bane of your existence. Everyone was so “clique-ish” and always huddled down their own hallway. The jocks were never caught without some sort of ball in their hand, throwing it back and forth across the hall. The nerds were geeking out every Monday about their new Magic the Gathering cards they bought over the weekend or playing games of their own. The band kids were found making out behind the vending machines or practicing in the band room, where everyone heard as they got off the buses in the morning. You eventually found your own group of friends, but your days were always the same.

Get up, go to school, tread through classes, eat your lunch, tread a little more, go home.

And repeat.

Many of the classes also bored you half to sleep. There were very few you actually enjoyed, and maybe a handful of teachers you were actually going to miss. But once graduation came, you tossed your cap in the air with the only thought of good riddance.

You went off to college the following fall. You experimented. Found yourself. Fell in love. Graduated once again. Got married. The experience was a lot better than you ever thought it would be. But of course, after all was said and done, you found yourself back where you thought you’d never be again.

High school.

It had been almost a decade since you graduated, but you had found a love in teaching the older grades. More specifically, Advanced Comp for seniors. You were able to combine two of your passions into one and you actually enjoyed it.

You had such a welcoming classroom and any student that knew you, past, present, or even in passing, respected the hell out of you. You were patient with your struggling writers and knew exactly how to challenge your higher-thinking students. You made the class engaging and it was always the highlight of someone’s day.

All the seniors on your roster loved your class and all the younger students wanted to be in your class. It was a rewarding feeling and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself.

The only downside of your day was that your planning period was towards the end, sixth period out of seven. You’d prefer it first thing in the morning, or as your very last period, but it is what it is.

Heading to the mailroom during this time on a Friday, you caught sight of two of your students, John and Peter, and the school’s new PE Coach, Bucky Barnes, outside of the gym. Your curiosity got the better of you and you had to see what was going on. John was a tall, blonde athletic kid. He was a little arrogant, but his writing took you by surprise when he turned it in. Peter on the other hand, was much smaller in statue, but was also one of the smartest and most kind students in your class. He was so sweet; he would never hurt a spider.

“Now explain to me, why did you trip Walker?” Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as his eyes bounced between the two troublemakers.

“What’s going on here? You tripped John?” your head snapped to Peter, but his eyes were glued to his shoes.

“Afternoon, ma’am. Just trying to figure that out is all,” Bucky’s voice called your attention to him, and you saw the slight smile on his face before it disappeared once more. He eyed the boys and asked Peter to continue with his side of the story.

“Walker was picking on MJ and wouldn’t leave her alone, basically teasing her. So, I may or may not have tripped him, and then he ran me down and started hitting me. I tried to block a few punches, but that’s when Coach Barnes saw us and pulled us apart. Walker told him that I started it,” finally looking up, and meeting your gaze, you catch sight of the nasty bruise that was forming on Peter’s cheek.

“You let this happen?” you glanced at Bucky, furious that he hadn’t done anything about it.

“Well, when you’re in the middle of making sure eighty other children aren’t throwing dodgeballs at heads or below the belt, it takes a minute before we can get to the bottom of a situation.”

“I am very disappointed in you both,” you glared at the teenagers. This time, they’re both looking at the ground. That was the last way they wanted you to feel about them. “John, you will take Peter to the nurse and tell her exactly what happened. On Monday, you both will be serving detention before and after school and will receive an extra writing assignment for homework. You are seniors for god’s sake, almost adults. You better start acting like one. Do you understand me?”

The boys mumbled a yes ma’am and started walking. You heard some soft chatter about what sounded like the new episode of Squid Games, so you turned your body back towards the other adult in the conversation. He was looking at you with what might have been concern, not for you, but the two boys you just sent off.

“Why don’t you come into my office for a minute? Coach Wilson can handle the class for a couple of minutes without me.”

You followed him into his office and sunk into the chair across from his desk. You heard the door lock behind you, and the shutter of the blinds to close. Footsteps were made to the mini fridge behind his desk, and you eye the bottles of water.

“Would you like one, doll?” he pulled two out and started to hand one off to you. You accept the offer and take a couple of sips, enough to cool down a bit. He stood in front of you, sitting against his desk, looking over you. “I think you might have gone overboard with the punishment.”

“I did not go overboard! You should have yelled at them! You need to document it!”

Bucky stuck his hands out towards you, beckoning for you to come to him. You placed the bottle on the floor and stood up, placing your hands in his. He pulled you into a warm embrace as you laced your fingers behind his back. Your head laid on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

“Mrs. B. Did you forget to grab your lunch again? Or was last night’s rendezvous too much and you just didn’t get enough sleep?” Bucky questioned softly, running his hands through your hair.

“I may or may not have forgotten my lunch again, Mr. B...” you mumbled into his chest, this time averting your gaze from his.

“Baby. Why didn’t you come get something from my office? You know I have snacks laying around. I don’t care if you come in while I’m out on the court with the kids.”

“I lost track of time, putting in grades so I wouldn’t have to this weekend, and then there were the emails about the upcoming festival and after school activities they needed volunteers for and-”

Cut off by a pair of soft lips on yours, you felt your eyes close and just enjoy the moment. The way Bucky’s hands had found their way to cup your cheeks, and yet pull your body further into his, made a lot of the frustrations you didn’t know you had, melt away.

“Man. Who knew that working with your husband had its perks,” you giggled, looking into those beautiful, blue eyes. Your hands slipped up into his sweatshirt, feeling every dip and ridge of his abdomen.

“You’re playing a dangerous game there, Mrs. B. I don’t want to have to contact HR for this behavior,” he chuckled, running his hands down your sides and back up to the buttons on your blouse.

“My behavior? I don’t know what behavior you could be talking about, Mr. B. I’ve been a good girl today,” your fingers feather down to the front of his sweatpants, where you notice the bulge beginning to grow. You soon found yourself palming him, eliciting low moans and groans from his lips into the small office. “In fact, I think I deserve my own reward for being so good this week. Got anything in the treasure box I might enjoy?” Your hands reached for the waistband of his sweats, fingers grabbing the other side of his briefs and brushing against the upper part of his cock.

You felt him twitch beneath your fingers as you began to pull down his bottoms. Unfortunately for him, the bell had rung. A few of his usual curse words fell from his lips before you tugged him closer for one last kiss.

“I guess those dodgeballs on the court aren’t the only blue ones around here now. I’ll see you when you get home, Mr. B,” you slipped from his grasp and smoothed the front of your blouse down. You grabbed your water bottle, a bag of chips from his stash, and made your way out the door.

Bucky couldn’t be more thankful that this was his planning period, so he didn’t have to deal with students for the rest of the day. The only planning he could focus on though was what he was going to do to you when you got home tonight.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes one shot #teacher!bucky #teacher!bucky barnes #anotherwritersblog writing

[justagalwhowrites]

I'm so curious what is your writing process like? I'm floored by how fast you write yet the quality is always sososo high. Do you have a beta? Are you a god? What..how..😱

Please get some sleep

Ahhhh Hi Bestie!

Um you're so sweet???? This is so nice??? Thank you so much??????

TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION

....probably don't fully approach writing like I do if you're trying to write because I approach it like a trash goblin in a human suit trying to make things BUT here's what I do!

When I get the idea for a story (fan fic, novel, screenplay, whatever) it usually comes character first. There's someone who intrigues the hell out of me whose story I want to write and then I just have to figure out what their story is. The second part usually comes pretty quick, at least one or two major story moments and the climax and the resolution at least. Then I think through how to get them there and what kind of journey is going to be the most impactful for them. Then I write that down in the form of a story map where I lay things out beat by beat (these notes are usually very vague, like 2 or 3 words per chapter, my vision is far from fully realized) and then write down some basic stuff about the main characters. Actually write it, too, I've got a real cute lil' notebook that I have my story notes and any poems I've written lately (and my D&D notes) in it and I carry it around everywhere when my brain is feeling particularly creative.

This is where the trash goblin takes over because then I just write it. The story map is pretty fluid, I don't think I've ever stuck to one entirely, it always shifts and changes depending on what I get up to narratively. Sometimes that's just story beats stretch longer than I thought so they span several chapters instead of one, sometimes I change my mind on something altogether (like in Yearling, the stable incident with Simon was originally something else entirely but I was like "wait no that doesn't make as much sense, this feels convoluted, doing something else now" and took place in a slightly different spot). When I'm writing, I kind of picture what happens in my head like I'm watching a movie. The characters have their conversations, I write those down, describe how they're feeling, what stuff looks like, etc. The downside to this is the movie of this shit is literally ALWAYS ON in my head and will NOT go away until I write it. The angst that's coming in Yearling? Been playing in my head on a loop for weeks. IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE SEND HELP.

Once I get a chapter done, I give it a quick read mostly for grammar and stuff and to make sure it flows right (and there aren't a bunch of repeated words and stuff - I was a copy editor previously in my career but copy editing your own stuff is tricky so this is a questionable process) and then I post it. No betas, no editors besides myself, generally very little rewrites (I'll rewrite a chunk of a chapter once every like 20 chapters or so, it's rare.) I just throw all these words on the page and then hurl them at y'all and you're kind enough to make super sweet comments like this!

I'm so happy you think my work is high quality and written quickly!! I think I've finally adjusted from the schedule I was keeping for Lavender so it no longer feels like I'm slacking only putting out 2-3 chapters a week but it still doesn't feel like I'm quick lol so thank you for that, too!

And as far as the sleep goes? You saw nothing, definitely not me posting at 3 a.m., don't tell my therapist, everything is fine here.

JK I'm largely just fine! I've always been a night owl and function fine as long as I get a total of 6 hours of sleep, even if that's between a nap and an overnight sleep. It's probably not the best but eh, I'm having fun.

Thank you again for reading and for being so kind!! So happy you're here. Love you!!

#fanfic #kit answers #send asks #writing

[solitaireships]

Marks

So a fun fact about this fic is originally I was going to have this come out before Fantasies bcs it takes place earlier in the timeline of Mark and Shepard's relationship, so if you've been keeping up with my one shots for them, this is set between Bad Idea, Right? and Fantasies. I think a lot about the scar that Mark has on his chest bcs they don't really talk about what caused that in canon, so have a little hc moment about that

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1188 words

Divider by saradika

Content warning: Discussions of car accidents, death, hospitals, and severe physical injuries

Shepard’s sitting in bed, waiting for Hoffman. Why he always takes so long getting ready for bed is beyond her, but she doesn’t mind waiting. It’s not like he gets a lot of space right now— that’s one of the many downsides of being on the government's most wanted list— so she’ll let him take whatever moments he wants. 

But she’s glad when he comes into the bedroom, ready to go to bed with her. 

Tonight Hoffman opted to sleep in nothing but a pair of black gym shorts. Shepard always likes getting to see him shirtless. There’s dark hair across his chest and his belly, and his love handles peek out over the waistband of his shorts. It’s always a nice view, but now her eyes are drawn more than usual to the scar that goes down the middle of his chest. She’s noticed it plenty of times, of course, but for some reason she finds her attention locking on it now.

Hoffman doesn’t talk much about his scars. The only one that he’s told Shepard about is the one that cuts across his cheek, stretching from the right corner of his lips up to his ear in jagged lines. That he got from a reverse bear trap that tore his cheek open as he tried to escape, stitching the wound up himself. When he talked about that the first time, Shepard wished she was there to stitch him up so he wouldn’t have had to do that alone. But then she reminded herself that’s an overly sweet thought to have given how he's talking about having part of his face ripped open. 

Hoffman can handle himself. But Shepard does have to wonder what the story is behind his other scars. There's the one on his chest, and his back is littered with several smaller scars.

Hoffman settles down on the bed, the mattress shifting a bit under his weight. He pulls the blankets aside, climbing into bed and then getting under the covers. His chest is still visible over the top of the blankets, though, leaving Shepard’s eyes to wander again to the scar.

“Hey,” Shepard says.

“Hey yourself,” he replies.

“How did you get that scar on your chest?”

Hoffman looks at her, almost surprised. She was probably more direct than she should have been. But her curiosity got the best of her here.

“It was back when I was a beat cop,” Hoffman says. “Got involved in a bad car accident when I was pursuing a suspect, some metal from the wreck got me pretty good on the chest.”

“God. That must’ve gotten close to your heart.” Shepard cuddles close to Hoffman’s side, letting him put an arm over her shoulders. 

His hand rests on her back, massaging it through her t-shirt. “Yeah, but obviously it missed. Still hurt like hell, though. Wearing shirts was rough for a while even after I left the hospital with it healing.”

“I bet.”

“No joke about how I should keep my shirt off all the time?” Hoffman teases. 

Shepard rolls her eyes but says, “I’m so sorry, I think you should never wear a shirt ever again, Hoffy.”

“Thank you.”

Shepard shifts under his arms, propping herself up with one hand on his chest. She leans over him to reach over and turn off the lamp, leaving them in the dark. But even through the dark, she can still see Hoffman’s scar. So as she moves back, she gives him a quick kiss on it. 

She’s glad he’s still alive. She might be the only person who is. But she hates the thought of never having met him. 

“What about the ones on your back?” Shepard asks, moving back to lay on her side, tucked under Hoffman’s arm. 

“They’re all from the same thing,” he says. “It was a trap— the glass coffin. Think a rectangular box made out of glass and with a bunch of jagged glass shards at the bottom of it. It was part of Strahm’s test. If he got in it, he would’ve lived. Instead he shoved me in. Getting a bunch of glass stuck in my back was better than what happened to him, though.”

“Damn.”

Shepard never knows quite what to say when Hoffman talks about the traps he made. Part of her is curious, but it’s strange to hear him so casually talk about putting people in deadly situations. She doesn’t think he’s going to be a threat to anyone anytime soon— and, privately, she likes to think that she’s part of the reason behind that. But he still talks about the traps he made like he’s describing something regular, like he’s talking about something that happened at work that was part of his day-to-day. 

She guesses it’s easier to talk about if you can disconnect from it. Hoffman mentioned that— John had told him that you had to leave emotions out of administering tests. 

Shepard knows it’s probably equally weird that she’s glad that’s how Hoffman talks about it. It’s better than him sounding like he enjoyed every death he was responsible for, and it makes it easier for her to hear. 

Maybe that’s part of why he talks about things so casually with her too. It's some attempt to not scare her.

“Getting all the glass out of my back was a pain in the ass,” Hoffman says.

“I would’ve helped you if I were there,” Shepard says. And, for some reason, she’s sure as she said it that she would have. 

Hoffman laughs. “Thanks.”

He moves his arm from around Shepard, rolling onto his side so his back faces her. She takes that as the invitation it is, instantly moving to spoon him. She loves the way the two of them seem to fit together, his back pressed against her chest. 

Shepard strokes one hand down his side. “You know I’d always be happy to help you, Hoffman.”

There’s a silence, and Shepard assumes that means that Hoffman’s ready to go to sleep. But then he says, “We’ve been dating for over a month. When are you going to start using my first name?”

Shepard’s hand pauses along his side for a second. If she’s honest, she never really thought about calling him his first name. It’s not that she never wanted to call him Mark, but it never felt right. He’s always just been Hoffman. 

“I don’t know,” Shepard says, resuming stroking up and down his side. She presses a quick kiss to his back, her lips brushing against one of the scars there. “Do you want me to call you Mark?”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t mind if my girlfriend called me my name,” he replies. 

“Okay. I love you, Mark.”

“I love you too,” Hoffman replies, and the words come off of his tongue easier now than they did even just a month ago. 

“Good night.”

“Good night, Shep.”

And as she holds him in her arms, drifting slowly off to sleep, she hopes that she’ll get plenty more chances to show Hoffman— to show Mark— how much she appreciates every part of him.

#my posts #safeship #safeshipping #selfship #selfshipping #🧩 #🧩 missing piece #🗝️ shepard #my writing #i love appreciating him and his body. he's so handsome #anyway here's the moment where shepard started first naming him

[mythuzalasheir3]

MYTH’S FIC MASTERLIST

General Spies Are Forever:

The Benefits Of Personal History- Owen Lives AU

Suffered Long Enough Or, Moving On (Together)- Torture Tango Reveal AU

Without A Clue- Soulmate AU

Torture Tango Reprise, Or The Horrors Of Staying Alive- Angsty Owen Lives AU

Remember… Remember… -Holloduke AU

Buddy, We’re Different Breeds- Werewolf! Curt and Vampire! Owen

The Downsides Of Personal History- Canon but from Owen’s perspective

The DMA Is Homophobic?!- The Kira is homophobic death note amv but Curtwen

Early Mornings- Curtwen first I Love You

King Of Hearts- Curtwen first meeting

Spies Never Die- Curt goes back for Owen AU

Bleeding Through- Post Fall Owen has identity issues

A Torn Page- SAF x House Of The Dragon Mashup AU Staircase scene

If A Spy Is A Spy And I Once Was A Spy - Curt’s journal entry before Spy Again

Always A Spy - Curt gets self reflective after retiring for real

Drowning - There was only one oxygen mask gone romantic

I’ll Find You In The Next Timeline - Roleswap!Owen meets Canon Curt

A Twist Of Fate- Roleswap AU, but Owen still joins Chimera

Tati: The Vampire Slayer AU

Tati The Vampire Slayer- Curt finds out Tatiana is the Slayer

Spies Are Literally Forever: SAF x Hatchetfield Reincarnation AU Series

One Step Ahead (It’s How Its Always Been)-Curt/Howard remembers his past life on Black Friday when confronting Wilbur/Owen

The Gang’s Back Together (For The First Time [technically])- Curt/Howard and Owen/Wilbur reunite with Tati/Emma and Becky/Barb

Feeling A Lot Of Deja Vu Again- Owen’s Afterlife

The Worm Talk- The boys are soft

The Awakening of Wilbur Cross- Wilbur remembers his past life

Washington Comes To Hatchetfield- The gang meet for coffee at Beanie’s

Don’t You Forget About Me- Owen/Wilbur wingmans a holloduke reunion (ignore how this breaks lore hahahah)

Curtwen/Woward’s Nightmare Time- Wiggly tries to get his revenge

Awake For My Funeral- Curt’s Afterlife

Going Through The Unimaginable Twice- Tati/Emma reflecting on her siblings

General Hatchetfield Fics:

Only Murders In Hatchetfield - Only Murders In The Building Mashup AU

Once More, With Blue Shit - mashup AU with the musical episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer

I’ll Carry A Torch For Us Both (I Knew You Once Upon A Dream) - Sleeping Beauty Holloweane AU

Once Upon A Time In Hatchetfield - OUAT mashup AU

The Hatchetfield High Tarot Card Consultancy- All Our Hidden Gifts x Hatchetfield

You Will Know Our Names-Holloweane as Noah and Mio in a Xenoblade chronicles 3 AU

Unlocking Your Soul- Persona inspired Hatchetfield

And We’ll Sing It Again (In The Next Timeline)- Hadestown x Hatchetfield

The Last Of Hatchetfield (TLOUx Hatchetfield AU)

Is This The Eternal Dark Without A Dawn? (Hatchetfield x Until Dawn AU)

Spankoffski-Fosters Vs The Lords In Black Series

Video Game Fics:

Sparrow And Reaver: Road To Rule- Spreaver pirate adventure

The Legend Of Zelda: Hyrule Saviours- Ocarina of time but Malon’s the hero of time

Assassin’s Creed- Katia- lowkey self insert Ezio x Reader

Life Is Strange: Partners In Time- Max, Chloe and Rachel go back to stop the storm and hell week

Miscellaneous Fics

The Disappearance of Eudoria Holmes- Dr who x bbc sherlock x enola holmes

Coney Island Waltz- Love Never Dies Rewrite

#Myth’s Fic Masterlist #myth muses #spies are forever #hatchetfield #doctor who #enola holmes #bbc sherlock #life is strange #assassin’s creed #fable 2 #fable 3 #phantom of the opera #love never dies #the legend of zelda #myth’s fics