#like stomping into the pub

[igotsnothing]

Chasing Love ❤️- A gameplay story

Chase is one of my oldest sims.

I decided to give him a little makeover and play this game for once. I end up using most of my time posing my sims for my stories and rarely playing the game. And yes, I know there are a million bugs- but I still like playing it... and have barely played with the last couple of packs. So, I am going to post Chase's adventures here whenever I play his save and I'm going to try not to butt into his story too much.

I turned on autonomy and have him looking for his future spouse...

Chase is a farmer and spends most of the day taking care of his orchard, cow, and chickens. He's a pretty easy-going guy, but he's tired of being alone.

After a long day of work, it's time to get out a bit.

The Gnome's Arms is pretty much the only pub nearby. Fortunately, it has plenty of lively events every week, creating opportunities for all kinds of folks to socialize. It's owned by Sara and Simon Scott, old school friends of Chase's.

Of course, he gets there too early. There is hardly anyone there, except for Derek McMillan.

When Makoa walks in, it's infatuation. Instant attraction. Makoa IS adorable, but...

Sorry, Chase. He just popped in for a pint before heading home to his wife. Still, Chase enjoys Makoa's company and they continue chatting.

Soon enough, Simon brings someone new around. His name is Seth and he is very pissed off for some reason... that he begins to share, much to Chase's chagrin. He does not like Seth. At all. It's a shame, because Seth is hawt and I do like me some tsunderes so I was going to have them flirt despite the lack of attraction, but then I stopped myself. It's gotta happen organically.

After that fiasco, a different sim started flirting with Chase. Thiago is from Ciudad Enamorada and is only in town for the fair- which is a shame, because they got along really well. I do get the sense, though, that Thiago is a bit of a player. He's a little too suave.

Sara and Chase keep making goofy faces at each other while he and Thiago talk. I think certain exchanges among friends are universal...

All in all, it wasn't a total bust. Chase was a little tired when he got home, but in good spirits. He was in bed by 11, as he gets up at the crack of dawn.

Thiago and Chase did exchange numbers. Who knows? I'm still wondering about Seth. Maybe he was having a bad night?... I'll stay out of it...Maybe.

Beginning/Next

[leyavo]

Wife/girlfriend series, Ghost, Price and Gaz already done. Soap’s around 26 years old and more interested in progressing in his career. So I don’t think he’d be married, but would have a girlfriend…. [Wife/Gf masterlist]

Soap’s girlfriend is wild.

You’re few years younger than Johnny and making the most of your youth whilst you can. He likes that things are fun and not too serious. You’re always scratching that itch, trying new things out and pushing him to play more.

Play electric guitar in a band, every Friday night, rock night at a pub which promotes independent artists. Johnny met you when he went there on the off chance, you jumping down the platform after your set and kissing him. Johnny thinks the lead singers a little prick.

Started as a fuck it and see relationship (where he called whenever he was home and you had sex). Turned into you staying longer each morning to cuddle him instead of rushing out straight after.

There was just something that pulled the two of you back together. The back and forth messaging whilst he was away, filled with nonsense but fun nonetheless.

Sending him videos of you dancing in the nightclub and taking shots on the weekend whilst he’s away working. A pic of your breasts in a push bra and a little black dress.

“Fuckin’ hells bells,” he mumbles to himself as your video blares through his phone speaker (he’s always forgetting to turn the volume down). Gaz and ghost glaring at him as they pick their own personal items up after a long mission.

He replies instantly, but doesn’t get anything in return for hours. Just you sending a pic of yourself hungover in bed with your best friend.

You always meet him at the train station or airport. Waiting for him, running and jumping into his arms.

Dragging Johnny to rock festivals in the summer when he’s home. Making him mixtapes of your favourite bands so he can listen to it back at the base.

You work part-time at a tattoo studio doing piercings. Pierced Johnny’s eyebrow once and pouted when he had to remove it to go back to work. Also have random temp jobs here and there.

Johnny can’t believe the stuff that comes out of your mouth, even he wouldn’t say half of it.

“I would’na say tha’ lass.”

“Well I bet you’ll be using that line on your little radio with the boys.”

Constantly teasing him about being a serious military man. Even more so when a guy gets a bit too comfortable with you. Whenever you go out you’re never on time and he’s telling you down to the minute how long it’s been since you were supposed to leave.

“what’s that drop and give me twenty?” You shout back. Johnny stomping into your room and diving over the bed to get you. Mock saluting him as he’s got you cornered, as if that’s going to make up for it.

“Drop and give me somethin’ else.”

Love to play fight, but you’re still mad at Johnny for breaking your lava lamp that you bring it up all the time. You also bite him to get out of his hold, a scar on his bicep where your teeth sunk a little too deep.

When you finally move in together it’s chaotic, Johnny’s got a set routine and you just follow whatever mood you feel.

Loves hearing you play the acoustic guitar in the apartment, laying on the carpet in the living room whilst you sit and play. The scratch of your pen on paper as you create something new. Sunlight warm on his face, eyes closed as he listens to you humming along. Finds your guitar picks everywhere, even in his wash bag when he opens it at work.

Lazy Sundays are his favourite, your hand tracing the side of his shaved head as you hum.

Understanding about Johnny’s need to check the security regularly in the apartment and reminding you to keep your location on. Likes how you reassure him that he’s safe, those seconds when he wakes from a night terror and the weight of your hand on his, grounding him. Your scent comforting him as he rests his head on your stomach. Words whispered of all the things you used to be afraid of as a kid, silly little things to make him laugh.

“You know I think I was actually scared of my shadow.”

FaceTiming him to ask his opinion on your outfit for a night out. Johnny saying it’s not quite you, only so he can watch you change out of your clothes again.

“I have nothing to wear.” Your camera panning to the mess in the bedroom. The piles of clothes strewn over the floor and bed.

“Just stay, talk to me.” Johnny’s plan to keep you on the call working quicker than he thought. Leads to phone sex.

Johnny gets you a guitar that your dad used to have, your dad passed away years ago. Even down to the red embroidered guitar strap attached to it, so alike the one in the photograph of your dad teaching you to place as a kid. You try to teach Johnny how to play too, but he’s too distracted by how soft your voice is and the way you move his fingers each time. Distracted with how soft you are with him.

You’re not as scared of certain things, Johnny showing you that you can be strong on your own. Scared to drive after what happened to your dad. Johnny even taught you how to drive and now you can go anywhere, including visiting him at the army base.

When you meet the rest of TF141 guys you and Johnny are having a hot make out session on the sofa of the residential house at the base which they all live in. Thankfully it hadn’t escalated from just his tongue in your mouth, but you didn’t let it bother you as climbed off Johnny’s lap and greeted them.

You end up staying in and playing poker with the guys. Trading cigars, coins and anything you could find in your pockets. Price loses all his cigars to you, but you give the guys one each so you can smoke on the patio at 3am. Simon talking to you about an obscure rock band that isn’t really mainstream and you trade stories about some concerts he went to when he was teen. Gaz asks you if he can still use earrings even when he hasn’t for over a decade, which you repierce for him. Price telling you that you have a good one in there, his head nudging over his shoulder to Johnny in the house as you finish off your cigars.

[venusstorm]

𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐢𝐫

Declan O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Declan's assistant is hurt and confused by his sudden departure from Corinium. Upon a visit to his home, feelings unfold and truths become known.

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, pet names, daddy kink, spit kink, bathtub sex, breeding, mentions of reader having hair, claw marks, and bruises, finger fucking, choking, gagging, kissing, spanking, adultery

w/c: 3393

‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵

"Where the hell is Declan!" You burst through the doors of the O'Hara household, loud and furious. You didn't buy the "He’s sick" claim for a moment, no matter how often Baddingham kept spewing the lie out of his mouth. And when you questioned his truthfulness, he sent you down the hall to Vereker's office, alerting you that you would no longer be Declan’s assistant. 

But you'd pull every last strand of hair from your head if you had to spend another second working for that asshole. And when that's gone, you'd start on your legs and then your arms, and perhaps a few eyelashes too. You ignored Tony's shouts as you left the office building searching for your true boss.

Which led you speeding through town, barreling through the countryside until you arrived at Declan’s grand estate. You banged on the door and when you were met with silence, your hands wrapped around the handle, pleasantly surprised when the door opened wide. 

Without hesitation, you stride through the foyer and march up the staircase. The long corridor witnessed you shout his name, scanning every room until you find his office. The doors cracked open which obviously means he’s welcoming you right in. 

"Declan! I swear to–" but his chair sits empty. A slew of papers and empty liquor bottles covered the surface. You squint your eyes in pure annoyance. If he's the reason you spend the rest of your week drowning out Verekers moans by fiddling your ears and banging your head against the desk, then he's in for it.

You sigh heavily as you turn around, heading for your next best guess. You envisioned him sneaking out drunkenly to a pub. Probably annoying the hell out of the bartenders because after his third drink, the man can’t shut the hell up. Or perhaps he's thrown himself into the woods to get eaten by wolves. You knew Declan, and when he hit rock bottom he crashed hard.

"That little shite doesn't know a goddamn thing."

The slurred words of Declan O'Hara ring through your ears. Like a siren call, you follow. He curses a fit of words, not once taking a breather. You follow the crude sounds until you reach another door. You don't bother knocking, he's far past the courtesy. 

"Found me," he slurs.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Declan!" You shield your eyes from the obscene view. He sits in a bathtub, legs sprawled open with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. A bottle of beer is held tightly in his grasp and he doesn't seem to have any plans to let go of it.

"I didn't tell you to come in here" he grumbles. "Heard yer stomps from a mile away."

"Well, I was worried. And also pissed you left me with that blonde-haired devil. He fucks like a rabbit and not in a good way. Wouldn't be surprised if he catches a damn itch."

Declan scoffs. "He’s already infested."

Your hands remain shielding your vision, leaving you blind to the way he stares off into space, taking the final swig of his drink and muttering beneath his breath. 

"Just come back please." You sigh.

The sound of glass clanking and rolling to the ground echoed around the bathroom. You jump from the sudden noise, tightening your hand around your vision. He rolls his eyes while delivering a mocking laugh.

"Hand me another bottle o'er there and I'll consider."

You stand firmly, scowling at his impossible behavior. 

“Standin’ there won’t help, darlin’. Don’t know why you’re tryin’.” He exhales a cloud of smoke, the scent wafting towards your nose and meshing with the woodland scent of his bath soap. 

“Just tell me where to walk” you quip. 

Declan’s eyes dart towards you, his lips curling into an amused grin. “Y'might need to be able to see for that.”

You shake your head in defiance, “Just tell me where to walk.”

He’s no longer interested in the shitty beer he kept hidden in the bathroom. Instead, he focuses on how easily you fall into line for him. 

"Go to the right."

You follow his command, stepping to the right without hesitation. 

"Now go straight about five steps."  You don’t question his directions, placing your full trust in his judgment. 

"Yes, Sir." You do as you’re told, taking five small steps and pausing. "Now what?"

He groans softly at your admission, his length stirring as you patiently wait for his next directions. Your tone unleashed fantasies he kept hidden within the depths of his mind and if you stayed for another moment, he’d happily release every last one. 

There's a moment of silence before he continues. "To the right once more and you've got it."

You blindly reach your hands outward but defeatedly grasp open air. "Declan? I don't feel it."

"Bend down a little, it's on the second shelf."

His eyes widen as the hilt of your skirt rises against your ass, revealing the lace garters decorating your legs. He takes a long drag, watching shamelessly as you shimmy to adjust the length, struggling to do so single-handedly.

Finally, you touch the slim neck of a glass bottle. "Oh! I found it!" You giggle excitedly.

Declan smirks. "Atta girl."

If you weren't too busy shielding your eyes from the outside world, you'd notice the way Declan scans your body. His gaze dropped from your face to the white blouse you wore. Half the buttons were undone but it wasn't like you could check. You stood in front of him like a temptress, all precaution flying out the window the moment he heard your soft laughter.

"Now how do I get back?"

He laughs breathlessly. "Same way you came."

"Uh okay." You attempt to retrace your steps. Mouthing his previous directions aloud until you're semi-close to the door.

"Now walk forward a few steps" he ushers.

You nod, walking carefully toward the sound of his voice. His eyebrows furrow with mischief as you approach, your steps growing wider and far too close to the edge.

The next sequence of events occurs in a blur. You tumble forward and the water splashes over the edge, coating the tiled floors as you fall into the bathtub. You squeal as the hot water warms your body, soaking your attire and revealing everything underneath to Declan's eyes.

"Asshole!" You shout. You attempt to stand only to wind up slipping and falling right back into place.

He presses his cigarette butt against an ashtray before grabbing your arms. He steadies you, dragging your body up against his with ease.

"And that's why we don't walk with our eyes closed."

"You didn't tell me to stop!" You're so enthralled in fury and he can't help but to revel in it. He can only smile as you curse, attempting once again to stand before accepting defeat.

"How much goddamn soap did you put in here!" You shake your head with bitter laughter. You lay back against him, your heart racing out of your chest as his arms find themselves on your waist.

An evident shift in mood affects the room. "Why won't you look at me?" He questions.

"Simple. You piss me off."

You shut your eyes even tighter, ignoring the way his length ghosted across your stomach. His chest hair was surprisingly soft, pillowing your head and causing your heart to beat a skip faster. You stay quiet as his hands drift away from your waist and towards your thighs, forcefully gripping them and dragging you closer to him.

"Then why'd you come here?" He retorts rather quickly.

"Tony. I'm sick of being ordered around by him."

Declan hums. "You didn't seem to have a problem taking orders a few seconds ago."

You whimper as he palms your ass, kneading it roughly. You place your hands against his chest, fighting the desire to give in.

“That’s different. I was helping a friend.”

His lips broaden into a smile at your select choice of word. “Friend?”

“Yes, Delcan. You’re my friend but clearly you could care less.”

He doesn't miss the bitterness in your tone. There was a hint of resentment that clouded your features. He saw it in the way you turned your head further away, limbs tensing against his touch.

"I care," he reassures.

"But you left me.” The vulnerable words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. “You caused complete chaos and rightfully so but you left without a word. I know I’m your assistant but I care about you, Declan. You always said we’d get out of that shitshow together and you left me.”

Truthfully, you grew attached to him, infatuated with a man whose brain met the greatness of his kindness. An unrequited love. You knew it was impossible for him to feel the same way but witnessing him leave without a word solidified your fears. You were merely his subordinate and nothing more. 

Your disappointment reaches your tear ducts and unshed tears of despair begin to descend your cheeks. Declan doesn't hesitate to wipe them away, his thumbs swiping across your skin in comforting movements. 

"There ya' go, darlin'. It's okay to be upset. I deserve it."

“Did you forget about me that quickly? You hadn’t even called.” You burrow your head into the crevice of his arm, still unwilling to face him. 

Forget? 

How could he forget when thoughts of you ran rampant in his head? He wasn’t one to take orders but anything you said rendered him defenseless. Despite being your superior it often felt as if he was learning from you. He’d do whatever you wanted without question. 

He spent nights thinking of you, his hand wrapped around his aching size as he dared not to wake his sleeping wife. Muffling his moans, he thought of how you’d look in her place. How he’d tilt your head backward, kissing you languidly while pushing past your folds. He envisioned your sensual tone calling out his name, begging him to push harder, deeper, to which he’d obey. Following your every command because that’s all he craved to do. Gritting his teeth, clenching the satin sheets until he dreamt of filling you with his seed, no longer caring if his wife heard him murmur your name. 

“I could never forget you.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that shutters your core. 

Slowly you break free from your darkened corner, at last meeting his heated gaze. He stares at you with pure desire, eyes dark and glimmering with something farther than lust.

You take in his naked form, staring at the dark hair that danced down his stomach and covered his shaft. Water dripped from his hair, his typically sleek curls jostled and free. You couldn’t see what lay beneath his waist but you felt his heaviness against your stomach, throbbing with unmet need.

“You’re drunk” you rebuttal weakly. 

He shakes his head, “M’perfectly fine.” He sobered the moment reality hit that your body was laid against his. 

He waits for your next argument but it never arrives. The two of you stare in silence, subdued desires coming to light. Slowly you begin unbuttoning your blouse, stripping the wet cloth from your shoulders and tossing it onto the mat. Declan assists you wordlessly, his hands pulling down your skirt before reaching to unclasp your bra. He takes in this moment. Kissing your skin every time another item is removed until you sit exposed before him.

His hand caresses the back of your head, drawing you close enough for your lips to graze. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You nod, stopping the furthest thing from your mind. 

“I need words, darlin’. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m okay, Declan. Just…” Your brain turns into a foggy haze as you search for what you’d like to say. He grips your jaw, tilting it upwards to better meet your gaze. 

“Just, what? It’s okay. I won’t be mad.” 

You can’t seem to formulate the words to describe how you felt. His touch overwhelmed you in the best way possible. The fresh scent of his skin drowned your senses and feeling your most intimate parts glide against him took the entirety of your focus. 

“I just need you.” Your soft tone stirs something animalistic inside of him. Without another wasted second his lips meet yours. It starts impulsively rabid, his tongue wrapping around yours while he pushes your head further into him. He groans into your mouth, eyelids fluttering closed as he gets lost in your taste. But then he goes slower, savoring the way your hips begin to grind into him as your kiss grows messy. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth until he drags his lips back over them.

Calling him desperate would be an understatement.

He pulls away regretfully, brushing the pads of his thumbs over your lips to clean his mess. You whine from the loss of connection, lips still parted and demanding him for more. 

Declan chuckles, granting your wish and delving into your mouth once more. Your hips rock against him, willing his length to rise. The water sloshes back and forth as you grind against his stomach, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest eagerly. Your hand rests against his unshorn chest hair, envisioning gliding your wet cunt over it until he’s drenched. 

“That’s it, darlin’. Use me.” He moans into your mouth, uncaring of how loud he was being.

“Hurts” you whimper. He pulls away once again, his hands finding yours beneath the water and directing them towards your heat. You jolt as his fingers graze your aching clit, “This what hurts, baby?” he hums. You nod, directing his fingers toward your puffy folds. 

He tsks, “I think that’s your job, darlin’.” You hadn’t quite understood what he meant until you felt him direct your fingers inside yourself. Your face contorts with pleasure as you shove them inside without question, using his chest as leverage while you ride. Declan watches you carefully before sliding his fingers back against your clit, pressing it roughly.

“Your pretty button’s so swollen. Just wanna make it feel better.” He rubs small circles around your clit, slapping it roughly when he notices your eyes rolling backward.

“Look at me when you play with your pretty cunt.” Declan ignores the way his cock jolts against his skin, desperate to be buried inside of you. All he cared about at this moment was your pleasure, physically reassuring your place in his world. 

“M’gonna cum” you whine.  

You say his name continuously as he continues to toy with your clit, tugging and slapping it until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Declan wraps you in a confining hug as you shake against him, his hands rubbing the back of your neck as he talks you through your orgasm. You nuzzle into his chest, allowing his huge frame to provide you comfort. “D-” Your tongue teeters on the line of murmuring a word you knew you mustn’t say.

“Did so good for me, baby. That’s it, I’ve got you. Just ride it out, I’m right here for you.”

But your mind slips and the word comes flowing from your lips. “Daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper but Declan caught it nonetheless. He watches you curl into him, a level of trust in your actions that he knew he had to maintain forever. 

You’re shaken from your haze as Declan taps his length against your cunt, a newfound look of pure hunger darkening his gaze. 

Pre-cum drips down his length, the water washing away any evidence of his sin. He rubs his reddened tip against your folds, groaning loudly as you spread your thighs wider for him. 

He drags you onto his cock, holding you upwards as you take his size. Your moans blend into one continuous sound as he fills you, stretching your walls as you claw at his back. 

“C’mon baby, know you can take more, can you do that for me?”

You shiver as you allow yourself to bottom out against him, muffling a scream as he breaches you entirely. His eyes roll as he embraces your warmth, his arousal growing heavier. He stares down at where the two of you connect, your walls choking his cock and leaking downwards.

A wave of adoration washes over him before it becomes tainted with angry realizations. You sat beneath him, his perfect match. Someone who balanced him, calmed him, put up with him. And yet, he’s had to push his feelings away in the name of not causing a stir. 

He’s angry that he’s trapped in a loveless marriage riddled with infidelity and fueled by his income. Trapped in this goddamn house that he could care less about. Angry that Tony dangled his career in front of him like a chew toy. And most of all he was livid that you weren’t the one sleeping next to him every night. 

Declan shoves his hips forward, bouncing you on his length. “So fucking tight” he grits through his teeth. You clench around him, your wetness welcoming him even further. The noises were obscene, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as your pussy squelched. He revels in it, fingers finding your sweet lips to shove them in between.

You witness the furrow in his eyebrows and undoubtable frustration. You meet his gaze, lips wrapping around his fingers and sucking. You take them deeper until they’re practically shoved down your throat. 

“Should’ve known you’d be a fucking slut. You like this, don’t you? Bet you wish you were choking down my cock instead.”

“Uh huh,” you whine. You’d thought about it all the time. When he’d arrive to work angry, sitting at his desk with a pout. How you’d wanted to sink to your knees beneath him, hiding beneath his desk while you slid him down your throat. Muffling your gags as he answered the phone while stroking your hair.

He hooks into your cheek, widening your mouth so he can spit into it. He taps you, commanding you to swallow to which you happily oblige. You shake against him, tits bouncing freely. He grips onto them, slapping your sensitive nipples until they pebble in his fingertips. 

“How does it feel, baby? You like being stretched out? Can barely keep your eyes open, can you?”

Pressing against your womb, Declan feels his length shatter your walls. He watches you fall into his broad chest, clutching onto his back while he holds you closely. 

“Feels so good, daddy.” You whimper. 

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s got you. Gonna be my little cock whore amn’t ya? Surprised your little cunt could even fit. Just shows you're perfect for me, hm?”

“M’hm, perfect” you repeat.

He knows you're close, he feels it when your nails dig into his skin. Surely leaving marks that he wouldn’t feel the need to hide. 

“You need to cum, don’t you, baby? It’s okay, nobody’s here. Just us. Let go for me, let Daddy feel you.” His pace becomes slower, pounding into you with deep thrusts.

Your vision blurs as you reach your high, shouting Declan’s name as you gush around him. He follows suit, your pulsating walls unleashing his heavy orgasm. He doesn’t relent as he shoots his load into you, locking you down as he fills you with his seed. He could care less about the consequences, nothing else mattered at the moment.

He captures your lips in his, taking short breaths to whisper how good you were for him. He suckles on your collarbone, leaving definite bruises to match the claw marks you undoubtedly left on his back. 

“Let’s get you dry” he murmurs. 

You nod, too tired to reply or move. Declan slides out of you, saddened by the loss of connection. He carries you out of the bathtub, his spend dripping from your pussy and leaking onto his leg. He clenches his jaw, fighting the desire to fuck it right back into you.

He wraps you in a towel, drying your skin before taking you into his bedroom. He sits you on the bed while he scourers his closet for something you could wear. Landing on an old college shirt that he refused to throw out. 

As he slides it onto your body, he presses his lips against your forehead. A million words silently transcribe between the two of you. He’s unsure of what the future holds but he’s certain that you belong in his.

[writersdrug]

more barman! simon!!!! (ofc you can ignore if it’s too many suggestions lol)

can we see simon flirting with reader a little? especially after he sees she actually got jealous of tabasco!blondie

I feel like he would TOTALLY be a tease flirt.

He likes to get under your skin - not to aggravate you, but he just can't resist making you pout and blush and snap at him. He loves how you're all "tough business" with customers, but with him - your boss - that tough skin turns soft, warm, and easily flushed.

He'll tell you your shirt is inside-out while you're waiting for drinks, laughing when you crane your neck around to look for the tag with a confused expression. Smirks as you whine and complain about him pestering you, grabbing the drinks when he sets them down and storming off to your table.

He doesn't realize it, but he'll find excuses to keep you longer after work (and notices how you're not opposed to spending more time with him outside of your shift). He'll never admit it, but he loves to have you nearby, even if it's because he's assigning you more tasks off the clock. Something like "Price said tomorrow's crowd is gonna be a tough one. Might need ya to stick 'round n' help roll silverware." And you'd happily help, grabbing a sanitized bucket of utensils and a stack of napkins and planting yourself at the bar, chatting his ear off as he carries his shift out.

Pulls the ol' reliable "you're defensive" flirtation move. And you fall for it every time. How can you get out of this one? If you say you're not defensive, then you're being defensive. If you agree with him, then... well, you agree with him. You both yap back and forth like this until you're pulling your hair out, stomping away and telling Simon to kiss your ass (tell him again, and he'd happily do it).

But, what Simon dishes out, he can NOT take.

You'll tell him that his shoelace is untied, twirling a straw in your fingers. The moment he looks down, you shoot the straw wrapper at his head like a blow dart, scampering off and giggling before he can grab you by the strings of your apron. You casually mention that his pub would benefit from a stripper pole on the bar - whether it's for him or for you, he can't decipher, but now he's coughing to hide his groan and desperately trying to think of something other than you on his bartop. You sometimes call him by his title: "Bartender, can I have two whiskey sours?" "Bartender, customer at table four says there's hardly any vodka in their mule." "Bartender, I need you to reach me more napkins on the shelf upstairs. They're too high."

He'll glare at you, staring down over his folded arms, you staring right back with your hands on your hips. (He secretly loves it) He sighs and marches off to get whatever you need, and you smile triumphantly and plant yourself at the bar, waiting for him to return.

He knocks his knuckles against the side of your head when he returns, making you yelp. "Hey! What the fu-"

"'M gettin' you a stepstool, half-pint."

[ohproserpine]

ii. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3

tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, unsettling & obsessive behavior, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, unwanted advances (not by alastor), murder, graphic descriptions of injuries

As the days unfolded into weeks, Alastor remained true to his word. A routine soon formed between the two of you: he would make regular visits to the speakeasy, engage in polite conversations with Mimzy, and take his usual seat to enjoy your performance.

In time, Alastor's interactions with you grew more intimate. And one night, following the success of one of your busiest night and biggest show, he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. Pulling you into your dressing room, Alastor asked for permission to formally court you. Without hesitation, you agreed, and in a burst of affection, proceeded to kiss him within an inch of your life. 

Since then, Alastor had begun to take you on dates outside the speakeasy. He whisked you away to quaint diners, lively jazz joints, and even introduced you to his mother—a sweet woman who welcomed you with open arms.

Throughout your time together, not a single one of your performances escaped Alastor'. Why would they? For him, your shows were the very essence of color in his otherwise dull and monotonous existence. His devotion to you almost mirrored religious fervor as he attended each of your shows like an impassioned disciple in the dimly lit speakeasy pews.

Your voice became a spell, luring Alastor like a foolish sailor drawn to a siren's call. In those moments, the world faded away, and he followed the melody with an irresistible pull, captivated by thoughts of you, you, you.

Only you.

Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

Alastor, following his usual routine, occupied his customary spot at the pub, savoring his whiskey with slow sips from his glass. However, the comforting rhythm of the night, which he had grown used to, was broken when the band screeched to a halt, the shrill notes of the violin cutting through the air. Immediately, the pub erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts.

Alastor blinked, his smile turning strained as he noticed a man stumble onto the stage. It was clear that he was intoxicated, moving about as gracefully as a headless chicken, as he made his way towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

Noticing the commotion, Mimzy clicked her tongue, slammed her drink onto the counter, and swiftly rose to her feet. She rushed to the stage, the glitters on her vibrant dress catching the dim lights of the speakeasy.

“Why, I oughta—" she began to seethe, as she stomped towards the stage, finger wagging in the air. “That’s the fifth time this week, Giovanni!”

"Ah, Mimzy! Jus' wanted to surprise my sweetheart," Giovanni slurred, his thick accent muddled as he clumsily leaned into you, head tucking into your neck.

Snap.

Alastor felt a visceral reaction, something within him snapping as the glass in his hand cracked under the strain of his grip. The fractured crevices dug into his skin, and golden liquor seeped out, mixing with crimson red blood.

As a regular performer at this pub, your popularity was unquestionable, and Alastor was not entirely pleased with the attention you garnered from other men. If given the opportunity, he would have you whisked away from this place. In his eyes, your voice was too lovely for a place like this. Your talent deserved a grander stage than the confines of this tacky establishment.

“Ahah,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling away and shrugging the man's arms off of you. “Not your sweetheart, Giovanni…”

"Are you not happy to see me, carina?" Giovanni’s voice dropped to a whisper, his hand dropping to grip you by the waist. He leaned his face in closer, and you cringed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were a bloodshot red. “Come on~ I came all the way to see you.”

“Ya' can go see and do whatevah the fuck you want with her after the show!” Mimzy scowled, stomping her heels onto the wooden flooring. “Can't have a moment of peace in here. Someone get him off my stage!”

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Giovanni retorted, his anger bubbling over as he lashed out, kicking the microphone stand in Mimzy's direction. She barely dodged in time, the crash of the mic hitting the floor drowned out by the screeching feedback.

"Please. Just go," you pleaded, your patience wearing thin. "Why? Why do you always have to make a scene?"

"Ay, carina, don't get bratty with me. Let's talk in the back," Giovanni insisted, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he attempted to pull you off the stage. But before he could, Mimzy's guards intervened, forcefully yanking him away.

"Hey! Get ya' hands off'a me!"

Turning around, you rushed to get off the stage, but Giovanni somehow managed to break free and extended his hand, trying to grab onto you. Panic welled up within you as his hand reached out, but relief followed when he was abruptly stopped by none other than Alastor.

"Now, now," Alastor's voice had a lilt as he held onto Giovanni's wrist, but the venom woven into each word was unmistakable. His ever-present smile stretched wide, serving as a clear warning. "Causing a commotion isn't the best way to impress a lady."

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wring his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wriggle his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"Ha ha! Kind sir, when someone disrupts a delightful performance, it becomes everyone's business," Alastor laughed, the sound of it tinged with sarcasm.

"But I must commend you. My, that impromptu performance of yours was quite remarkable; you truly made a wonderful spectacle of yourself!" Alastor's grin widened, his mocking tone drawing out laughter from the crowd.

Then, Alastor bent down to meet Giovanni face to face, his amusement fading. 

“Though I think you've overstayed your welcome, no?” Alastor's grip tightened around Giovanni's wrist, the pressure leaving bruises in its wake, hues of purple, green, and blue blossoming beneath the skin.

Alastor's grin turned sharp. "You will leave. Now."

"F-Fuck are you gonna do if I don’t, aye?" Giovanni spat, attempting to maintain a façade of bravado despite the pain. He tore his hand away from Alastor's grip, cradling his wrist. "Ya' think you can tell me what to fucking do?!"

"Hmm. I would at least advise you to salvage whatever dignity you have left and leave. If you had even a dust of intelligence in that hollow head of yours, that would have been the first thing you'd have done," Alastor chuckled.

“Damn right. Ya ain't got no fuckin place in my establishment,” Mimzy scowled, snapping her fingers and gesturing towards the men surrounding Giovanni. “Take him away, boys!”

As Mimzy’s goons surrounded him again, Giovanni sneered, "This ain't over."

"Oh, my dear pal, I assure you, it is very much over. The lady has made her wishes very clear," Alastor grinned.

With a final snarl, Giovanni was forcibly led away from the scene, his protests fading into the background as Mimzy's guards escorted him out. Mimzy wasted no time, bustling backstage and barking orders to her staff to clean up and prepare the stage once more.

Alastor's charismatic facade returned as he turned to you, though a glint of irritation lingered in his eyes. "Apologies you had to see that, cher. Let's hope the rest of the evening proceeds much more smoothly."

"I hope so." With a sigh, your gaze shifted downward, and you spotted his injured hands. The glass he had broken earlier had left wounds all over his calloused palms — not deep, but enough to draw blood.

Concern etched across your face, and you gently touched Alastor's hands. The radio host, accustomed to your touch by now, allowed you to inspect the damage.

"You're hurt," you pointed out, caressing his skin.

Alastor met your gaze with a reassuring smile. "Ah, this is just a trifle. A mere inconvenience, I assure you! My, I've endured far worse during hunting, darling! This is hardly worth mentioning."

"But—" you began, only to be interrupted by his finger pushing against your red lips.

"Worry not, cher. I'll take care of it. There's no need to play nurse," he spoke with finality, as if this was a matter not open to further argument.

"Alright," You managed a small smile. "I am really sorry things turned out this way, Al. I didn't know Giovanni was going to show up again. He's always been like that for as long as I can remember. I told him to stop but he never does."

"No need for apologies. None of this fault is on you, darling. Though it does add a touch of excitement to otherwise mundane affairs, doesn't it?" Alastor chuckled heartily, though you sensed there was a bitter undertone to his laugh.

"Excitement? That man is a shitshow just waiting to happen," Mimzy returned and walked up to both of you, rolling her eyes. "And I thought I got rid of him for good..."

Suddenly, she leaned in with cosmetics in hand, deftly swiping lipstick across your lips and delicately brushing blush on your face. "Now come on, dollface, let's get you back to that stage."

You realize you're still on shift, but the thought of performing feels nearly impossible at the moment, especially with all this lingering adrenaline in your system. Admittedly, you're a bit shaken up, and all you want is to curl up by Alastor's side and savor the night with a drink in hand. 

"Oh, Mimzy…I'm not sure I can really perform right now, love. I feel…" you slowly trailed off, faltering under the weight of Mimzy's hardened gaze.

The blonde cooed out your name, her fingers gently wrapping around your arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down. "Dollface, you're not here to question; you're here to perform! Alastor here has been so kind to get rid of your little problem. Now, let's get back up on that stage and do what you're good at."

"Pardon?" Alastor snapped with a raised brow, his usually jovial tone replaced by a sharper edge. "Well, I don't mind in the least. In fact, I rather enjoyed putting that simpleton in his place. I'm sure your patrons can afford to wait, can't they? This poor dear is still shaking in her heels!"

But you intervened, mustering a smile and smoothing down the wrinkles on your dress while nervously tending to your hair. "Oh no, Al, it's alright. Mimzy's right. I can't just let one man ruin my entire night."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, taking a moment to compose before adding, "Besides, the show must go on, right?"

Alastor paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied your nervous tics. The radio host silently appraised your form for a few more seconds before eventually giving in. "Hmm, very well. If that's what you wish."

"Thank you, Al," you whispered with a smile, tilting your head up to press a kiss against his cheek. Your lipstick had left an imprint on his bronze skin, but he made no move to wipe it off.

With a chuckle, Alastor leaned back into you and returned the gesture warmly. 

"I'll take care of everything, doll," he whispered, voice low, before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "He won't ever bother you again."

Confused, you blinked up at him with those bright eyes he loved so much. "How do you plan to do that, Al?" you asked, but he ignored you, staring at you with that unsettling look in his eyes again.

Alastor suddenly raised your hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with gentle pecks, causing your mind to blank and cheeks to go aflame. 

Tapping her foot impatiently, Mimzy's irritation grew as the display of affection lingered longer than she deemed appropriate. With a swift swat of her hand against the man's shoulder, she hissed at him. "That's enough outta you!"

Alastor smirked to himself and began walking back, seemingly satisfied with the subtle disturbance he had caused. He was such a bastard, but he was yours.

With a shake of your head and a smitten blush gracing your cheeks, you returned to the stage. The blinding spotlight enveloped you as Mimzy tossed the microphone back into your waiting hands. 

Meanwhile, Alastor reclined in his seat at the booth, his gaze fixed intently on you as you resumed your performance. The audience, having brushed off the brief interruption, eagerly redirected their focus to you.

Rabbit, rabbit! Won't you run away? Don't give the farmer all his fun today~ He'll get by without his rabbit pie. So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

As you neared the end of the song, Alastor joined the crowd's applause, rhythmically snapping his fingers together.

Wonderful, as always.

.

Snap.

The sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness of the forest, followed by a shrill scream that seemed to shake the trees. Giovanni's hands instinctively shot down to his ankle, where his bone had twisted in a gruesome sight that sent bile rushing to his throat. However, he had no time to inspect the damages as a rustling bush caught his attention. Desperately, the man began crawling on the ground, doing his best to move farther away, dragging mud and dirt all over his body.

"Don't give the farmer his fun. Fun. Fun," emerging from thick shrubs, Alastor sang lowly as he continued his slow advance, relishing in the fear that emanated from his prey. He raised his hand, fingers idly tracing over the red mark on your lips, and if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the burn of your affections. "He'll get by without his rabbit pie."

The dense forest around them seemed to close in, casting eerie shadows as Alastor's menacing silhouette moved closer. Giovanni, now gasping for breath, cast terrified glances over his shoulder, desperately searching for an escape route.

"So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run," Alastor continued to trail after the man, his axe slung over his strong shoulders, a sinister grin etched on his lips.

Ah, it had been so long since he last pursued larger prey, opting for smaller catches like rabbits and squirrels lately. This, however, was a different kind of pursuit, and the thrill was delicious.

“It's rather unsavory to disrupt a live performance,” Alastor mused, gripping his axe and running his bandaged palm along the side of the blade. "Oh, the misery! Each performance interrupted, a masterpiece marred!"

“Though I suppose you redeemed yourself with your own impromptu circus show,” Alastor snickered, reaching down and seizing Giovanni’s sprained ankle, dragging the screaming man back toward him.

"Good show!" The radio host grinned as he pressed his feet against Giovanni's back to prevent him from escaping. Alastor raised the axe high, the glint of the blade reflecting the crazed gleam in his eyes.

"Now, let's see how this act ends."

With a practiced swing, he brought the blade down, chunks of flesh and blood spraying onto his clothing and skin from the impact. Alastor laughed as the light gradually faded from the man's eyes, his once-struggling arms and legs now falling limp.

“What a show!”

[twovialsofamortentia]

sneaking away with james becomes a habit. 🍻❤️‍🔥

PART ONE

🎧 supermassive black hole- muse

warnings: smut. 18+, MDNI. unprotected sex, like VERY unprotected, mirror sex, rough sex, slight emetophobia warning, tipsy sex, james being a sex god (canon), james loving doggystyle bc he’s a man

You always sat next to James in the Three Broomsticks. Remus and Sirius usually sat across from you. Peter usually sat on a stool at the side of the table, but today he had swanned off to visit Zonko’s with Gilderoy Lockhart, a new friend of his. When they first started doing things together, James sulked for three days. Didn’t talk to anyone, not even you- he blanked out everyone who told him to get a grip.

That was by the by today, though, since James was in a good mood. You chalked that up to the fact that he had fucked you like it was your last day on earth approximately ten minutes before you left the castle.

You looked up at James through the corner of your eye while Sirius was off getting a round of drinks in. Sure enough, he was gazing right back at you. It made you laugh.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, catching him staring.

“Nothing.” he insisted, even though the look in his eye was suggesting the complete opposite.

“Don’t start being disgusting in front of me.” Remus protested, folding his arms. “I want no part of your weird foreplay, I’m telling you now.”

You dropped your head back and groaned, stomping your leg down onto the floor as you leaned back on the creaky wooden bench seat. You folded your arms in a huff, pulling on your best Moody Moony face.

“My name’s Remus Lupin, and I hate fun, because I’m all brooding and I smoke cigarettes while I pretend I’m not mentally shagging-”

“That’s enough.” 

“Oh, it’s true though, you moody bastard.” you said quickly, slapping your hands on the table.

James was chuckling boyishly at your ridiculous impression, just happy that the conversation was deflected from his staring. James had a habit of getting carried away when he looked at you. His mind wandered frequently.

“Look who I found.” came Sirius’ voice, who was returning to the table with two drinks. He had Peter in tow, who was precariously balancing the other three in his hands. Impressively enough, he managed to set them all down on the table without spilling them.

“Finished with your boyfriend, Pete?” James asked, bringing one leg up to cross over the other, before resting his hand on his ankle. James was over the worst of his dramatics now, but he’d be a sad excuse for a marauder if he resisted the temptation to take the piss.

You kicked James sideways under the table and scooted up along the bench so that Peter could sit down next to you. You hooked one of your legs over James’ lap, letting it rest in between his own legs so that there was enough room for you all.

“You get anything good in Zonko’s, Worm?”

That prompted Peter to divulge into a several minute long rant about the haul of tat he bought from the joke shop down the road. Subsequently, because none of the marauders can ever shut up about anything, you ended up spending an hour planning your next six or seven pranks.

An hour of serious prank planning, though, meant another couple of drinks that got drained quicker than they would if you had nothing to talk about.

Which meant that by the time you shoved James out of his seat and stood up because you were gasping for a cigarette, everyone was a little unsteady on their feet.

You all stumbled outside, through the pub door and into the fresh air. You stuck a cigarette in between your lips, then one between James’, who was only a smoker when he’d had a drink- a smoker through association. Most of your friends had picked up the habit from Remus. Even Peter smoked occasionally when he wanted to look mysterious. James lit both of your cigarettes and shoved the small lighter in his pocket.

You gazed up at James as he leaned down to light your cigarette, smiling around where it was perched between your lips. You shot him a quick wink as you stood up straight.

“Behave.” he warned.

“Why?” you pressed, taking a step towards James and dropping your voice to a whisper. “I’m waiting for you to get wound up enough to actually take me in the bathroom.”

“You’re filthy,” he responded, in a low voice. James was very aware of the fact that not many people in the courtyard outside of The Three Broomsticks were still in possession of their hearing, so maybe he needn’t have bothered.

You giggled, nodding as you took another long puff of your cigarette, dragging your eyes painstakingly slowly over James’ figure. How nobody else had snapped him up by now was beyond you, but you weren’t complaining.

“Am I?” you asked, pulling your cigarette from between your lips, unconsciously darting your tongue out to wet them as you gazed up at James with an expression on your face that couldn’t have been interpreted any other way than please fuck me right fucking now.

That did it.

You felt James’ hand on the small of your back guiding you inside, and you followed because you knew what you were in for.

“Where are you two off to?” asked Peter, eyeing you suspiciously as you turned your back to him.

“Get another drink.” you lied over your shoulder, shrugging sheepishly at Pete as James whisked you off through the pub, straight past the bar and towards the little bathroom in the back corner.

It took a significant amount of restraint on James’ behalf to not manhandle you into the bathroom in a pub full of people. He wanted to drag you by the hair and throw you through the door. You wanted him to do the same.

He was, however, completely incapable of resisting once the door closed behind the both of you. James grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. kissing you hard as he pressed your back up against the nearest wall- which happened to be the one with the sink on it.

“Merlin-!” you gasped, kissing him back as your ass found the edge of the sink, and you perched on it, back resting flat against the mirror above it.

As soon as you were sat down, however, James was gripping your waist and pulling you off of the sink, yanking you back to your feet. James quickly spun you round so that your back was to his chest.

“Look at you.” he muttered, leaning down so close to your ear that you could feel his breath on the side of your face.

“Please.” was all you could manage to say, your eyes locked on James’ reflection because he was just. so. fit. He was holding you by your hips, and you could feel him against you, already rock hard.

James would be damned if he wasn’t going to give you what you asked for, every time you asked for it. He winked at you in the mirror, and you just about died, before he hooked one hand over your shoulder and kept the other on your hip, hinging you swiftly forward until you were bent over the sink in front of him.

“Fuck-” you gasped, grabbing the sink for support and gazing at yourself in the mirror as your hair fell down around your face.

“You’re so beautiful.” James promised, eyes catching yours in your reflection.

You nodded slowly, almost believing it. You watched intently in the mirror as James bunched your dress up. Then you watched as he ripped your underwear down your legs so it was hanging around your knees.

James placed a hand flat in the middle of your back to gently push you further forward, so you were well and truly bent over for him, your hands steadying yourself by gripping the white porcelain of the sink.

You gasped when you felt James sink two fingers into you, but as quickly as they were in, they were out, and the feeling was replaced by him pushing all the way into you.

“Oh, fuck!” you whined as James slipped inside you, your thighs clenching around his hips. You were already a mess. You watched him in the mirror as he looked down to focus on where your body joined his, and you could see his eyes flutter shut as he drew almost completely out of you, then pushed all the way back in.

He had one hand splayed flat over your back still, and he was gripping your hip tightly with his other. Once James had established a rhythm of fucking in and out of you, the hand that was holding your back down against the sink slid up across your back and into your hair.

You moaned when you felt your head being jerked back by James grabbing a handful of your roots, and you caught his gaze in the mirror.

“Fuck me, darling,” James fawned over you, as you looked up at him in the mirror. “You’re perfect.”

His hand stayed twisted in your hair, so even if you’d wanted to look away, you couldn’t. But you didn’t want to.

You just nodded, whining indiscriminately about everything and nothing at the same time. You weren’t speaking to be heard, you just wanted to release some of your pent up energy.

“I know, my girl, I know,” said James softly, as you whined. It was a beautiful sound, but he couldn’t have you being too loud. “Shh.”

“Fuck, fuck! James, fuck, feels so- oh, fuck,” you rambled on and on, hands still gripping the sink for dear life.

“I know, just be quiet, darling,” said James, gripping your hair a little tighter to drive the point home. “Don’t want anyone to hear, do you?”

You were really had at remembering to have your wands on you for a silencing charm. You chalked it up to the fact that James got off on it, really. Filthy bastard.

You nodded, but it wasn’t much use, because the whines and curses were still spilling from your lips as if there was more than a flimsy wooden door separating you from everyone outside.

James leaned down over you, his hand slipping out of your hair and round to grab your face so tightly that it squished your cheeks together. He brought your back up against your chest, and dipped his head down to speak lowly in your ear.

“D’you need me to shut you up?” he warned through gritted teeth, staring down at you.

“Please-!” you mumbled, barely understandable because of how hard James was holding your face.

James got the message, and used the hand that he had holding your chin to push two of his fingers into your mouth, holding it open so that the sounds spilling from you were even less comprehensible.

“That better?” he asked.

You nodded, leaning slightly further forward and trying to tell James around his fingers that you were close, but you gagged around them and it all came out as a bit of a choked out mess.

“I know, sweetheart,” he assured you, and he was using that voice again. The voice that was only reserved for you, where his tone was soft against your skin, and he didn’t sound half as condescending as he did to anyone else. James knew that talking to you like that would let him get away with murder. He took his fingers out of your mouth and moved his hand around to the back of your neck, bending you roughly back over the sink.

You felt your legs starting to quiver, because being bent over like this meant James was hitting just the right spot. You had come to realise today that you were a complete and utter fool for James when he had you like this, because there was something so otherworldly about the way he looked when he was holding you down and drilling you like his life depended on it.

When James noticed that your legs were shaking, he knew you weren’t going to last that much longer. He brought his free hand round to your front, slipping it between you and the edge of the sink so he could reach down and circle his fingers over your clit.

James decided then and there that he loved having you like this, bent over for him, completely at his mercy, and resolved to bend you over more often.

“Fuck-” James huffed, snapping his hips harder against yours every time until he was lurching you forward every time he fucked into you.

“Please,” you begged. “James, I can’t-”

“S’alright, darling,” he told you soothingly. “Take it, you’re nearly there, I’ve got you.”

His fingers were digging into your hips, leaving little red marks over the ones he’d left earlier, which were already starting to transform into little pink bruises. They were tender, so the pain of James gripping you in the same spots was blinding, but so, so good.

“So gorgeous, darling, m’gonna- oh, fuck.”

It was at that point that you saw stars, because as soon as you felt a rush of warmth shoot up into you, your knees pressed together and you slumped against the sink, coming all over James’ dick for the second time that day.

James stilled as soon as he came, giving you the space to ride it out, but he twitched inside you involuntarily, your name spilling from his lips louder than it probably should have.

You couldn’t quite catch your breath as you went lax against the sink, hands pressed up against the mirror to try and keep you from hitting the floor. Your hips stuttered downwards and your thighs shook like you were freezing cold.

“Fuck.” you groaned, voice muffled by your own skin as you rested your head on your arms.

James watched your reflection for a moment, taking in how pretty you really were when you were like this, flushed bright red and bent over in front of the mirror.

“Love you.” he mused softly as he pulled your underwear back up over your ass before tugging at your dress so that it fell back down to where it was meant to be, the hem around your ankles rather than around your waist.

You hummed in response, sighing as you stood up straight. “Love you.” you echoed. “So much that I’m going to go back out there and sit with your friends while I’m leaking your fucking spunk.”

James laughed at that, pulling his underwear and jeans back up. He leant against the wall, still a little out of breath, eyes running across your face with adoration.

“It’s never ending with you.”

“You love it.”

There was no word of a lie. James did love it, almost as much as he loved you. You were kindred in your senses of adventure, and that was the most attractive thing about you in James’ eyes.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, opening the door for you and watching you duck under his arm and out of the bathroom. “I do.”

[quinnophile]

forgive me father, for I have sinned (teaser)

this fic has not yet been posted!

pairing. remmick x fem!reader

synopsis. in a coastal town riddled with grief and quiet unrest, Remmick, a shipwright with a haunted past, unexpectedly finds solace in the presence of a young woman suffocating under the weight of her father's iron grip - you. What begins as flirtation in flickering candlelight grows into something deeper; stolen moments at the docks, shared songs, and the burning desire to escape a life neither of them chose.

warnings. human + vampire Remmick, pwp, angst, pining, sacrilegious acts, hierophilia, indecent acts within the Lord's house, parental abuse, religious trauma, irish historical accuracy, virgin!reader, monster fucking smut (oral- f receiving, fingering, possible praise, possessiveness, biting, blood play?, dirty talk, dubcon, piv, inexperienced, ). this is set before and during the events of the film!

word count. 10k. + ( predicted )

author's note. this fic is in no way meant to sympathise with Remmick's character in the film. Ya girl is just horny for some Irish vampire. Other than that, I hope you will enjoy my first shot at smut!

there is no smut in this teaser, but plenty to come. these are just a few different selected scenes <3

The voice drifted out like smoke through a cracked window. He could see her now - no, you - half-shadowed in the soft lampglow outside the door, dancing between tables and grinning at the locals as you sang like you owned the very walls around you.

The pub throbbed with the sound of it; boots stomping in time, hands clapping, the chorus echoing back at you from drunk and sober mouths alike. Your voice had a rasp like old whiskey, but it soared, pure and strange and beautiful, like something holy in the middle of all that sin.

“Remmick?” Eoin nudged him. “You alright?”

He didn’t answer.

You bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “So? Any other tunes hiding in that haunted soul of yours?”

He gave a sly smirk. “You mean aside from the ones I hum while sobbing over gravestones and broken dreams?”

You gasped dramatically. “Christ alive, play something cheerful before I throw myself into the Liffey.”

With a chuckle, he struck a chord - a brighter one this time - and began to play a lively reel. His fingers danced along the strings, strumming a rhythm that skipped across the stones like sunlight on water.

You stood without warning, arms thrown wide, and began to twirl, barefoot now, having kicked your boots off without him noticing. Your laughter rang out like wind chimes as you spun around him, skirt flaring with every step.

Remmick watched, spellbound. Still playing, yes, but barely keeping time as you danced around him like the world didn’t hurt, like there were no bruises or pasts or sorrow or fathers.

“Oh, the summer time is coming,” you sang, your voice soaring again, this time more joyful. Less haunting. “And the trees are sweetly bloomin’…”

He joined in, picking up the melody, and the two of you sang into the wind; laughing between verses, forgetting the hour, the pain, the things unsaid.

For a little while, it was just joy, raw, and beautiful. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this happy. 

Then came the Sunday.

Rain clung to the air in a damp, stubborn mist, and the chapel smelled of old stone and wet wool. You were seated in the second pew, your hands folded in practiced piety, but your heart - as always - felt elsewhere.

Your father stood at the pulpit, stern and stony, preaching fire and forgiveness in equal measure. His voice echoed under the vaulted ceiling as he led the congregation in the “Our Father,” eyes closed, cadence sharp.

You exhaled and joined in, lips moving from memory. The words tasted strange in your mouth. Too clean.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

And then, warmth.

A presence slid into the pew beside you, unannounced and wholly impossible. A voice joined yours, a beat behind, low and lilting and full of mischief.

“…Hallowed be thy name…”

You opened one eye.

Remmick.

[terrestrialnoob]

Continuation from Part 1

Jazz took a deep breath. It's going to be fine. She can be normal for one night. Even if Harley is willing to befriend weirdos on a whim she doubted anyone else would. The shadow beneath her feed rolled like boiling tar and emotions that weren't hers poked at her mind.

"It's okay, Jet. They're not going to hurt me. I'm just... nervous."

She took another deep breath, she'd been told to ignore the closed sign, and entered the Coal Mine. She wasn't sure what she was expecting with a name like that, but it looked like a normal, if kinda rustic bar. It was empty except for a blonde woman in the back of the room, setting up a big table with food and drinks.

"Sorry, we're closed to the pub-" She started speaking before she looked up, stopping once she saw Jazz. "Oh! You must be Jazz, Harley's new friend.... You're early."

Jazz's face turned a little red but she stomped down her unease. "Yep! That's me. Early bird Jazz."

The blonde woman laughed wholeheartedly, but Jazz didn't think her joke was that funny. The woman walked over to her, "I'm Dinah, welcome to my bar. I don't often host girls night, but you got lucky."

Jazz shook her offered hand. "It's a nice place!" Though, Jazz didn't really go to bars. She didn't drink a lot and bars weren't really her scene.

"Feel free to grab a snack, grab a drink. I'm going to finish getting ready. Everyone else tends to be late. Which I guess means you're not early, you're here when we asked you."

"Oh, alright! I'll remember to be late next time." Why did she say that? That's so stupid and rude.... But Dinah laughed again. "Right, um, if it's okay, I did bring something." Jazz offered the plastic bag she decided to reuse with a tray of fudge she made inside it.

"Oh, that looks good. I'll go get a knife and plate to set it out with the other snacks."

Jazz more or less sat in awkward silence as Dinah did her thing getting ready. She wanted to offer to help, but this is Dinah's bar. If anyone else was there, Jazz wouldn't feel the need to help, and she didn't want to get in the way. But this was a private party, so maybe Jazz should offer to help. Just to carry stuff to the table or-

Then the door opened again and two women came through. One was in an expensive looking leather jacket and with short brown hair and the other had a cheap looking leather jacket with long brown hair. The short haired woman started talking before she was even all the way through the door. "Dinah, you would not believe how bad traffic is downtown today. An entire hour to get from 19th to- oh, hello."

Jazz jumped to her feet when the woman addressed her. "Hi, I'm Jazz."

"Selina." She said with a raised eyebrow.

"Harley invited her." The long haired woman said. "You really should read the texts."

"I don't want to set a precedent."

"Still." The long haired woman nodded towards Jazz. "Name's Helena."

"It's nice to meet you." Jazz said with a smile, but it started to slip at the sight of Selina.

Selina gave her a hard look, sizing her up, judging. "You're Harley's friend?"

Jazz rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "She's been to my apartment... and invited me here."

There was a beat of silence before Selina gave an amused huff and said, "You do seem like her type."

Dinah laughed again - maybe she was just easy to make laugh. The two walked over to the table and Selina's eyes immediately settled on the fudge. She opened her mouth to comment but the door opened again and Harley burst through, pulling someone behind her.

"We're here! I even got a special something for- Jazz! You're here already!" She turned to the woman behind her and quickly pushed something into her hands before rounding back to the rest in the room. "Heya Jazzy! I'm happy you could make it! This is my wife - Ivy."

Ivy stepped forward and eyed Jazz with more curiosity than the suspicion Selina had or Helena's indifference or Dinah's more welcoming demeanor. "It's nice to meet you. Harley told me about her little visit to your home. You look... normal."

Jazz knew her face was even redder than before. "Well, normal is the goal, right?"

There was a beat when the other's in the room just seemed to stare at her. Harley barked out her own harsh laughter, "Not here it ain't!"

"O-oh..." Jazz didn't have a frame of reference for this. If normal wasn't what they wanted, then what did they want? Eccentric scientist like her parents? Harley was a vigilante, maybe that's what she should emulate?

"Don't worry." Ivy said as she passed Jazz to sit at the table, a potted plant on a nearby windowsill suddenly, and far too quickly, bloomed. "From what I've heard, I'm sure you'll fit in."

"Harley said that too. I'm just worried. I've never had my own friends before." Oh, shit, she shouldn't have said that. Only weirdos don't have friends.

"Same." Ivy said and picked up a piece of Jazz's fudge.

"Here too." Helena added, and gave the piece of fudge she'd been holding for a while a curious look. It must be unusual for everyone to react this way.

"IS THAT FUDGE? I love fudge!" Harley said and grabbed a handful to stuff in her mouth. "This is so good! Where'd it come from?"

"Oh. I made it. Didn't want to come empty handed, you know." Jazz said, joining the other's at the table and taking her own piece before Harley ate it all. "It's my mom's recipe, but it doesn't quite taste the same without the low-level radiation."

"Oh, you have to put the radiation in it next time!"

"Do not do that." Three other women at the table said in almost unison. Oddly enough, it was Helena who didn't join in.

"Why was there radiation in your mother's fudge?" Selina asked as Dinah started to deal out cards.

"My parents are kinda mad scientists - kinda also mad occultists. All the food in the house was contaminated, and part of the reason my brother and I are vegetarian." Jack and three.

Dinah seemed to loose her breath before wheezing out, "Even more the same."

"What?"

"I'm also a vegetarian, mainly because of the environmental nightmare farming is." Ivy supplied, she bet conservatively.

"Right, that's why my brother's friend is vegan."

"Wait, how does the contamination equate to being vegetarian?" Helena asked - getting excited as Dinah reveals the flop, a good hand then. "Did it make meat taste bad or...?

"Oh, it brought it to life." Jazz said as she traded a card. "I can't tell you how many reanimated headless turkeys and chickens I had to kill. Not to mention the hotdogs Dad trained to attack intruders, they also attacked friends and visitors too. That was too much, even for Spike."

"Holy shit, that's amazing." Harley said while Ivy and Selina looked horrified, Dinah was as entertained as Harley, and Helena was enjoying herself. "Can't say I've ever fought reanimated deli meats."

"Bruce has." Selina commented, and directed at Jazz, "My long-term boyfriend. Thought about marrying him for a little while, but it didn't really suit either of our lifestyles."

No animosity, only relief. Jazz smiled at her, "Different people have different needs. Not everyone needs to be married with children."

Dinah laughed, "And boy, does Bruce have children! How many does he have now? Six? Seven? I thought I read on the news he's got a new one."

"Technically yes, but he's just fostering Duke, not adopting. Once his parents are well again, he'll want to go home." Selina saw Jazz's curious face, but deflected to lighter gossip. "I'm not the motherly type, not that I'd be cruel to any kids I could possibly have especially if they're Bruce's-" She sighed "-but Bruce lives for his kids. He has four adopted children, one biological child from another woman - it's fine, we both have our fun - and two foster children.... I think."

"You're not sure?" Helena questioned. Dinah put out another card.

"I think Steph is a foster, but I never saw the paperwork for it. At the very least, she's living in his house." Selina said, then stared at Ivy. "Not getting lucky, dear?"

Ivy sneered and put her cards down. "I don't even know why I agree to this game."

"Is it the one game all night, or do you do other stuff?" Jazz asked. She's good at poker. Between her enhanced empathy and psychology degree, she was rarely fooled.

"Depends on the place. Dinah likes poker, so we play it when she hosts." Helena said, she looked at Jazz, then Harley and folded her cards. "And we quit when Harley wins all our money and play something else."

"That's right baby!" Harley cheered and slammed her cards face up on the table, "No one beats the Harley!"

Jazz and Selina put their cards down too, face up.

"I guess there are exceptions..." Harley said with a mischievous grin.

Selina grinned too, "Someone has to loose all of Bruce's money."

Jazz grinned as the pot was pushed her direction. "Well, then let me know when it gets boring of just me and Harley playing."

The entire table laughed. Yeah, Jazz was starting to feel like she really would fit in here.

[sarahghetti]

can you pretend to be my boyfriend?; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: the boys pretend to be your boyfriend in order to save you from a creepy stranger.

warnings: inappropriate behaviour towards the reader, female!reader.

moon knight masterlist | all masterlists

steven

you lean over the gift shop counter, eyes wide as you ask, “can you pretend to be my boyfriend?”

poor steven is just confused at first.

“pretend to be—wait, what do you mean—?”

he doesn’t get a chance to finish that thought because the man who’s been trying to flirt with you all day suddenly rounds the corner, and you’re out of time.

“there you are!” a smarmy grin, eyes looking you up and down. it makes your skin crawl. “I was worried that you might’ve left before I could get a chance to talk to you again.”

“yeah, wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” you mutter.

it clicks in steven’s brain then, though not exactly fast enough for him to come up with a retort other than, “right, yeah, right.”

the man’s attention doesn’t waver from you, however, and you squirm on the spot. time for a hail mary, you suppose, turning back to steven. “are we still good for lunch, babe?”

“oh, yes, lunch—right, of course, love,” steven nods, more confident. “I just need to finish up some last things here, if you’re willing to wait a bit?”

you’re ready to say no worries, take all the time you need when the guy scoffs, barely sparing steven a glance. “a sales clerk? really?”

“better than the wet tissue you are, bruv,” steven snaps back, so fast that he surprises himself a little. something simmers under the man’s expression, but steven’s faster. “do I need to call security?”

that finally gets to the guy, who just mutters curses under his breath before finally pissing off. your smile is genuine now when you look at steven. “thanks for that.”

“no worries—are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you nod. “don’t suppose you’re actually free right now, are you? the least I could do is buy you lunch as thanks.”

luckily for the both of you, he is, and he rounds the counter with a wide smile on his face before you lead the two of you out.

marc

he’s just waiting to place his order at a coffee shop when you walk in, some guy hot on your heels and prattling on despite your obvious discomfort.

“oh, hey, babe!” he doesn’t even realize you’re calling out to him until he meets your gaze, and the pleading look in your eyes is all he needs to understand what’s going on. “sorry I’m late.”

“it’s all good.” marc knows the drill, injecting warmth into his smile as he walks up to greet you. he gives you a small nod, letting you know that he’s got your back as he slips his hand into yours. “was worried about you for a minute there.”

“wait, are you two…?” the man looks between you, eyebrows furrowed.

“mhm.” he keeps his tone light, but is secretly watching like a hawk for any signs of escalation. when the guy’s mouth twists into a scowl, marc subtly tugs you behind him.

“you never said you had a boyfriend.” the venom in the words is terrifying, but marc doesn’t flinch.

“no need to cause a scene, man,” he says, tone amicable, but you take a peek at his face and his expression is as hard as stone. “now, if you’ll excuse us.”

marc leads you back into the line to order, squeezing your hand gently to stop you from looking over your shoulder. there’s the heavy stomping of feet before you hear the bell ring over the door as the guy leaves.

the relief is palpable. you finally let go of marc’s hand, face warm as you smile sheepishly at him. “thanks for the help. let me buy you a coffee?”

“don’t worry about it.” he shakes his head, but you offer again and, well, if you insist. he doesn’t mind spending the rest of his afternoon with you at all.

jake

he’s the one to notice your discomfort from across the pub, how you subtly shift away from the man leaning in close to speak directly into your ear.

when you meet his eyes, you mouth, help? and jake doesn’t even think twice before downing the rest of his drink and making his way to your table. he slaps a hand down onto the guy’s shoulder, making him jump. “think you’re in my seat, hombre.”

the man’s greasy smirk twitches, obviously thinking that jake is interrupting his ‘game’ or whatever the fuck. “nah, man, I’m just—”

“trying to hit on my girl, yeah, I can see that.” jake grins at him, but you get the impression that he’s baring his teeth more than anything. he looks to you, and his gaze softens. “you okay, there, baby?”

“better now,” you say, and it’s not a lie.

the guy turns to jake fully, sizing him up. “you think you’re so tough, huh?”

jake doesn’t even blink, just raises a single eyebrow as if daring for him to suggest taking the matter outside. it’s not even a competition, because the man backs off a moment later, angrily slipping out of the booth without looking back.

you don’t breathe until the guy finally leaves the building, at which point a heavy sigh falls from your lips.

“the nerve of that guy,” jake mutters, clicking his tongue.

“right?” you shake your head, then gesture to the now-vacant seat beside you. “care for a drink? I think I owe you after your help back there.”

“you owe me nothing,” he corrects, but slides in beside you anyways, taking your offer with a smile.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Could you maybe do something with Arthur looking after a drunk y/n please ? ❤️

oh, i absolutely love this idea...

— reader note; mentions of sick, slight hints of sex, drunk yn —

the world around her was spinning.

if she looked down at her feet to see where she was walking, it felt as if she was floating along the pavement as she walked down the quiet and empty streets of london. if she looked up at the night sky, it felt like she was feeling the rather rapid spin of planet earth as it moved along it's gravitational axis around the sun. if she stared ahead to see where they were ending up next, she could feel the churning in her belly that didn't seem to make her feel good.

what didn't help was the fresh air... because she was absolutely fine sat between sabina and liv in the previous pub they were sat in. there wasn't a movement that made her feel sick, a smell that didn't make her want to throw up, and nor was there any chance of her being the first one to surrender herself from their pub crawl.

before she knew it, with a curb unexpectedly make an appearance in her path, she felt the pavement scrape the palms of her hands and she heard the horror gasps that left the mouths of every person around her as she collided with the concrete. and it was soon evident to her, as she felt the throbbing pain in her knees and her hands, that she'd done the embarrassing thing she was hoping not to do.

"bloody hell, is she okay!?" she heard george shout yet she still could not find the strength to pull herself up, laughter soon rolling out of her mouth and confirming that she was okay as she laid upon her back and continued in her fit of uncontrollable laughter, "someone help me help her up, for christ sake."

he reached his hands down for her and took them in his own, pulling her to her feet, keeping an arm around her in an attempt to keep her as stable as possible on her feet.

"arthur, come and get your girlfriend," liv called out, catching isaac's attention as he brought his and arthur's conversation to a stop; one that seemed to keep them occupied and completely oblivious to what was happening behind them as they were steps away from the next location, "i think it's time you went home, lovely."

"noooo," yn hiccupped, shaking her head in denial to her statement (which she soon regretted but wasn't about to make it more obvious to them), her eyes watching as her boyfriend stumbled over his own feet to get to her once he gauged the situation, "just- i jus' need some water and then i'll be good to go."

george glided out the way, resuming in his position beside chris who was watching the situation with his friends unfold before him, trying not to get in the way but also wanting to offer some moral support in case it was something that ended badly.

arthur's fingers were gentle as they tenderly swiped across the graze on one of her her hands, his eyes full of concern as it became clear to him how much she was swaying on her feet, unable to stand without some form of support.

"come on, lovie. i think we best get back home and get your hands all cleaned up," arthur hummed lowly but she was determined to stay out with her friends, almost stomping her foot to the ground, before she felt a grim feeling bubble up her throat which caught arthur's attention instantly, "into the gutter."

"i think we best head inside," george suggested, knowing the moment was embarrassing enough for her already from the passersby who were ogling at what was happening and, as her best friend, he knew the feeling was rough enough and she didn't need people, much less all of her friends, to watch the whole thing, "mate, if you're heading off, just poke your head in and let us know, yeah?"

"yeah," arthur responded, his attention there but his concern was on yn as she stood, bent over, with her hair covering the slightest modesty she had left. his hand rubbing against her back as she brought up the contents of the evening, "we'll probably slowly make our way home, in all fairness mate. i'm nowhere near as drunk as yn so i think we'll okay to walk back."

"are you sure?"

arthur looked over his shoulder and nodded, "yeah, of course. i think i just need to get her back home, in bed, with some water."

"alright, well, text us in the group chat and let us know when you're home," george called across the gap between them, halfway up the steps to the entrance of the pub, "hopefully she's not in a bad way for the morning. let us know if breakfast is out of the question."

"will do," arthur said, watching as george disappeared through the doors of the pub and into the centre of the crowd as he went to try and find their other friends. arthur helped yn stand up straight as she finished up throwing up the contents of her stomach, keeping a close eye on her as she seemed to look a little fresher now, "better?"

she grunted in response and waved a hand to dismiss his question; and arthur took that as confirmation she was feeling just a tad better. but not better enough to resume the evening because she was sure going to feel it once she opened her eyes in the morning.

-

"where are we going?"

"i'm taking you to bed," arthur insisted, keeping a close hand to the base of her back to keep her from falling - again - over her own feet and onto the floor of his hallway, "you're really going to feel rough in the morning."

she turned her head over her shoulder and took a cheeky glance at him, a smirk on her lips, "oh, you're taking me to bed?"

a deep chuckle left his throat, amusement coursing through him at the sight of how she was trying to flirt with him whilst on the way to his bedroom, knowing she was about to pass out on the mattress as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"that's really cheeky of you, arthur," she slurred and arthur nodded softly, a blush to his cheeks which felt strange because why, on earth, was he getting flustered by his own girlfriend? His heart was thumping in his chest but he kept it cool, knowing it was all talk as she was fighting the sleep in her heavy eyelids, "so cheeky. does your girlfriend know?"

"i think she knows, silly," he laughed, pushing open the door to his room and letting her stumble over the threshold, watching as she fell to his bed and let herself sink into his covers, "no, no. don't go to sleep yet. we need to get you ready for bed."

"oh, you mean naked?" she cackled into the pillow, "arthur, control yourself."

"i think it's you that needs controlling," he reminded her, knowing that it would have caused an eyebrow raise if she was sober enough to understand the connotation behind that sentence, "come on, i don't think your jeans will be comfy to sleep in."

she huffed heavily and rolled onto her back, eyes shut and, for a moment, he was sure she was going to throw up again. until she let out a hiccup and a giggle soon after.

his fingers found the button of her jeans and he undone it carefully, before she started wriggling herself around in hopes she was helping in getting off the denim material, lifting her legs so he could shift it from underneath her. once he chucked the material over on the floor in the corner, he looked back and saw her eyes shut and her chest rising and falling in rhythmic motions.

"bloody hell," he grumbled with a soft smile.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rise in the Heat

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: Tom comes to watch her perform every night while he's on shore leave, and he's a good tipper. When she finally relents and agrees to meet up with him for a drink, she's dismayed when he doesn't show up, and keen to find out why.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

There was something magical about a portside bar. On the nights when the Argentinian heat was so thick in the air it felt as though she could taste it, the cigarette smoke hung around the dingy yellow lamps like tendrils of silk. With the press of bodies all clustered around the stage, sipping sticky glasses of dark rum, it was easy to forget that the world was in the midst of a war. There was freedom in standing in front of a crowd and singing, she didn’t even have a microphone. An upturned soapbox served as her stage, a pint glass by her feet for the punters to throw their loose change into if they felt so inclined. In exchange for working behind the bar four nights a week, the landlord allowed her to take a room above the ramshackle little pub and sing in exchange for tips on the remaining three, if she wanted to. There had yet to be a night when she hadn’t wanted to. Her audience were usually all sailors on shore leave, who hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, and so by the end of each of her three nights off, the tip glass was usually overflowing.

Tonight was the beginning of two evenings off in a row for her. She stepped up onto her makeshift stage, the curls at the nape of her neck already clinging to her skin with a combination of sweat and humidity, and was met by cheers and whistles as she wet her lips, took a breath and then launched into her own rendition of Tar Paper Stomp. Her eyes moved over the crowd of sailors as she sang, some faces more familiar than others, but it was one in particular who stood out to her. He was tall, around six feet, and so easy to pick out of a crush of bodies, with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief whenever he flashed one of his crooked grins. He tipped well – better than anyone, actually – while most of her audience would throw a half penny into her tip glass, occasionally a centavo if they’d received one in their change, this particular naval officer was far more generous. Every night that he had watched her since arriving in port two weeks ago he had dropped an entire shilling into her glass. It was a gesture she appreciated, but she knew better than to believe it was without intent, and he proved her right when he would push to the front at the end of every set he watched to ask to buy her a drink.

“I can buy my own, thank you,” came her curt response each time. He was handsome, but getting involved with someone who was at risk of never returning once they shipped out again was not an emotional investment that she was prepared to make. She had witnessed too much loss already. She simply wanted to sing and allow the world to pass her by in the warm embrace of the South American heat, until the world returned to normal once more. Then she would take the tip money she had saved, return home and buy herself a nice little place in the country. That was the dream.

By the time she finished her set, she noticed that he hadn’t come up to the front as usual to drop a shilling in her glass like he usually did. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as flush tonight, or had simply given up on the idea of trying to woo her. She pushed the thought from her mind, and stepped down from the soap box, grabbing the pintful of coins, eager to get to the bar for a cool glass of water to relieve her parched throat.

"Oi, wait," he demanded, grasping her wrist as she attempted to work her way through the crowd. The press of bodies blocked her exit, slowing her down, so he was able to halt her progress with ease.

She sighed in exasperation, her eyes looking quickly down in annoyance to where his long fingers were wrapped around her arm, then back up to his face. His blue eyes were wide and imploring, but it wasn't enough to soften her to him. "You haven't tipped tonight," she said, holding up the pint glass of coins and rattling it, "my time's not cheap."

"Thought I'd save my money tonight," he said, raising his voice to be heard above the loud chatter of the other people in the pub, "use it to buy you a drink."

She rolled her eyes, tugging her wrist free of his grasp and pushed once more towards the bar. She didn’t have to look to know he was following her as she spoke. “We’ve had this chat many times before. My answer hasn’t changed.”

“But it could,” he insisted with a cocky smirk, leaning his elbow against the bar, watching as she gratefully accepted a glass of water from the bartender and drank greedily. “Give me a reason why not.”

She sighed, putting down her half empty glass and turned to face him. He really was handsome up close, even with strands of dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He’d taken off his navy blue smock at some point in the evening, tying it by the sleeves around his waist. She watched as a bead of perspiration ran from his collarbone, down the centre of his chest and disappeared beneath the neckline of his white vest. “I don’t go for drinks with dead men,” she finally said, lifting her eyes to meet his and immediately felt herself grow hotter at the appraising look she was met with. He had noticed her looking and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“Pretty sure I’m alive, actually,” he quipped, tipping an appreciative nod to the bartender as he leaned across to top off his glass.

“You serve in the navy though, right?” she asked, not really needing an answer, “you’re putting yourself in danger every day, so you might not be around for much longer. So what’s the point?”

She drained the rest of her water glass and set it down heavily, ready to take her leave, but he reached out quickly, grasping her wrist once more. He grinned as he looked at her and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss or slap the look off his face. It was maddening.

“If I’m gonna get blown to bits by Germans, don’t you think I deserve a proper send off?” he joked.

He had finally worn her down. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat, his persistence or simply how he looked looming over her, broad chested and glistening with humidity, but she found herself nodding. “Fine, but I don’t want a drink from the bar I work in. Take me on a proper date.”

She laughed softly as he raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, and then told him all about a little restaurant a few streets away that served asado and empanadas – it was cheap and cheerful, but would serve as a decent place for a first date, perhaps the only date they would ever have. He nodded, agreeing to meet her there the following evening.

Excitement fizzed restlessly in her lower belly as she waited for him to arrive. In spite of herself, she was looking forward to their date. She had taken the time to carefully curl her hair, and fought against the humidity to ensure that the rouge upon her lips stayed in place. It was early evening, the sun had only just begun its slow dip upon the horizon, streaking amber across a cloudless sky. She sat beneath a red and white striped parasol on the restaurant’s front patio. The paint was chipping away from the uncomfortable metal chairs and tables, the red flaking off to reveal the rust beneath. She didn’t mind; the food was good here – flavourful, if a little spicy, and they served cheap red wine by the glass that made you feel too lightheaded to care how oppressive the heat of the evening was.

Thirty minutes passed, then turned into an hour, and she realised with an unpleasant prickle of humiliation and then anger that she had been stood up. He wasn’t coming. Perhaps she had asked too much in refusing a simple drink and insisting they go for dinner. Cursing him under her breath, she pushed abruptly out of her chair, ignoring the loud scrape of the metal legs against the concrete and stalked back towards the bar, determined to give him a piece of her mind the next time he came in.

There was no next time, however, as a week passed by with no sign of her mystery sailor. Every time the door to the pub swung open with a creak of protest, her head turned reflexively towards it, disappointed anew each time it wasn’t him that stepped through it. It dawned on her that perhaps he hadn’t stood her up, he’d simply been shipped out and hadn’t had the chance to tell her. Another week passed and the news of the attack upon the HMS Exeter by the Admiral Graf Spee reached her. Her heart sank. Though she couldn’t be sure, she had a feeling that the Exeter was the ship that he would have been aboard. She berated herself for calling him a dead man – such a thoughtless thing to say, considering the fate that had likely befallen him. The next time she stepped atop her soap box to sing, she lent her voice to her own rendition of We’ll Meet Again – a fitting tribute to the sailor whose name she’d never known.

Tom came to, his mind feeling foggy and struggling to keep pace with the speed his body seemed to want to move at. He didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been there. Confusion at his surroundings further muddled his thoughts as he slowly took in the bright white walls and pea green linoleum coating the floor. It wasn’t until he turned his head, and saw the unconscious man in the bed next to his – a ginger haired, heavy set man that he had served alongside on the HMS Exeter – that he realised he was in a hospital.

He groaned, attempting to sit up, and a dull ache in his head made the room swim as a wave of nausea filled his mouth with foul tasting saliva. He flopped back down heavily against the pillow, the movement alerting the attention of a doctor, who approached the bed from the far end of the ward, his long white coat billowing behind him with the rapidity of his steps.

“How are you feeling, Private…er–” the doctor paused, looking down at a clipboard he held tightly in his hands, lifted a page on it, then returned his gaze to Tom, “Bennett? I’m Doctor Roberts.”

The doctor had the well spoken southern English accent of someone highly educated, and the tone of someone who seemed irritated by the responsibility that such luxury has thrust upon them. He was a man who ought to be wearing a smoking jacket and drinking French brandy, not elbow deep in blood and sweat.

“Like my head’s been stamped on,” Tom replied, scrubbing a hand over his face and closing his eyes to block out the way the room spun. “How long’ve I been here for?”

“You were admitted last night,” the doctor said, coming to stand at the head of the bed and looking down at Tom, “brought up from the coast. You took quite the nasty blow to the head.”

It was then that Tom remembered. The dull boom that had sounded as though it was both hundreds of miles away and also right by his ear. The floor of the ship had rocked beneath his feet, and he’d struggled to stay upright as he had moved as fast as his legs could carry him on the unsteady surface, making his way down to the missile magazine to help load artillery to defend against the attack they were under. He had slipped, banging his head so hard against the steel wall of the ship that he had felt his teeth rattle. Adrenaline had kept him going through all of the smoking carnage, through the horror of seeing death all around him, and the entire length of the rocky journey in the bed of a truck to the inland hospital – the medical tents that were closer by were too overwhelmed to take anyone not at immediate threat of death. It was upon his arrival that he had finally lost consciousness and awoken in a hospital bed.

“So how long until I can leave?” Tom asked, blinking his eyes slowly open, to take in the olive skin of Dr. Roberts’ face, deeply lined with exhaustion.

“It’ll be around a week,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder as a man a few beds down cried out in pain while a nurse attempted to dab iodine onto a wound upon his shoulder, and then looked back at Tom. “You have a concussion, the worst of which you managed to stay awake for, but you’re also severely dehydrated, so we’ll need to give you plenty of fluids.”

Tom scowled, immediately wincing at the pain that it sent spearing through his skull. “A week in hospital for a bump on the head and a few glasses of water?! C’mon, doc, that can’t be right.”

Dr. Roberts sighed, lowering his voice as he leaned conspiratorially down towards him. “We currently do not have the resources to ferry you all back as and when you recover. The truck that brought you all here will take you all back when you have all recovered.”

“Christ, what the fuck am I gonna do in that time?” he complained.

“Well, the nurses are miserably understaffed,” Dr. Roberts offered with a shrug, “perhaps you could lend a hand with sponge baths once you’re feeling up to it?”  

Tom tutted, turning his face away. As Dr. Roberts moved to walk away, he called him back. “D’you think I could send a letter from here?”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll have one of the nurses sort it out for you.”

He wanted to write to her. He didn’t even know her name, and yet she’d frequented his thoughts ever since he’d laid eyes on her in that dingy portside bar. She sang like an angel, but had the look of the devil about her; all blood red lips and glossy black curls. Tom had just wanted to have some fun, and had attempted to sweeten her up by lifting a shilling from the ship’s betting pool, to drop into her tip glass, each time he went to watch her perform. There wasn’t much to do between waiting to ship out, besides play cards, write letters and gamble, so the sailors placed bets on almost everything – the date of their next voyage, who’d be first to catch the clap from a port town whore – the coins were all placed into a canvas bag, and Tom had regularly stolen from it. He wondered where it was now, probably sunk to the bottom of the South Atlantic. He had been digging through his kit bag, trying to find his civvies for his date that evening when the call had come - the Admiral Graf Spee, an enemy boat that had been attacking merchant ships had been spotted not far off the coast. The HMS Exeter was going to pursue and attack it. They had raised the anchor before he’d even had the chance to consider that he was inadvertently leaving her in the lurch. 

Once a nurse had delivered to him the things he needed, Tom leaned on his side, ignoring the way his head throbbed, and began to write.

Hello gorgeous,

Bet you thought I’d stood you up, didn’t ya? I s’pose in a way I did – had a more important date with a war ship. But I’m alive, and still want to take you for that dinner, if you’re not too pissed off. I’m in hospital, it’ll be a week till they let me out, but I’ll come straight to you. Don’t worry, my handsome face is fine, just my head took a bit of a knock, but I don’t use that much anyway. By my count, I must owe you at least four shillings by now, for all of your singing I’ve missed.

See you soon,

Tom.

It wasn’t until he’d folded the page and tucked it inside of the envelope that he realised he didn’t know the address, not even the name of the bar. Angrily, he stuffed the envelope beneath his pillow, flopping back against it with a groan of frustration.

The man in the bed next to his was now awake and looked over at Tom with a playful smirk. “Cheer up, mate, the Nazis scuttled their ship. We won.”

Tom huffed through his nose, eyes fixed firmly upon the bright white ceiling. “Yeah, doesn’t feel like it.”

God, he wanted a smoke.

The day of their departure came, and time seemed to have slowed to an agonising crawl. Tom felt as though he might jump right out of his skin with the impatience of waiting for nurses to put shoulders in slings, and re-dress wounds ready for travel. The pain in his head was gone, and he was left only with a few bruises and scrapes – injuries that would fade until he never remembered they were there. He was lucky, but right now he didn’t feel it. He just wanted to get back to the port, back to her.

By the time the truck rattled back into the little town, the sky was inky black, but the air still hung thick and oppressive, uncomfortably warm even without the sun beating down. He pushed out of the truck bed, not caring to listen to the officer who had climbed out of the passenger seat, ready to give further instructions regarding new ship assignments. Tom didn’t plan on spending the night in a cramped and uncomfortable bunk. He had other plans.

He walked his intended route in long strides, too preoccupied to notice that the physical exertion was making him sweat. He didn’t stop until he reached that dingy, little pub. It was empty of customers, obviously closed for the night, but through the window he could see her. She was standing behind the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. The dull yellow light of the lamps overhead illuminated her features – she was even more beautiful than he remembered. For a moment Tom was frozen to the spot. He didn’t know what to say. What if she was angry with him? What if she didn’t care at all? Maybe he’d imagined their connection as being more significant than it actually was and she’d find it strange that he’d come back for her.

Pushing the thoughts away, he took a deep breath, and tried the door handle. Thankfully, she hadn’t locked it yet and it creaked noisily open. He stood in the doorway as her head snapped up, her eyes settling on his face, and before he had had the chance to say anything, she had run out from behind the bar towards him, throwing her arms around his neck as she crushed her body tightly against his. He staggered backwards at the force of it, before composing himself and wrapping his arms gingerly around her waist, as an involuntary smirk tugged at his lips.

“What’s all this then?” he asked softly, pulling back with a grin, “almost knocked me over.”

There were tears in her eyes as he looked at her, and it made something in his chest twist painfully. He regretted pulling away from her embrace, wanting nothing more than to tug her back against him and make it all better.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry, I called you a dead man, and then you didn’t come back, and I–I…oh god, I’m just so happy to see you.”

Once Tom had calmed her, stroking her hair soothingly and quietly assuring her he was okay, he ushered her further into the bar, encouraging her to take a seat at a nearby table. He locked the door, before going behind the bar to fetch a bottle of rum and two glasses. He poured them both a generous measure before sitting next to her.

“Thanks,” she said appreciatively once she’d taken a sip, dabbing beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry for getting weepy on you. It’s just…I was a nurse before all of this–” she gestured around the bar, “I packed it in. Got tired of seeing all that death. Being here, singing, working behind the bar, it feels like an escape from it all. But then you went missing and it reminded me that I can’t ever really run away from it. You must think I’m such a coward.”

She looked at him with sad, watery eyes and a lump formed in Tom’s throat. He didn’t think she was a coward at all, he had never related to anything more in his life. Thoughts of desertion had crossed his mind continuously during his week in the hospital. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.

“I think you’re really brave, actually,” he told her, reaching across to grasp her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, “it takes courage to admit that. And I found my way back, I had to. Needed to give you this–”

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the letter he’d written and handed it to her. She took it from him, unfolding it silently before she read it. Her eyes softened, the ghost of a smile upon her ruby lips as she scanned the page. When she finished, she looked up and Tom took the page from her, turning it over and showing her a crudely scrawled pencil tally on its back.

“I kept count of the days I’d missed you singing. Wanted to make sure you knew I still wanted to give you your tips, and that I still wanna take you on that date, maybe we–”

She cut him off as she lunged at him from her seat, grasping him by the collar as she kissed him so hard he could scarcely breath. Tom melted into her touch, cupping her cheek in one hand as his mouth moved eagerly against hers, not caring that he was smearing her lipstick. With his other hand, he pressed against the small of her back, wanting her as close to him as she could physically be. Until this point, Tom had been drowning and hadn’t even realised it – the touch of her lips was like being pulled to the surface and brought to life again.

“We could head upstairs, if you wanted,” she whispered breathlessly, her gaze dark with desire when they finally parted for breath.

The thought of being parted from her, if only to walk upstairs to her room, was excruciating; he was painfully hard already. He shook his head. “Here’s fine. Need you. Now.”

He shifted, lifting her onto the sticky table they were sitting at, sending their glasses crashing to the floor with a tinkle of shattering glass. That would be a problem for later, right now he just wanted to feel her, to remind them both they were still alive, that there was more than war and death, that they could seek pleasure even when the entire world seemed as though it were aflame.

She gasped as he nipped at the skin of her neck, her flesh salty upon his lips as she arched her body against his. Her hands worked eagerly to unfasten his trousers. He grinned at her boldness, before diving in for another kiss – this one messy, a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues. He groaned, pushing her skirt up her legs, his fingertips grazing the tops of her stockings. The feel of the nylon made him pulse and throb against the confines of his briefs, he hadn’t felt this lightheaded since he’d first awoken in hospital.

“I need to be inside you,” he panted, hooking a finger into the elastic of her knickers and tugging them to one side.

In response, she pushed down his briefs, freeing his cock. That was all the encouragement that Tom needed. He spat into his palm, stroking it along the length of his erection, groaning as the sensation sent white hot flames of pleasure licking along his lower spine. He dragged the residual moisture against her slick folds, an attempt to ease his passage. But even as he pressed against her, her tightness resisted and he hissed through clenched teeth at the mixture of pleasure and pain as she titled her hips, attempting to help him push deeper. He should have taken more time to prepare her, but he was desperate, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside of a woman. When he finally sank all the way to the hilt he stilled, his forehead pressed against hers, lips parted as he savoured the feeling of her heat wrapped like a silken fist around him. He also knew he’d find his end all too soon if he got carried away.

She reached down, giving the swell of his backside a playful squeeze, a silent urge for him to move, and he began to thrust – slowly at first, beginning to gradually pick up speed as he rocked into her, his fingers digging tightly into the meat of her thighs. The table rocked beneath them, the rickety wood protesting and threatening to give way beneath the intensity of their movements.

“Let it fucking collapse”, Tom thought, “I’ll just fuck her on the floor.”

There wasn’t a thing that could have stopped him. The entire world had narrowed to the point where they joined together, there was nothing but them and the coil of tension he could feel tightening in his gut as he drove into her. He could feel his balls beginning to draw up tight, and he released one of her legs, snaking a hand between them to rub his thumb insistently at the delicate bundle of nerves at her centre.

She mewled wantonly in response, rippling around him, making his breath hitch. He screwed his eyes shut, fighting against the way his manhood pulsed and throbbed inside of her.

“Christ…please…” he choked out. He needed her to come before he did, but he was close, embarrassingly so.

She shuddered beneath him with a keening cry, spasming around his length as she reached her peak and he pulled out quickly, stroking himself in juddering, jerky movements as he spilled himself across the tops of her stockings. When the final aftershocks had finally subsided, and clarity returned to his mind, he looked at her, spread out on the table, flushed and sweaty, breathlessly debauched, and he huffed a soft laugh as he realised he must look similarly wrecked.

“That was…” she trailed off, a dreamy smile upon her lipstick smeared mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, it was,” he agreed softly.

Leaning forward, he placed a hand around the back of her neck, tugging her to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. There were so many things he wanted to say to her – “come back with me”, “my sister sings, she could find you work in a pub”, “leave this all behind and we’ll make it work”.

As he twirled the curls at her nape around his fingers, he finally settled on the words he felt were fitting. He’d ask for her name.

Read on AO3

More Tom fics

[coracaodeleao]

random icks they would give you

Viktor – Bites every pen he uses. Will talk to you about existential dread while absentmindedly chewing the lid off your favorite pen. Somehow doesn’t notice. Doesn’t wash his hair often, and his face is always greasy because of it. Makes way too many facial expressions — no poker face, ever.

Jinx – Has definitely licked at least one of your cups “just to see what you’d do.” Draws on the walls, the furniture, herself, and you if you sit still. Eats everything with her hands like it’s a challenge. Screams randomly. Either takes up way too much space or curls into a corner like she’s part of the wallpaper.

Silco – Talks to you like he’s giving a monologue, even when asking where the salt is. Breath smells like smoked regret and gasoline. Will say something at a whisper and act offended if you ask him to repeat. Tries to be mysterious, but there's always someone lurking behind him — even in the kitchen.

Caitlyn – Says “hmm” in that tone. You know the one. Wipes things you touched. Watches people eat like she’s mentally grading their technique. Carries hand sanitizer and offers it pointedly. Will correct your grammar in person and over text. Says things like “some people just weren’t raised properly” — with the person still in the room.

Vi – Loud. Always. Cuts her nails with a knife. Leaves socks in your bed . Chews with her mouth open if she really likes the food. Doesn’t dress for the occasion, ever. Will clean bruised knuckles with your dish sponge and leave it exactly where she found it.

Jayce – Owns zero clean shirts. Every single one has armpit stains. Thinks he’s being helpful but breaks everything and blames “bad design.” Wears too much cologne and it lingers. Sends 5-minute voice messages to tell you he's busy. Eats stuff he knows will upset his stomach. Loud texter.

Ekko – Hasn’t washed his hoodie because it’s “lived-in.” Always tinkering, leaves tiny sharp metal bits everywhere. Will forget plans because “time’s weird.” Will talk to you while riding his hoverboard above your head. You will get neck cramps from trying to maintain eye contact.

Mel – Compliments you like she’s roasting you. “You look… bold today.” Makes eye contact too intense to be comfortable. Constantly looks like she’s silently judging you. Wears heels and jewelry just to sit on the couch. Has never washed a dish in her life.

Sevika – Smells like cigarettes, rust, and “don’t ask about the job.” Stomps when she walks. Spits when passionate and never acknowledges it. Never takes off her boots indoors. Disappears mid-conversation when her phone buzzes. Appears out of nowhere and scares the hell out of you every time.

Vander – Has eternal pub energy. Smells like beer and smoke even fresh out of the shower. Scratches under his shirt in public. Picks at his belly button when he thinks no one’s looking. Knows everyone and stops to talk to all of them. Says “I got this” then immediately throws out his back.

Ambessa – Talks while chewing and spits when excited. Uses expensive products as if they are nothing, alwayas have to buy a new one every week. Her handshake bruises. The table shakes when she laughs. Smacks your back way too hard when she finds something funny. Always thinks she’s right — and will say so.

Heimerdinger – Whistles when he’s thinking. Loudly. For hours. Leaves beard and fur hair all over your sink and claims it’s “natural shedding.” Says “fascinating!” when you’re venting about emotional stuff . Has lived hundreds of years and is still somehow confused about basic slang.

Sky Young and Steb – Flawless beings. No notes. Perfect. Untouchable.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Love thy neighbour ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: First Tom Bennett fic team, now why is he so fucking hot!!!

Pairing: Tom Bennett x Neighbour!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ mdni, dirty talk, kissing/making out, dry humping, Tom hitting from behind, fingering, p in v sex, Tom being a charming bastard.

Summary: Tom needed to hide from his dad after an evening at the pub, surely his pretty neighbour would let him in?

Word count: 3k

The cold draft sweeping through your bedroom kept you awake once again, pulling your sheets up as far as you could didn’t do much either. You cursed the single paned windows for keeping you from your dreams for the third time this week, you had work at the beauty shop as a countergirl tomorrow and you couldn’t afford having no energy. 

It was all smiles and a happy, energised voice while assisting the ladies with any makeup or perfume. It fit you well but it did take a lot out of you, hence why sleeping well was quite important. Then your mind drifted off, a certain blonde haired man clouding your mind. Your neighbours, the Bennetts, were a nice family and you would sometimes even hang out with Lois. 

Lois was one of your good friends and since the two of you lived so close, them living right across the narrow street, you would often spend time with her. She would most of the time talk about Harry, a man you could tell just from Lois’ stories wasn’t quite great but you let her do her thing. 

You had met him once or twice and wasn’t quite impressed. And when you voiced your opinion to your friend she simply stated it was because you just like blonder men. She knew of your crush on her brother and found it quite adorable. 

You were somewhat embarrassed, you were pretty certain he saw you as a friend and as Lois’ friend so you kept it to yourself. However you knew him pretty well and you had been to his rescue a couple of times when the police came down the road, hiding in your house until they left. 

After your dad left to join the army when the war started it had been you and your mum, since she now was the sole income for the family, you decided to get a job as well. So your cousin gave you a recommendation at the beauty shop, hence getting you a job. Which of course you were very thankful for.  

His footsteps were the only sound that echoed through the empty dark street. Everyone was asleep by now, which was obvious as it was the middle of the night. Tom had spent the evening at the pub and even though he wasn’t drunk, he still knew he would be in trouble once he got home.

So he had a choice to make, his feet came to a halt at his front door. Blowing out some smoke from the cigarette he was puffing on before glancing to your window. Your bedroom was at the front of the house, just like his and Lois’ bedroom. 

Would you still be awake? Would you even let him in? And if you did, he would have to be careful not to wake your mum up. Even though the woman liked him, as he was very charming and handsome, your father did not. Of course he wasn’t home now but if he knew he had been in his daughters bedroom, there would be hell to pay.

He had never actually been in your bedroom, just hid in the closet downstairs when the police showed up at his door. He stood there for a minute taking a last drag of his now short cigarette, before stomping it out on the floor. His eyes shifted from his door to your window, he really didn’t want to deal with his nagging dad right now.

Your window it is. He crossed the street and noticed the tiny pebbles on the sidewalk. Picking them up he carefully threw one at your window, he couldn’t be too loud. If his dad heard him inside the house or your mum in yours, he would be in such deep shit.

The tick against the window made you sit up in bed, did you hear that right? Tick...Tick. Now there were two, you definitely heard that right. Throwing the sheets of your body, you got out of bed. Clad in your thin long nightshift, it was new, a gift from Lios for your birthday that was a couple of weeks ago.

As you made your way to your window, you wrapped your arms around yourself to fight the cold. When you peered out, a crooked smile met your eyes. You rolled them at him and he put his hands together in a begging motion as he got on his knees. You stifled a laugh at his stupid gesture and opened your window. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You whisper yelled at him. “Well I was hopin’ you would rescue me, and here you are.” He whisper yelled back, now getting back on his feet. “Oh really, and how would I do that?” You teased, you knew he wanted to just get inside but why not pester him a bit?

“Please beautiful, can you let me in? I promise I won’t wake up your mum.” His words made your face turn about a hundred shades of red and you contemplated his question. You let out a sigh and fully opened your window. Tom smiled at you and used your, luckily strongly built, drain pipe to get up the wall and into your bedroom. 

He almost tripped and fell into your bedroom when his foot got stuck on the windowsill but you managed to catch him. The pair of you had to keep your laughs in as your mum only slept two rooms down the hall. 

When you let go of him he sneakily glanced at your thinly covered breasts before taking in your small but cosy bedroom. You blushed hard when you caught him staring but sat back down on your bed as he looked around, the moonlight illuminating the room. Then you noticed your pebbled nipples were quite visible through your gown.

You paid it no mind and slightly covered yourself with your arms. “So...your room is nice, I imagined it would be like this. All, well flowery and stuff.” You quirked a brow at him. “You imagined what my bedroom would look like?” He snorted at that and just shrugged. “Dunno just thought it would look like this, can smell your perfume. It’s nice.” 

His charming personality and butterfly inducing words made you completely forget about a very important matter, where would he sleep? “Should I uh… sleep on the ground or?” You smiled softly, “Or?” He scratched the back of his neck and looked around awkwardly. “Or...maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing with me?” 

His words made your face burn and the thought heated your belly. Sleeping next to Tom? In your bed? So incredibly close? Your bed was quite small, since it was just you, so it would be a tight fit. “I don’t know Tom, it’s a very small bed.” He nodded at your words and lowered to the ground, at least the floor was carpeted. 

You sighed, he couldn’t sleep on the ground. There was even less room on the floor and it was incredibly cold with the draft. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to share with him? “Get up.” He smiled and got off the floor waiting for you to get under the sheets so he could join you. But then he started to take off his coat, then his shoes, then his sweater. 

He looked at you hesitantly, “You mind if I take off me pants? They’re not comfortable to sleep in.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. You bit your lip softly and nodded, moving a bit more to the side so he could join you once he was left in his briefs. 

You closed your eyes to give him some privacy and a moment later you felt the mattress dip and his legs brushed yours as he climbed next to you. “You can look y’know?” You softly opened your eyes and was met with his cute smile again. “Did I wake you up?” He whispered. 

You shook your head, “No, the cold was keeping me up so you didn’t.” He nodded and made himself a bit more comfortable. “So you workin tomorrow then?” It was now you who nodded, “Yeah, too bad I won’t have slept much though.” He smiled again at your words and mumbled a sorry.

“It’s fine, cold would’ve kept me up anyway.” He seemed to think for a moment. “If you turn around, I could lie closer to you, keep us both warm.” He once again made your cheeks turn red, but agreed anyway. You turned around, now faced with your flower wallpaper as you felt him inch closer to you.

His front was now pressed to your back and it felt awfully intimate. You could smell the cigarettes he smoked on him and the delicious musk that always clung to him, a mixture of beer, cologne and sweat. Suddenly you felt the draft sweep through the room again and you shivered.

Tom didn’t fail to notice and now wrapped his arm around your waist, the sudden touch making you jolt a bit. “You okay?” He whispered, so close to your ear, his warm breath made you shudder once more. “Y-yeah, it’s warmer this way.” His warm body against yours was the best feeling you had felt in your life.

After a while he shifted again and seemed to cuddle up to you a bit. The sensation made heat pool in your belly again and you could feel yourself throbbing a bit below. The way that this man made you feel was dangerous, and something no other man could make you feel. 

Not much time had gone by when you awoke again but this time it wasn’t because of the draft. Tom shifted again, now seemingly in his sleep. Then you felt it, something hard poking your ass. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was hard. 

You had sex before, mediocre at most but you couldn’t help imagine what it would be like if Tom woke up and just fucked you right on your tiny bed. Your leg started to cramp a bit and this time you moved a bit, getting more comfortable. The movement made your ass graze his covered erection, was it a trick on your ears or did you hear a quiet moan? 

The noise made your core throb harder and so did the feeling of his cock pressing against your ass. He was probably asleep and you wanted to know if you really had this effect on him, so you grinded a bit harder against him this time, under the ruse of getting more comfortable.

“Do that again darling and you would have to do something about it.” The warm whisper against your ear made you gasp. He was awake, fuck. “Or maybe you are doing it on purpose. Maybe you want to do something about it. Hm?” His low voice made the wetness in your underwear worse and all you could do was nod.

“Say it.” You whimpered at his command. “Go on. Tell me what you want.” His hand started to caress your hip. “W-want, want you.” He chuckled. “Yeah? You want me baby? Or my cock?” His words and now tighter grip on your hip made you moan softly. “Both- P-please,  Tommy I need you.” You whined.

You could hear him groan behind you as his hand snaked down to your covered wetness. Two of his fingers carefully caressed the soaked fabric, right on your covered clit. The gentle touch was enough to set your body on fire. 

You pushed your ass against his crotch again and he grunted out a quiet fuck. Before rolling his hips against you in a rougher movement. The action made the both of you moan quietly as your mother was still sleeping in the same house. His hand then skimmed a bit higher against the edge of the fabric. 

His fingers then moved your underwear down, and he started to kiss and lick your neck, earning whimpers from you. The moment he touched your now bare clit, made you moan a bit too loud, stilling both your movements as your eyes widened in fear. But for moments nothing happened and he continued his movements, but not before warning you.

“Be quiet beautiful, don’t want your mother finding your neighbour's fingers deep in your cunt would you?” You gasped once again, words were dangerous coming out of his mouth. The effect he had on you was insane. 

He resumed, his thick fingers circling your clit. Then he also started to hump your ass again from behind. His own soft groans and moans mixed with yours. “You turn me into an animal baby, bet you could make me cum by just letting me grind against your ass.” The words spurred you on even more and you could feel yourself getting close.

The way his fingers perfectly stimulated your clit made you tremble beneath his touch. Sighs and pants left your lips as he rolled his hips against your ass in a stronger rhythm now, his fingers worked faster too, as he listened to your dizzying responses. 

Soon you were clutching his arm, holding your breath as you were so incredibly close. “Tommy- I’m so close- please-” He sucked and kissed your neck once more and sped up his fingers a bit, the way you gripped his arm was starting to hurt but he fucking loved it.

Then with a louder gasp and whine, your entire body spasmed and contracted, waves of ecstasy crashing through your body. Tom’s hand was stuck between your thighs but he wanted nothing more, the fact he did that to you made his cock twitch in his briefs. 

He had edged himself the whole time while pleasuring you, hoping he would be allowed to fuck you as well. Once you seemed to calm from your high, your body relaxed and Tom could move his hand again, but he wasn’t done. 

“Gonna let me fuck your tight cunt baby? Oh, please let me, need you so bad.” He groaned in your ear, showing you how much he needed you with a harsh pump of his hips. You breathed a yes and hiked up your nightgown yourself, tits on display for him. 

He immediately took advantage of it and massaged them with his freed hand, before tugging off his briefs, now fully naked as well. He took both of your clothes and threw them on the ground next to the bed. Then he caressed your skin again.

Kissing your shoulder and neck, and then he turned your head. Kissing your lips fiercely before stroking his cock a bit. “Do you have a condom pretty?” You nodded and gestured to your nightstand, the condoms still in there from when your ex used to visit. He quickly opened the drawer and pulled one out.

Never had you seen a man rip open and put on a condom so fast, it made you giggle a bit. He smiled at you and lovingly kissed your lips before you turned back so he could move his cock over your glistening folds. His tip caught over your hole and he gasped, “Can I?” You nodded again and he carefully slid his tip inside.

He almost fully entered you with how slick you were and the added lube on the condom. But he made sure to treat you delicately, so he slowly buried himself inside. Cursing under his breath at your warm walls hugging his cock. Once he got to the hilt, he let you get used to his size.

You breathed a please, and he got the hint to start moving. He rolled into you from behind and the small old bed started to creak a bit with his movements, somehow making the whole ordeal more intoxicating. “So fucking good baby, your tight little cunt feels so good, might get me addicted.” He grunted from behind. 

You could barely think as his cock pounded into you, mind blank as pleasure consumed you. Then you felt his fingers on your clit again, trying to sloppily match it up to his thrusts. The bed creaked louder when he drove into you harder, skin on skin slapping now also filling the room.

All attempts to be as quiet as possible flew out the window and now you just hoped you were both quiet enough. Each pound into you drew a moan from your lips, his own groans muffled by your neck he was nuzzled against. “Fuck baby, yes, yes, yes- feels so good, my little slut- fuck-” Your cunt squeezed him at his words making him groan even more.

Your cunt started to contract more and more around him, along with your breathless gasps it was a sign for him that you were close. So his fingers now found a good rhythm over your clit and along with his noises, the bed, your colliding skin and his thrusts, euphoria found you again. Your back arched against him and his hand was once again trapped in his favourite place. You twitched against him and your walls contracted around his cock tightly. 

“Yeah- yeah- baby- come for me. You gonna make me cum- you want that? You want me to fuck my cum inside you?” A moan was the only response he needed and he spilled his spend all inside the condom, moans and gasps left his lips as well, as he thrusted a couple more times inside you. 

Curses left his lips as he made sure he completely emptied himself in the condom, pretending he was filling up your pretty cunt instead. His movements stilled as he held onto you. Both of your heavy breaths filled the room, now quite hot enough. 

After a while he carefully slipped his soft cock out of you and removed the condom. Tying it up before leaving you to throw it in your trashcan. He then picked up your nightgown and underwear and gave it to you with a smirk, before pulling on his own briefs again.

He slipped back next to you and you had now turned to face him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. He pecked your lips before doing it again and again, earning a laugh from you. He wrapped his arms protectively around you and then kissed your cheek. 

And so you fell asleep in his arms and when morning came, you were late for work and had a lot of explaining to do to your mother. Who screamed as she entered your room that morning.

[spnexploration]

Comments

Happy birthday Dean Winchester! Here's a quick one-shot I whipped up to celebrate.

This also fulfils the 'Plus Size' square of my @spnaubingo 2023 bingo card, even though it's 2024... I'm late, I know, but I still want to do some more of it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus sized!reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Couple of crap comments from a random, some not-great self-esteem and a drunk character, but nothing particularly bad.

Synopsis: A man you're interviewing makes some crap comments about your body, and Dean doesn't help. Can he make it up to you?

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Which one’s the father?” The sleazy guy joked. My stomach dropped.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, it’s alright love, I know the real father’s probably suffering somewhere alone while you’re off gallivanting with your workmates. I’m surprised he lets you out, really.”

The urge to punch the witness we were interviewing was overwhelming. Rather than ruin the case, I turned on my heel and marched out.

Fuck that guy. I’m not pregnant and I’m not screwing either of the Winchesters.

I heard Dean’s FBI agent tone of voice as he started speaking behind me. Great to see they were all just moving on with their lives, I thought sarcastically.

---

📱 Where are you? We’re going to the next witness’s house

A text came in from Dean. I read it but didn’t reply.

📱 You ok?

I sighed. Finally, he asks.

📱 Fine. I’ll catch up with you later

I replied. He sent me a thumbs up, I rolled my eyes.

I kicked at the ground and started the walk back into town. Sam and Dean would probably try and make me feel better, but I knew that wasn’t happening. I looked down at my soft, flabby belly that I’d tried multiple times to lose.

I walked.

---

I felt a bit absurd, getting tipsy this early. It wasn’t that I felt like I had to drink to get over the comment. It was just  that I’d gotten back to the motel room and was feeling a bit morose, and there was nothing to do. I’d tapped out of the case and I was bored. I went for another wander and this stupid town had nothing in it but a pub, and so somehow I’d ended up here, starting drinking a lot earlier than normal.

And now I looked like I was drinking my feelings, when I wasn’t.

 Not that there was anyone looking at me anyway.

Well, except in disgust. Who knew how many more people in here thought I was pregnant too. Probably thought I was harming an unborn baby, right now.

Fuck them.

---

“You know there’s still a monster on the loose?” Dean said gruffly, a frown on his face. I guess it’d been easy to find me given how few things there were in this town.

“You struggling without me?” I didn’t think I was slurring too much, but his expression did not improve when I started talking.

“How you going to fight one off like this?” he gestured to me.

“You think a few drinks are why I’m fat?” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not calling you fat, I’m calling you drunk.”

“Right,” I said with an eyeroll.

“Come on, get in the car,” he said, trying to tug my arm.

“Fuck off Dean! I can drink if I want to. There’s nothing else to do in this shithole, anyway.”

He dropped my arm and stomped off to the bar.

I turned back to my drink. Sam came and sat opposite me. You can’t escape the bloody Winchesters.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked with his puppy dog eyes.

“I’m fine. I had a free afternoon, I came to get a drink. Is that fucking crime now?”

“I meant about what happened with the guy. You seemed pretty upset.”

“Surprised you could see that, you were both so busy being silent.”

“Didn’t you hear Dean?”

“How could I hear Dean when he wasn’t saying anything?”

“No, he laid right into the guy.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I heard Dean get right back into his FBI voice as I walked off.”

“Yeah, he was still in character at first, told the guy that he needed to speak respectfully to Agents. And then when the guy was still a douche he got a bit more Dean and threatened to punch his lights out if he didn’t shut up about you.”

I laughed into my drink. I was sure Sam was embellishing, there was just no way Dean would care that much about someone being mean to me.

Speak of the devil, Dean appeared again, tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He put the water in front of me.

“Thanks, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not having you hung over tomorrow and being a liability to the case, drink the water.”

“I don’t remember electing you.”

“Jesus, you’re even more belligerent when drunk. Just drink the water and stop moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

“The guy was an asshole, no one thinks you look pregnant. But you can’t just drink yourself blotto and get yourself killed every time someone says something mean to you.”

I stood up, grabbed the glass of water and upended it all over Dean’s face. Then I marched out the door.

The effect was a little ruined by my drunken stagger, though.

---

Sam caught my arm as I got outside. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I walked myself here, I can walk myself home!”

“I’m pretty sure you were walking in a straight line when you got here though. Come on.”

I let him tug me to the Impala. He must’ve grabbed the keys off Dean before chasing after me.

“He’s just worried about you,” he said gently as we were exiting the carpark. “Doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“That does not give him a free pass to behave like that.”

---

Dean stood over me, a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in his hands. “Morning, sunshine. Need some relief?”

I gratefully reached out. Man, I did not normally drink that much.

“What time is it?”

 “Time to work the case.”

I groaned, “Can’t you do it without me?”

“No, come on, back on the horse.”

“It’s not the horse that’s the problem, it’s the dog that bit me.”

“I did tell you to drink water,” he said smugly.

“Fuck off!” I threw my pillow at him. He easily deflected but wisely left me alone after that.

I groaned and got off the couch I’d been sleeping on, slumping to the bathroom. The boys were sitting around the tiny table, already dressed and looking at their laptops.

Sam was gone when I came out, freshly showered, dressed and feeling slightly more human. I looked at Dean with a clear question on my face.

“He’s gone for coffee, thought you could use some.”

“Thanks.”

“I, uh,” Dean continued, more hesitantly, “I owe you an apology.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. An apology from Dean was a rare thing, but I was wary it was going to end up being a backhanded insult instead. I often felt like I needed to protect my heart from being hurt by him.

“I was worried about you getting hurt when I saw you were drunk. But I just tried to solve the problem, I didn’t actually talk to you, and I,” he paused, biting his lip, “I shouldn’t do that.”

“Nice to see I’m just a problem,” I replied sarcastically. I wasn’t sure why he was riling me so much, but I still felt so hurt and angry.

He stood up and came over to me. “You’re not a problem,” he said quietly, trying to look into my eyes. I ducked my head away from the intensity of his look. “And I am sorry that asshat upset you.”

“I didn’t get drunk just because some guy called me pregnant, you know.” I could hear how defensive I sounded, despite my best efforts not to.

“It’s a shitty thing he did anyway. You’re beautiful.”

I laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t put yourself down all the time.”

“Dean, your idea of beautiful is tall, thin, busty and great hair.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, they’re all thin at least.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“The women you sleep with, the women you hit on.”

“I can think of many women I’ve hit on who aren’t ‘thin’, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Suuuure,” I said with an eye roll.

“But I haven’t hit on many women lately, been distracted by one in particular.”

“Let me guess, beautiful?”

“Absolutely.”

“My point exactly. It’s ok Dean, you don’t have to ma-” Dean’s fingers found my chin, nudging it up so I would like at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel it.”

I stared at him, mouth agape. Absolutely stunned into silence.

“And I’m sorry again that I was a bit of a dick yesterday.”

His face came even closer, watching my reactions.

“You’re my weak spot,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.” I put my hands on his chest, “Dean, this isn’t funny, don’t tease me.”

He dropped his hand from my chin, looking hesitant. “Sweetheart, I’m putting my heart on the line here, I’m not teasing.”

My hands slackened.

He edged a tiny bit forward.

His tongue darted out and back in. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

Was this even real?

How was this happening?

His hand came up to cup my cheek.

I leant forward.

The world suddenly sped up again. Dean moved in, closing the gap between us and bringing his lips to mine. I lost myself in the tenderness of his touch, the softness of his lips, the  exploration of his tongue and mine.

A sudden noise made us pull apart. Sam was standing in the doorway, cardboard holder with coffees in one hand and the other on his hip.

“I’m happy for you guys and all, but we still have a case to work. You can pick this up later.”

.

.

.

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[cupidsworstcrime]

Mute!Roach x Deaf!F!Reader - blurb

I love the idea of mute!roach getting with someone deaf/mute as well and having a kid together. and since neither of his parents speak?? He takes after the biggest speaker in the family. Uncle johnny.

Baby Roach—who adamantly insisted he was not a baby anymore—was six years old and already a little menace in the best way. He wasn’t deaf like you, but he signed fluently, hands flying with the kind of confidence that could only come from growing up in a home where silence was never empty, only full of love.

He talked, too. Oh boy, did he talk.

And unfortunately, because neither you nor Roach were big on speaking aloud, he’d latched onto the next most vocal influence in his life: Soap.

So now you had this tiny, energetic boy with his dad’s big brown eyes and your expressive hands, who stomped around the apartment yelling things like “Tha’s no’ how ye tie yer boots, da’!” in the thickest Scottish accent imaginable. You couldn’t hear it, of course—but Roach made sure you knew.

He’d sign things like “He sounds like a Glaswegian goat” with a straight face, while you cackled.

And Soap? That man was so smug.

“Aye, that’s me legacy righ’ there,” he’d say proudly, ruffling the kid’s hair while the little one mimicked his every move. “Lad’s speakin’ proper now.”

Your mum was bewildered.

She watched her grandson run around with a plastic sword yelling, “A’m gonnae slice ye, dragon beastie!” and just blinked like her entire life had taken a turn. She could talk, after all. She had a perfectly lovely, gentle voice.

“Not fair he didn’t get my accent,” she muttered once, folding laundry while you laughed silently behind her. “I was right there during his baby years. Why does he sound like an irate pub regular?”

Roach just signed smugly: “Because we let Soap babysit. This is our fault.”

Still... when your son ran up and signed “Love you, Mama,” with that crooked little smile and a heavy Scottish “Love ye, Da!” thrown in after, you wouldn’t change a thing.

He was loud. He was wild. He was perfect.

Oh, by high school? It was game over.

Baby Roach—who by now insisted on going by something cooler like RJ or Roach Jr., depending on the day—wasn’t just a kid anymore. He was a full-blown Soap disciple. Swaggering into rooms like he owned the place, slinging wild idioms no one understood, pulling pranks so elaborate you were convinced Soap was feeding him blueprints in secret.

He’d grown into a sharp, fast-talking, sharp-signing gremlin with that same chaotic sparkle in his eye that Soap wore like a badge of honor. The two of them had their own language—part sign, part slang, part unhinged telepathy—and it drove the rest of the family insane.

Ghost, arms crossed and eternally unimpressed, would glare at RJ mid-rant and mutter something like, “This is what happens when you let feral Scots raise children unsupervised.”

Gaz would chime in with, “I was a responsible uncle. I bought him a chess set. He used the pieces to stage a war on a frog.”

Meanwhile, Soap was practically beaming, so proud of the havoc he’d helped nurture. “Tha’s my boy! Walkin’ disaster with style.”

And honestly… yeah. He was.

RJ had your heart, Roach’s eyes, and Soap’s flair. He still signed like a pro when he wasn’t running his mouth, still made time to sit beside you on the couch and tell you about his day in both voice and hand.

And sure, he got detention sometimes. Talked back to teachers with too much charm to punish properly. But when he pulled off a fundraiser prank that raised actual money for the deaf program at school? Or when he taught his friends how to sign just so you could follow their conversations during game night?

Yeah. He was a little chaos gremlin.

But he was yours. And Roach couldn’t be prouder.

[julietsbody]

sometimes, billy would bring you on his trips to other towns to fulfill… duties, or to put people in their place. he rarely ever let you be present in any form of confrontation, he only took you when he knew things would be going more smoothly, the only harsh thing that he would have to deal with was your attitude. stomping after him in your short heels, dressed in your finest lace, you looked like you were going to a pageant, not to stay with your boyfriend as he wrangles horses or confronts other outlaws.

the worst part, though, is that you get all whiny with him, pouting your bottom lip and continuously ask if he’s done yet because you just can’t wait to spend some actual time with him, to have his attention on you.

you’d end up bent over in the nearest pub’s restroom, billy hardly liked backshots, he was always one for missionary— but god, you really needed to be put in your place, didn’t you? he furrows his brows as he fucks into you, mumbling things like, “this what you wanted? needy girl, jus’ beggin’ for my attention, huh?”

you can barely say anything back through your whimpers and moans, his hips suddenly relentless it nearly had you drooling. that’s when his lips curve to a small smile, “now y’got it and you can’t even say anythin’, so fuckin’ bratty, thought i wasn’t gonna put you in your place?”

and put you in your place he did, not only that, but he made sure to pull you close after— mumble sweet praises into your ear, fix your dress for you, clean you up. he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “‘m gonna buy you somethin’ real nice when this all pays out, ‘lright? such a good girl for me.”