#come on testosterone do your job and make this go away

[non-un-topo]

Getting repeatedly stabbed in the side today and not in the fun way

[aemondtargaryenonlyfans]

CHOPPERS.

Part 1 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Today felt like the first calm shift you had in weeks… or at least that‘s what you thought until two unexpected guests stepped into Choppers.

WORDS: 3.3 K

WARNINGS: There's just too much testosterone in this chapter, mentions of injuries (cut lip), a bit of swearing, otherwise it‘s harmless

NOTES: Aemond seems a bit soft in this, BUT I can tell that’s not how he’s going to be all the time. Credit for the photo of Tommy with tatts goes to @/eatheruniverse. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics.

King’s Landing was the sort of place where you either had two houses or two jobs, and since you were currently wiping down the counter of Choppers and had no fancy–and ridiculously expensive–motorcycle parked in front of the bar, you clearly belonged to the latter. 

The venue was busier than usual with several members of the Savage Dragons filling the tables and bar, and the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and leather hung thick in the air. Old school rock boomed off the jukebox in the corner, and the atmosphere was relaxed, making the shift one of the easiest you had in weeks. 

At least that was what you thought until raised voices drew attention to one of the tables closest to the door, a familiar mop of brown hair involved and two other men you hadn’t seen that often before. In times like these, you were grateful to work with Cregan, because wherever that hunk of a man went, every turmoil was smothered within seconds. 

When you turned around to meet his eyes from where he was drawing some beers, you merely had to wrinkle your nose with a ‘pretty please?’ leaving your lips to coax him from behind the counter. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, and nodded towards the tap, “Need two more for Alyn and Addam. Could you, please?” Making a swift change, you took his place behind the tap, while he dried off his hands and threw the rag over his broad shoulder, walking around the counter. 

“Cole! Lannister!” his deep voice rang out, perfectly audible despite the music still playing, “You fuckin’ know not to start shit on my shift. Get your asses outta here before they meet my foot.“ There had been a few encounters with them before, and each one had been won by Cregan. 

Thanks to you working at the bar for quite some time now, your eyes managed to flicker between the scene unfolding in front of you and the tap, making sure not one drop of beer got spilled and the foam head was evenly and neither too thick nor too thin. 

Even before Cregan reached their table, the men held their hands up in defeat, getting up to head towards the door. 

“What are they even doing here? The posh lifestyle getting too boring?” you looked from Cregan and Jace to your friend Baela. She leaned over the counter, fishing for one of the beers you’d poured. You swatted her hand away, pulling the pints towards the edge of the counter, before crouching down to pull the first aid kit from the cabinet below. 

“Well, technically, your father hasn’t banned them from entering the bar,” you noted, raising one eyebrow at her as you slid the kit across the counter toward Cregan so he could tend to the cut on Jace’s lip. 

She slumped into the bar stool while you hurried around the counter with both beers in hand, sighing in an exaggerated manner, “Fuck, I know, I’ve been telling him for months now, but he’s not doing it.”

You meandered through the crowd of people and placed the pints in front of the silver haired brothers, walking back to get behind the counter again. “I don’t know what has happened between you, and I really don’t care, but just because your cousins left the gang and started their own doesn’t mean they should be banned,” you said, grabbing a rag to wipe off the tap. “They’re still your family, and the few members of Dracarys that come here have been nothing short of calm–unless they’re provoked by a certain someone.” You shamelessly glanced over to Jace, who just shrugged his shoulders. 

“We don’t wanna have them here, and if that’s the only way to make it clear to them, I’ll keep going until they understand. They’re nothing but a bunch of elitist assholes,” the president retorted. 

You’re just as elitist as they are, was the comeback you wanted to say but stifled by biting your tongue, because they were the ones kind of taking you in and accepting you in their gang, even though you didn’t own a motorcycle and weren’t a member of their tribe. You enjoyed the company of the Savage Dragons, and you’d been around Baela even before your first shift at Choppers, but they had no idea what it meant to grow up in King’s Landing’s lower class and to work for your money. 

You handed Baela a freshly poured beer, throwing the rag over your shoulder in the same manner Cregan did before, who was already nursing a bourbon. 

“Didn’t you come by motorcycle?” 

“One does no harm,” he said, “besides, there's at least six hours left ‘till closing time.”

“How did I end up here?” you asked rhetorically, and pinched the bridge of your nose. Because you were looking for a new job, and Baela’s father was looking for a waitress. 

Cregan smiled in a teasing manner, “Don’t you enjoy being a Dragon, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head to the side as you met his brown eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Just because I work here with you,” you nod in his direction, referring to the cut-off that hung on the knob of the cabinet with various patches of flames and dragons sewn onto it, and their gang’s logo patched on the back, “and occasionally ride shotgun doesn’t mean I’m part of your gang. I don’t own a bike and never will.”

The bull of a man just raised his hands as if he didn’t mean to offend you, though the cheeky smirk he held on his lips made it clear he didn’t hold it against you. “Just teasin’, sugar, we know you aren’t.” Sometimes the nicknames he gave you came so random that they really made you blush, and totally not because you had a little crush on him. Cregan was barely three years older than you, but he somehow had upped his flirting game to the point he just radiated daddy vibes. And you didn’t want to know what he was up to when he wasn’t working or taking his Triumph out for a ride with the Dragons. 

Hearing his name being called in the distance, you both looked up to meet the violet eyes of Alyn, who was holding up two fingers while pointing towards the two empty pints standing in front of them. Sometimes you wondered if they just chugged it the second the drinks were served. 

“After you,” you mirrored his cheeky grin and extended your arm, pointing towards the tap. 

The brunette scoffed and shook his head, but not in a derogatory manner. He trailed past you, while you seized the opportunity to clean some of the glasses that piled up on the countertop. 

Jace went back to where some of his men were playing pool, the cut on his lip obvious enough you could still spot it even in the dim light of the bar. 

“So, the flame between you two dying out already?” you asked Baela with a softer voice, not wanting to catch Cregan’s attention, lifting your head to look at her. When there didn’t come an answer right away, you pressed on. “Just surprised Creg had to patch him up, that’s all.”

She took a swig of her beer, putting the pint down and slightly bending over the counter to come closer toward you. “He’s just been acting so weird lately. I get that it’s not easy when your parents get a divorce, but everyone saw it coming… even Luke handles it better than he does.” 

“Speaking of, where’s he anyways? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s in Driftmark with Rhae. Gramps needed some help in his workshop, and since dad’s busy with the new bar, Luke offered to drive her and stay there. They should be back by Saturday.”

You had to give it to Rhaena. Even though she didn’t own a motorcycle herself, she was mechanically inclined. Growing up with a father like Daemon, who was obsessed with motorcycles himself, she received all the support she needed on her way, and he taught her most of the things he knew, despite taking a step back from motorcycles and all things involved after their mother Laena got into an accident that nearly killed her. 

At this point you just waited for the day she’d storm into Choppers and proclaim that Corlys Velaryon had bequeathed the workshop to her. You hoped for it to happen. 

“Does he,” you nodded toward the Savage Dragon’s president, “want to stay with Rhaenrya or does he leave with Harwin?” You stored the glasses away and threw the rag aside, leaning back against the cabinet with your arms folded in front of your chest. 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. He plans on buying an apartment in the city,” you raised your eyebrows at that, considering renting an apartment in King’s Landing already was expensive as hell, so, buying one was a whole other level. “And I can totally see Luke moving in with him, though.”

You nodded, and scoffed at the thought of the brothers sharing an apartment, considering Jace more often than not complained about his younger brother getting on his nerves. Perhaps moving out was his chance to get a taste of freedom and independence.  

Your response was seized short when the loud chatter of the customers drowned into silence. Having got used to the background noise a long time ago, you picked up on it lacking the second it ceased. 

There was a slight commotion at the front door, caused by the crowd of people parting to make place for whoever entered. It was a weird reaction, to say the least. The customers stepped aside when two silver haired men, clad in black jeans and matching leather jackets with a few patches covering the fronts and arms, stepped through the door and headed towards the counter. 

You didn’t have to squint your eyes to make out that it was Aegon Targaryen, self proclaimed prince of the city and president of Dracarys. And though everyone kept a respectful distance from them, you knew it wasn’t because of him, but rather because of the much taller man that trailed behind him like his personal bodyguard, his serious expression seeming both domineering and threatening. You hadn’t heard much about Aemond Targaryen before, a total enigma to you, and while the brothers seemed like the epitome of the golden retriever and the black cat personalities, you knew better than to trust the first impression. 

Aegon Targaryen was nothing short of ruthless and deceitful, the goofy and gullible demeanor only a mask he put on to fool people until he decided to show his true colors. The only thing that matched was his loyalty and protectiveness, always going the extra mile for his brothers and sister. 

The only things you knew about Aemond were that he supposedly wore a sapphire in place of his left eye after he’d lost it in an accident, though the how and when was unknown and his left eye concealed with a black eyepatch, and that he was in no way inferior to Aegon, just as ruthless and if not even hot-tempered and fierce. 

At least that’s what you had heard. You still had to experience their outbursts first hand yourself, most of the stories you‘d heard told by members of the Savage Dragons, or rather Jace, Luke and Creg. And sometimes even Baela told one or two stories, however, they never were as derogatory as the ones the others told. 

“Now this is a rare visit,” your friend mumbled, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow as she noticed your attention was solely fixed on them. Not even Jace’s ‘Look who has decided to bless us with their presence’ was able to reclaim your focus.

With every step the pair took toward you, you felt the air being knocked straight out of your lungs, your throat becoming incredibly tight, whereas another sensation built in the pit of your stomach–perhaps even at the apex between your legs. Only when you felt Baela’s hand under your chin, as if she meant to close your mouth–even though it wasn't opened–you figured you had been staring at them a bit too long and a bit too obvious, but something about his striking eye, chiseled jaw and intimidating aura felt alluring to you. 

“Cousin,” Aegon’s gravelly voice rang out, acknowledging Baela. 

“Aeg,” she said before looking over to the taller Targaryen, nodding. “Aemond.”

The air between them was thick with tension, and it almost made you cringe to the point you had to interfere. “What can I get you?” your voice was a tad more high pitched than usual, and from the corner of your eye you were able to spot the way your friend’s eyebrow raised in a manner that made clear she was judging you.  

You tried your best to focus on Aegon, his blonde stubble, the loose curls and lavender eyes dreamy enough to get lost in but not at all enticing enough to outshine his younger brother. 

For a split second, you glanced over to Aemond, looming over his brother and Baela, and you were certain you’d caught the hint of a blush covering his pale skin, running down his cheeks and getting lost under his neck tattoos. 

“Daemon’s here, sweets?” he drawled, the pet name only topped by the flirty wink he shot you. Goosebumps prickled on your skin, though it had a completely different meaning and got an entirely different reaction from you than it did whenever Cregan called you something similar.

Speaking of, he had abandoned his place at Addam’s table–that man couldn’t do anything else than drinking and chatting while at work, and occasionally threw someone out of the bar–and trailed around the counter to stand behind you, towering over your small frame just like Aemond did with Aegon. “No,” he said coldly. Very unusual for him, you thought. 

Instead of looking at the man behind you, Aegon kept his eyes neatly trained on you, a smile on his lips that seemed eerily faked, “Then we’ll have two of his special. Neat.” Daemon’s special, you raised your brows, that meant you had to open one of the ridiculously expensive bottles of Elijah Craig’s 18 year single barrel that were stored in the back just for this occasion. 

“I’ll bring it to you, guys,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Cregan, whose jaw was set to the point you feared for his teeth. Both men nodded and left to occupy one of the tables in the back–the one where two of their men had been expelled from before, to be precise. 

“Leave it to me,” you warned, putting a hand on the expanse of his broad chest to make it clear it wasn’t even up to debate. “They haven’t done anything at all and you guys can’t think straight right now.”

While you fetched two tumblers and retrieved the bottle from the back, Baela had left her spot in front of the counter, walking over to the pool table to approach Jace. You supposed it had something to do with the way he held his hands balled to fists at his sides and his eyes all but burning through his uncle’s bodies. If looks could kill, Aegon and Aemond certainly would have perished straight away. 

Perhaps she would finally manage to keep his rage at bay and stop him from doing anything stupid. Yet again. 

Grabbing a tray, you served the drinks to them before cleaning their table from the remnants of their clan’s escapades, several empty pints and tumblers stacked upon it. It was difficult to keep your cool with both their eyes watching your every move, though the younger one seemed to not be able to tear his eye off your body instead, watching the way your black attire clung to your curves, the hem of your skirt high enough to expose most of your thighs and accentuate your legs. 

“Need a hand?” It was Aemond speaking, catching you by surprise as you’d judged him to be more quiet-natured. His voice was just as gravelly as his brother’s, but at the same time smoother, if that even made sense. It crawled under your skin, but this time it was more pleasant. 

You flashed him a sheepish smile, and weren’t able to meet his eye for long. “It’s alright,” you said, “I’ve carried a lot more than that.” The nod he returned made him appear just as sheepish as you were, and you were certain that if you’d stay just a minute longer, you wouldn’t be able to leave their table at all. 

You were completely oblivious that Aegon’s and Aemond’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching even the slightest move you made, though they all captured a different motive behind them. If it was up to Jace, you would’ve perished with his uncle’s in that moment, and if it was up to the Targaryen brother’s, they would’ve kept you at their table just a bit longer–one wanting your company out of self-interest, while the other one just enjoyed to mess with the other side of the family. 

You balanced the tray back to the bar, placing it on the countertop and allowing Cregan to clean the glasses this time around. 

He looked utterly ridiculous. A hunk of a man, hunching his shoulders while cleaning a bunch of glasses and staring at the men they loathed with all their hearts for reasons you didn’t even know in the first place. 

“You’re still aware I’m leaving early tonight, right?” you asked him, trying to get his mind off the matter at hand. “Or do you want me to stay to make sure everything goes well? Don’t want y’all to rip each other to shreds. It’d suck to clean that up tomorrow.” The chuckle you released was meant to ease the tension, though Cregan wasn’t really having any of it. 

“No, it’s fine,” he eventually replied. “Take your time off, you’ve earned it. Need someone to bring you home?”

He half turned to look at you, the slight tilt of his head indicating he’d help you out and probably drive you home himself. “Came by car today,” you retrieved your keys from the back pocket of your denim skirt, dangling them in front of his face. “So, no worries.”

“Alright, have a nice evening,” he hummed, and moved to tend to another customer. 

You walked around the corner but stopped once you passed it, turning to face him one last time. “And Cregan?” you asked, catching his attention, “Behave.” 

“You know us, Y/N.”

“Exactly.”

Raising his hands in defeat, silently indicating that he’d try to keep his hands clean for the remainder of the night, you moved to approach Baela at the pool table. “I’m done for the night, Bae. See you tomorrow?”

She embraced you in a tight hug. “I’ll hit you up.“

“You’ll hear from me once I’ve cleaned up after you guys… again,” you teased and waved goodbye to everyone standing around the table. 

As you passed the table with two of the most attractive men you’ve ever spotted before, a shiver ran up your spine, feeling like liquid fire. You tried to keep your eyes on the ground, not able to get lost in the piercing gaze of Aemond once again, but were forced to take notice of them when Aegon’s voice rang out. “Leaving already, sweets?” You nearly missed the way Aemond elbowed his brother at the mention of the irritating pet name. 

Unable to speak, you merely bobbed your head once, heading toward the door. Aemond’s ‘What a shame’ could hardly be heard by anyone other than you and his brother, and it forced a blush onto your cheeks before you hurried out of the bar. 

Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t the last you’ve heard and seen of the seemingly notorious devil. 

These are my face-claims for the other (kinda important) characters appearing in this series. Cregan, Baela, Jace and Aegon.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

Bold means I couldn't tag you.

[its-time-to-write]

Omg I'm loving your response to my prompts!! thank you

I have a few ideas (You don't have to do them all) just throwing them out there to see what sparks ideas!!

I love secret admirer stories (I know its no where close to valentines day but still) maybe Reader is Rebecca's assistant and keeps getting gifts leading up to valentines day but she is pretty sure its like Sam or Isaac and tells friend Jaime (even though its really him) then the day of the grand finale and she comes to the lovely surprise of it being Jaime!

also if you could include Scarlett red roses in it for me (They are my favorite flower and the only flower I'm not allergic to)

So. I liked this one. Maybe too much? It might be the longest one I’ve written so far, so, uh, sorry about that. But I liked it a lot. It might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Hope you enjoy. also the gif isn’t Jamie Tartt but it is Phil Dunster so hopefully that’s ok

honey, i’ll give you all my time

Good god, it’s February all ready. You have a love-hate relationship with the month; love, because Galentine’s Day and hate because Valentine’s Day. You and your friends would go out on February 15th to get discount chocolate from the shops, then return home for an ungodly amount of takeout and a movie. On the whole, you all preferred action movies with a good romance. 

You’re dreading Valentine’s Day because it’s when your boyfriend of two years held your hands in his, and told you he wanted to break up. 

That was a year ago. You’re mostly angry that he’s a dark stain on one of your favorite holidays. You’re absolutely determined not to let him ruin your enjoyment. 

This is also the first year you’re not with your friends. You moved away last March because you realized your ex had been holding you back in far too many ways. 

So. To recap. 

You’re alone. You love Valentine’s Day, despite it forever being the day of your breakup. Your friends aren’t here. You have new friends. There is no one to go to the shops with on the 15th. But discount chocolate is still discount chocolate. 

Your current job is as a personal assistant, something you excel at. You basically anticipate needs, meet them, and just generally make your employer’s life a whole lot easier. The application said the job required a lot of travel, but all expenses (minus some food) were covered. 

You were shocked when you got an interview, then a second, then a third, then were hired. 

Your boss is a woman named Rebecca Welton, and you’re half in love with her, but who isn’t, really?

You swear you’ve never been in such a healthy work environment. You mention it one day, early on, and she says it’s all thanks to their head coach, someone named Ted. 

You meet him for the first time later that day, and you understand. 

It’s impossible not to love him, because he has vision. He knows what he wants from his team, and he knows how to get it. 

He believes the team extends far beyond the players. 

He believes it extends to you, too. 

Ted and Coach Beard steal you from Rebecca as often as they can, claiming emergencies such as “a toxic amount of testosterone from all these boys,” “life-threatening boredom,” and last but not least, “there’s a new pun Ted absolutely needs to test right now and he won’t take no for an answer.”

(You like to give Ted honest feedback on his puns.) 

You also find yourself in their office when Rebecca is out for lunch, eating your respective sandwiches and swapping life stories. 

They remind you a lot of your parents.

It’s mid-June when you mention the Valentine’s Day story. 

It doesn’t hurt as much when it’s punctuated by Ted’s “he didn’ts” and Beard’s perfectly-timed gasps. 

You find yourself laughing halfway through, unable to stop. 

“And anyway,” you finish, cheeks painful from smiling so hard, “that’s why romantic love is a joke and I am drowning myself in platonic love forever.”

Ted and Beard share a look. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Beard says. 

You shoot him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Well sweetheart,” Ted says, “between the two of us collectively,” here points between him and Beard, “we know of at least three of the boys on the team who are madly in love with you.”

“What?” you gasp, “How did you- where did you- who??”

Ted zips his lips and Beard tips a finger to him. “We know of five if we count Rebecca’s intel.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the edge of Beard’s desk, in shock. “Rebecca knows about this??”

Ted and Beard shrug in unison. “We all have our opinions on which one should shoot their shot, but that’s neither here nor there,” Ted says. 

“Coincidentally, it’s the one thing we unanimously agree on,” Beard nods. 

You’re cut off from saying anything by the door opening. One of the players stands in the doorway. 

“Excuse me, coach,” he says, accent thick. 

Ted motions in a you have the floor type of way, and the footballer turns to address you of all people. “We’re all goin’ out tonight, and Keeley sent me to invite the new girl. None of the lads have really met you yet, just seen you ‘round. Thought it might be good for team bonding, or something. I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. “I guess- yeah, I guess I haven’t really met them. I mean, I see you guys around and stuff and I’m at your games, but I don’t really know you. Are you sure you want me to come?”

Jamie shrugs. “Coach is always on us about bein’ a team or some shit. And, havin’ a girl around makes the lads look good.”

You think that makes sense, and then find yourself agreeing to go out that night with a group of footballers you don’t know, and (thank god) Keeley Jones. 

You’re going to figure out which five before the summer’s over. 

—

You have nice time out with the lads. They go to a bar and cram into separate booths. You’re wedged in between two who have introduced themselves as Isaac and Dani, and across from Sam, Bumbercatch, and Jan Maas. Roy, Richard, and a few others you don’t know are milling about, and you see Jamie and Keeley at a table, surrounding by giggling girls. The sight is so absurd that you catch yourself smiling and turning back to whatever conspiracy Bumbercatch is telling you about now. 

—

You put Sam at the top of your list as soon as you get home. The man wears his heart on his sleeve, or maybe in his eyes, but you’re positive that he’s one of the five Ted and Beard referred to. One down, four to go. 

— 

It’s the end of July, and you begin to become friends with the team. You know for an absolute fact who is not interested in you, Jamie being one of them. Coincidentally, he’s the one you become closest to. You think it’s because you’re not worrying about sending mixed signals or leading him on. You dropped public hints about not really looking for anything romantic, just to be sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

As it is, Jan Maas and Dani have made the list. Jan Maas, because he stifled his Dutch bluntness for you and Dani, because he openly declared he was madly in love with you in front of the whole team. 

—

Isaac makes the list in December. It had been in between him and Bumbercatch, but Isaac was the one who walked you to your car every night and the first one to say hello to you every morning. 

You’re not gonna lie, it was cute. 

You shared some of this with Ted and Beard, who remained impressively stone-faced. Rebecca proved to be equally impervious.

You shared all of it with your lunch-buddy-turned-work-bestie, Jamie. 

You ate with him because Rebecca was constantly in lunch meetings these days, and Ted, Beard, and Roy were always revamping their football strategies.

Jamie would plop down at your table and say, “What’s the news, Amy Hughes?” in his perfect Mancunian accent, and then listen/add commentary to whatever you had to say. 

You explained to him that the reason you wanted to know who liked you was so that you could be extra careful with their hearts. You knew what it was like to be led on, and you did NOT want to do that to someone else. 

Jamie nodded thoughtfully at that and then said, “We’re all footballers though, ain’t we? We get the shit end of the stick all the time, hearts broke by models and whatever. Even ends up in the fucking press. Everyone here’s has their heart broken before, and we all know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s short end of the stick, Jamie.”

And thus begins your lunch hour of bickering. 

—

No one has made a move on you yet, and you don’t have a read on number five. You still think it may be Bumbercatch, but in reality, it slips from your mind. Sam’s moved on, Jan Maas has accepted defeat, Dani swears he will love you until the day he dies, and Isaac stays, well, Isaac. Still sweet. Still walking you to your car, coming round extra early in the morning with a coffee or a water, depending on which “looked less like shit.”

Really though, you don’t think about it until February first, when you walk into your office to a small box on your desk. 

At first, you think it’s a box of Ted’s biscuits. 

Then, you notice a small, scarlet-red rose taped to the top. There’s no note, and all that’s inside is a tiny paper heart. 

It’s folded with extreme care, and you place it on your shelf, smelling the rose. It smells amazing and you make a mental note to figure out where the heck it came from. But for now, it’s time to work. 

—

You don’t mention the gifts until February third, because now there’s been one a day. Each one with a scarlet red rose, and a different gift. Yesterday was an incredibly expensive bar of chocolate (it was life-changing) and today is a tiny gold bracelet.

It’s a simple enough chain, but it is absolutely breathtaking. There is no mistaking the fact that it is not cheap, so you take it and march straight to Rebecca’s office.  

“Rebecca,” you say, hands outstretched, “look.”

She does, smiles, then says, “It appears you have a secret admirer.”

“But I don’t want that!” you cry. “I don’t even have time for that! I don’t even like anybody right now!”

She peers at you over her glasses. “Don’t you?”

The sheer weight of those words is enough to physically knock you back two steps. 

You don’t, you swear you don’t, you’re absolutely sure. 

What about Vienna? a voice in the very back of your head nags.

You reply, out loud, “We don’t talk about Vienna,” and Rebecca just shrugs. 

“Have it your way,” she replies in a tone that means this conversation is over, but you’re the one ending it.

You turn on your heel and find yourself taking the route to Ted and Beard. 

You burst into their office in such a flurry that the entire room turns to look at you. “Close the door,” you say with such urgency, that Trent hurries to comply. Beard even shuts the blinds. 

“What’s on your mind, Ollie Cline?” Ted asks. 

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. You point to Roy. “Do you want to be here? It involves feelings.”

“Fuck no,” says Roy, “thanks for being fucking considerate.” He follows it up with a pointed glare at Ted, then goes into his office and firmly shuts the door. 

“Can he be here?” Ted asks, tilting his head toward Trent. 

“I don’t care, he’s probably a good one to have around for this because look!” You present the three collected roses and the bracelet. 

“Someone’s started leaving me gifts, and I’m pretty sure it’s a Valentine’s thing because of the roses, and it was fine for the first two days but this is expensive, and I can’t accept this!”

Ted and Beard share a look. You hate it when they do that and leave you out. 

Ted sighs. “Listen, do you think this about Vienna?”

You fix him with a glare. “No. We are not talking about Vienna ever again.”

Trent pipes up, “What’s Vienna?” and you wheel around on him, taking your glare with you. 

“Vienna," you spit, like it’s poisonous, “is a terrible, awful place where people think terrible, awful things. I never want to talk about it again and I never will.”

Trent nods. “Noted.” 

You turn back to Ted and Beard, pleadingly. “What do I do? Tell me what to do.”

Beard gets up and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Kid, if you want my advice, take the damn roses and wear the damn bracelet. These boys make more money than they know how to spend, so just let it go. They all know how you feel about dating, so if someone’s shooting their shot, they know the stakes.”

You shake your head. “Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go.” 

—

You decide to tell Jamie on day five, because it’s a Friday and you’re dying to get his take. You tell him everything, show him the roses in your office (hanging upside down to dry), and then hand him the notebook that was in today’s box. 

“Jamie,” you say, “this is an expensive notebook. There was a typed note inside that said, ‘for your drawings.’ How did this person even know I like drawing? I never talk about it!”

Jamie looks at you and laughs a little. You’re very flustered for something most people would enjoy. “Dunno, love, but we’ve all seen the sticky notes you leave Coach. That might be it.”

You groan and flop down into your chair. 

“At least tomorrow’s the weekend,” you say.

—

Jamie’s phone dings at 9:00am on Saturday with a text from you that says, what the actual heck and a picture of a brown bag at your doorstep. Inside is a plastic box of your favorite lemon muffin from a local bakery. He emphasized the image, then waits for your response. 

It was still warm, you write. It was someone who knows where I live and knows what time I leave to get breakfast.

Jamie grins and sends you a shrugging emoji, and you respond with an eye roll and a you’re no fun.

Jamie reads that and privately disagrees. He thinks he’s lots of fun

—

You’re pretty sure it’s Isaac. After all, he’s the only likely candidate. He’s one of the few who knows where you live and knows your routine. Not in a creepy way, in a we’re-good-friends type of way. You bring this up to Jamie, after personally banning all talk of this with Ted, Beard, and Rebecca. Stupid Vienna. You should never have told them. 

Jamie shrugs for the millionth, infuriating time. He’s been noncommittal this whole time. You’re over here pouring out your heart and soul, considering whether you like Isaac romantically or not, and all he can say is, “I dunno?” 

This is not the Jamie Tartt you’ve become best friends with. 

That Jamie would be down to hunt this secret admirer with you. That Jamie would be helping you figure out if Isaac had a chance with you. That Jamie would be way more engaged than the one sitting in front of you right now. 

But, you suppose maybe that Jamie died in Vienna, so you stop bringing it up.

—

It’s day ten. Valentine’s Day is in four day, and you’re nervous. 

You’ve decided you don’t like Isaac like that, mainly because it shouldn’t take you that long to decide if you like anyone. There has to be an initial spark, and you shouldn’t try to manufacture it. 

Still, you’re not sure it is Isaac, so you’re not going to say anything about it. The scarlet red roses hang on your office wall, permeating the room with their scent. 

You feel like you’re dying. 

This is a cruel joke and you’re dying. 

The building is basically empty right now. Rebecca and Higgins have some meeting, the team is on the pitch (including Will) and various other staff are somewhere far away from you. So, you jump a little when Trent Crimm comes tripping into your office. 

“Vienna,” he says, no greeting. “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you wouldn’t have told anyone. I’m assuming you do want to talk about it, but you don’t want judgement from the people you love. I’m here to offer my services as a neutral party.”

You look at him. “Trent. You are a journalist. Your whole job is writing down people’s secrets. Why on earth would I talk to you about the worst day of my life?”

Trent shrugs. “I’m good at keeping secrets. This would be off the record. I’ve never lied to people about off the record, also. I consider it bad journalism.”

You consider this for a moment, then sigh. 

“Alright,” you concede. “At least if this gets out, I know whose head I’m shaving in retaliation.”

Trent looks at you in surprise, seeing you in a whole new, slightly threatening light.

“It happened two months ago. It was around Christmas, and I didn’t have anywhere to go…”

—

Your family all had their own separate plans that Christmas. Plans that didn’t really involve you. Same with your friends. You said something casually to Rebecca, and the next day she told you she had booked you a trip to Vienna. Call it an early Christmas present, she said. It was at the Aumaris Vienna, and it was gorgeous and ridiculously out of your budget, but she said you worked hard and gave her peace-of-mind, and you can’t really put a price on that, can you?

So you went. 

But here’s the thing. 

Someone else didn’t have Christmas plans. 

So when you brought up your trip at your daily lunch, said someone else casually asked, can I come? 

You almost choked on your sandwich. 

Because here’s the other thing.

You were, maybe, kind of, possibly just a little bit head over heels in love with this someone else.

You’re not sure when it happened, really, just that it was probably in August and that it was soul-crushing because you knew for an absolute fact that he did not, and never would, feel the same way. 

You didn’t tell anyone except Keeley, but under the condition that she just let you say it and that she never, ever give you a response to it. Just listen. 

She did, but you were pretty sure she almost combusted. 

But who are you to say no when Jamie Tartt invited himself on your luxurious Christmas vacation saying, I’ll pay extra to get a plane ticket next to you? 

You were doomed from the start. 

To make matters totally and impossibly worse, he couldn’t find another room. 

He had his tickets, but the hotels, he said, were packed. 

It was Christmas, after all. 

So that’s how you ended up in a luxury hotel with Jamie Tartt for a week and a half, one day of which was Christmas. 

You know the, “there was only one bed” trope that everyone thinks is so cute?

It was that, but only if you add deep, shattering heartbreak to it. 

Because every night, you had to listen to Jamie say, “goodnight, love,” and then get into that giant, soft bed as far away from him as you could manage. 

Every morning you woke up to the pillow barricade long gone, one of his arms thrown around you. Or one of your legs on top of his. Or a million different scenarios where you end up literally asleep together, some weird gravity pulling you to each other. 

You were falling so hard and so fast, that you felt like the air was knocked from your lungs when Jamie started talking about the girl he liked. 

“She’s just so fucking beautiful,” he’d say, staring at an Alpine mountain. Or, “Swear she’s the smartest fucking person I’ve ever met,” while traipsing through the city. Or, “Pretty sure she’s ruined me for everyone else,” while getting facials at the hotel spa. 

To be fair, you were the one who teased him into admitting he liked someone. 

You just didn’t expect it to hurt so much. 

The entire trip felt like heaven and hell had simultaneously converged on you, and you never wanted to leave but also desperately counted the days till it was over. 

You came back and broke down in Rebecca’s office. Ted and Beard were there. The whole thing came spilling out, about how you loved the trip so much it felt like your heart would explode but that Jamie loved someone else. 

They all exchanged looks amongst themselves and did their best to comfort you. 

You pulled yourself together and they promised never to say anything to anyone. 

—

“So that’s Vienna,” you finish. 

Trent is just staring at you, mouth slightly agape. 

He finally says, “My god, that’s fucked,” with such emotion that you decide right then and there that you like Trent Crimm and his rainbow mug. 

Now, you just shrug. “I did it to myself, honestly. That’s why I’m tripping out about this secret admirer thing. And god, Trent, the roses. They’re so beautiful and it’s so romantic, and whoever it is obviously knows me well so there’s a part of me that wants to like this person, but…” you trail off. 

“But there’s a part of you that’s hoping against hope that Jamie’s behind it all,” Trent finishes. 

You let out a little laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Trent looks at the roses, then at you. “Maybe you should talk to Jamie,” he says, gently. 

You reply with a forceful, “No,” and then follow up with a small, “That’s what Ted and Rebecca say, too.” 

Trent stands up, shrugs, says with a small smile, “Just a thought,” then he’s out the way he came. 

—

It is Valentine’s Day. And it’s a Sunday, which means you are legally required to stay in bed until 10, at which point you will get out only to make yourself decent enough to go buy a good cup of coffee and maybe (definitely) something to eat. 

You’ve just finished putting on your shoes, when there’s a knock at the door. 

You take a breath, and get ready to let down your secret admirer as gently as possible. 

You swing open the door to reveal- 

“Jamie! What are you doing here?”

Jamie Tartt is on your doorstep, hands behind his back, looking shyer than the day you first met. 

He opens his mouth and says the last thing you’d ever expect:

“D’you remember Vienna?”

Your heart, which had already been going fast because his dumb floppy hair was all dumb and floppy in his stupid, cute headband, is now working double time. You manage a nod. 

Jamie takes this as permission to continue. “D’you remember how I couldn’t get another room, no matter how hard I tried? That wasn’t true. I could’ve.” He pauses, and you wait for him to continue. 

“And d’you remember when we met, when I told you Keeley told me to invite you out? That was a lie too.”

You tilt your head, confused. He keeps going. 

“Look- I fucked it. I fucked it a million times and I told Ted and I told Beard, but they kept helping me un-fuck it and giving me chances, and then Rebecca bought two tickets to Vienna and slipped me the other one, and they all told me I had a perfect shot.” 

You’re still not understanding what he’s saying. He might as well be speaking another language. Jamie sees the confusion in your eyes, takes a breath, and tries again. 

“Keeley told me to invite you out, but only because I’d seen you around and thought you were fit. Then Isaac and all the lads thought the same thing, so I didn’t even get to fuckin’ sit with you. And then you started sayin’ things about not bein’ ready for a relationship, so I tried to let it go. I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t. Your eyes are too sparkly and your laugh is too fucking cute and I couldn’t let it go, so I started eating lunch with you and you fucking let me. I knew the moment I said anything about liking you, it was over.”

Comprehension has started to dawn, but you push down hope until Jamie’s done speaking. 

“Everyone told me to shoot my shot in Vienna. We shared a bed, for fuck’s sake.” Here, Jamie looks bewildered. “But I dunno, I didn’t want to make shit weird. So when you asked if I liked anyone I said yeah, and started fuckin describing you, but you never fucking picked up on it. That’s when I got the idea to try one more time. All by meself, no help from anyone else. So…yeah.”

Jamie Tartt is standing on your porch confessing his love for you on Valentine’s Day and it is not a dream, because if it were your teeth would be falling out and his hair would probably be neon pink. 

“I’m an idiot,” you breathe. “You like me? Like, like-like me?”

Jamie quirks a smile at that. “Not quite, darling. Pretty fucking sure I love you.” He pulls his hand from behind his back to reveal a bunch of scarlet red roses. The same from each gift. 

“Got these for you,” he says. “D’you know how hard it is to get red roses in February?”

You don’t answer him because you’re leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve thought about doing every day for what feels like forever. He’s kissing you back, hand with the flowers pressed against your back, other hand in your hair. 

“I love you too, Jamie,” you whisper against his mouth. He smiles and pulls you in again. 

[ddejavvu]

hi! i'd like to ask a one shot on bradley bradshaw in which y/n is a girl in her early/mid 20's who's maverick's daughter and her and bradley are secretly dating. one day mav finds something belonging to rooster in her bedroom and realises what her daughter has been up to, but isn't pleased at all.

thanks x

Bradley's aviators are the last thing Pete wants to find when he washes your sheets. You've insisted a thousand times that you're a big girl now, you don't need your dad to do your laundry for you, but he likes it. He likes taking care of you, even if he doesn't need to.

He doesn't like it now, though. Not when he spies a pair of muted sunglasses, a familiar chip in their bridge. He'd made that chip, more years ago than he's come to terms with, when he'd elbowed Goose and sent the man ramming face-first into a pole. Knowing who they belong to now unsettles him greatly, because they should not have been anywhere near your bed.

He pockets them, refraining from the urge to crush them just for the memories they hold.

Bradley stops by twenty minutes later, before Pete's had enough time to process what he's assuming is the situation. He's fuming, not only that his baby is having sex, but that she's having sex with Bradley.

"Hey, Mav." Bradley nods to the man, and Pete reconsiders the key he's given to Bradley for emergencies, seeing as he's been waltzing in to canoodle with his daughter.

"Hello, Bradley." His tone is icy, but Bradley's used to Pete having bad days sometimes. It's practically part of the job description.

Bradley pokes his head into the kitchen, then the bathroom, before finally exploring the living room where Maverick sits.

"I can't find my glasses," He offers up an explanation where it isn't requested, desperate to make conversation instead of suffering in silence, "I just don't know where I left 'em, they're not in my car, they're not in my apartment, they're- they're in your hands..." Bradley frowns at the aviators he can see in Maverick's grip, "Where were they?"

Maverick doesn't bother looking at him, glaring at the glasses instead, "In my daughter's bed."

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit? Oh, shit? Yeah, 'oh shit'! Bradley, how could you?" Pete shoots out of his seat, fist squeezing around the glasses, "I've spent her entire life telling her not to get involved with pilots, warning her off from men I know spend their time in testosterone-filled locker rooms of pure filth, who see women at bars like conquests, who get so crazed on deployment that they'll fuck anything in a skirt. Because I was that pilot, Bradley. She deserves better than someone like me, and I'm trying to make sure she gest that! And you know that, you were her bodyguard at bars! You were supposed to help me protect her, how long have you been going behind my back like this? When I trusted you?"

"Mav, slow down," Bradley keeps his voice calm, "I know a lot of pilots are like that, okay? Trust me I know, I work with Hangman. But that's fucked up, and I know that. You think I cheer him on in the locker room? You think I bet him he can't bone a lady in the bathroom? He's gross, and that's not how I act. You know that, I know you do. I know you know I care about her. And I don't blame you for being scared, but you're not gonna chase me away. That's- that's because I care about her. I care about her, so I'm not gonna leave just 'cause you tell me to. You can be mad all you want, but I'm not gonna dump her for it."

"How long?" Maverick repeats, face flushed in anger, "I said, how long?"

"Eight months." Bradley admits, voice strong. "It's been long enough to know I care about her. And I- I love her."

Pete's eyes flutter shut, then squeeze. He looks like he's in physical pain, and he's barely able to stop himself from crushing the glasses. Bradley doesn't dare speak, doesn't add fuel to whatever fire is burning in Pete's chest. He just stands there, strong and silent.

"I'm not happy about this." Pete finally grunts, keeping his eyes shut as he shoves his fist forwards, jamming the aviators into Bradley's chest. The younger pilot catches them, tucking them into the front of his shirt before Mav can change his mind and stomp on them.

"I'm sorry. I hope you see things differently when you see us together. All you know now is the, uh, undesirable stuff. But I treat her well."

"You'd better." Pete threatens, his voice barely above a whisper, "Go home. When I open my eyes I don't want to see you here. And no sneaking in tonight, or- or ever again. I'm installing cameras."

"Deal," Bradley promises, already on his way to the door in case Pete changes his mind and charges, "And- um, is it alright if I take her to dinner tonight?"

"Only if you take her somewhere nice," Pete decides, "And have her home by nine."

"Yes, sir."

When the door shuts behind Bradley, Pete lets out a monumental sigh. He feels like his lungs collapse with the breath, and all he can do is pray that you're actually treated to dinner, and that you two don't sneak off to some motel somewhere to pass the time.

[spatialwave]

"baby, don't you know? that you're my golden hour."

pairing: pre-war!cooper howard x ftm!actor!reader word count: 2.5k summary: being an up-and-coming actor had you fighting tooth and nail for opportunities. you were young, though, still had much to learn and people to impress. you were surprised when cooper howard took it upon himself to mentor you. the cowboy star supported you through thick & thin — a light in your life that reminded you everything would be alright. warnings/tags: sfw, implied transphobia, angst, grief, mention of death, hurt/comfort, fluff. notes: as a transmasc enby, i get very passionate writing ftm!reader stories. this had been sitting in my brain for awhile, so thank you to anon for sending an ask that kicked my ass into gear and write it!

“what do you mean? they told me last week that i had the goddamn job,” your voice was loud and snappy, jaw clenching as you fell back into the chair with a heavy thud, “i did three goddamn auditions and even did a table read, now they’re saying i’m not the right fit? what the hell is that supposed to mean? i put in the fucking work already.”

you were sitting in your agent’s office full of luxury furniture, expensive paintings and the gaudiest decorations. with a red face, you huffed as he explained to you the situation at hand.

your next movie had dropped you as the supporting actor. it would’ve given you enough screen time for it to be your real breakthrough role and shoot you up into the fame and glory you’d been fighting for.

“well,” your agent sighed, leaning forward against his desk, “there’s been word going around about you.”

defensive, you furrowed your brows in confusion, “what word?”

he’d grown uncomfortable, putting one leg over the other as he rested into his chair and thought about what to say next. he needed to be careful with his words, seeing that you had been ready to knock shit off of his desk if he angered you anymore.

“i think you should read this,” he murmured, filtering through papers on his desk until he grabbed a folded newspaper and pushed it toward you.

your heart sank as you snatched the paper, eyes wide and shaky when you read the front page. it was all about you. your deadname was plastered in large text as the article detailed your past that you had gone lengths to keep out of the public eye.

you changed your name, moved away from home and started your transition quietly. you had done everything to make sure that people perceived you the way you wanted.

but life was never that easy.

your eyes settled on a few words, ‘a trusted source confirmed.’ thoughts ran through your mind, thinking of any person who you’d grown up with, family members, ex-friends—anyone who would be willing to spill career-ruining information for a quick lump of cash. 

“i had no idea—“ your agent spoke, but you cut him off.

“i was hoping to keep it that way until i was in a damn grave” you said, voice calm but cheeks red and breath heavy, “fuck this.”

there was nothing worth sticking around for, who the hell would want to hire you now? there were too many close-minded people in the world, and you could already imagine the headlines of them lumping you right in with the opposition. a trans, american communist.

fucking christ.

the following week you isolated yourself in your apartment, high-end and expensive. you couldn’t even feel comfortable in your own home because the looming possibility of being unable to pay rent was alive and very real. you stayed in your bed, wondering how on earth you thought you’d be able to careen through life without anyone finding out.

you were lucky that your mother supported you every step of the way when you were a young, confused teen. she helped you navigate your feelings and even urged you to talk to a professional. one year later, you’d started testosterone injections.

she passed three years ago, leaving you with nothing but her memories and the devastating reality that you’d be alone from here on out. you always hoped your secret died with her.

you melted away on your bed as the sound of thunder boomed loudly and shook your apartment, rotting into nothingness. sleep was on the horizon, but you’d been interrupted by a buzzing sound vibrating from your intercom. you didn’t move, keeping your eyes shut tight and hoping the sound would stop. 

buzz.

“who is it?” you asked tiredly, pressing your forehead against the buzzer.

“a friend,” a southern voice replied, full of static.

you let go of the button that connected your voice to the intercom at the entrance of your apartment, closing your eyes and wishing that cooper would turn around and leave. His pity was far from what you needed

you were angry at the world, and that included him.

swallowing a lump down your throat, you pressed the door buzzer, feeling it vibrate beneath your finger until you were certain the cooper was inside the apartment and out of the rain.

with a blanket strung over your shoulders, your bare feet padded against the hardwood flooring as you unlocked your door. three locks for safety.

you waited to hear footsteps, your ear pressed against the door while your gazed focused on nothing in particular. a shell of a human was the only way you could describe yourself.

you’d never felt this dark before.

a gentle knock rapped against the wooden door, and you had to force yourself to open it up slowly as the lights from the hallway spilled into your dim apartment. meeting cooper’s gaze left you feeling like the smallest man in the world, even if you were the same height.

“you look like crap, kid,” cooper sighed, getting a good look at you. you hadn’t showered in a couple of days and your stubble had started to grow out. for years, you’d been so meticulous with how you looked, never once letting someone see you less than your best. not even cooper.

“stating the obvious,” you murmured, stepping back to give the older man time to step in. you didn’t bother sticking around for a proper greeting, already heading back to your bed so you could collapse on top of it, burying your face into your pillows.

the sound of cooper’s footsteps made you queasy, curling into a ball and peeking out as he turned on a lamp near the doorway. 

“why didn’t ya’ tell me?” he asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, having discarded his coat and hat. you rarely ever saw him dressed so casually.

through furrowed brows, you glared at him, “i didn’t have to tell anyone a goddamn thing, you know. it was my secret to keep.”

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed, stepping close until you felt the bed dip down next to you, “you’re not obligated to tell anyone your secrets,” his voice was so soft, it made your stomach twist, “but you’ve been ignoring my calls. why?”

a deep, shaky breath came from you as you looked at the man sitting next to you on the bed, his face lit up by the warm lamp, “i don’t need your help. i’m fine, cooper.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, a tiny smile on his lips, “you always have been.”

you hated how well his voice and presence soothed you. for the first time in days you felt a spark of hope in your chest, but you stomped it out before it could burn bright.

“i know,” you whispered, moving to rest upright against the headboard with the blanket tight around you, “i figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”

you didn’t dare look him in the eyes because the last thing you needed was for him to feel sorry for you. it wouldn’t be the first time someone questioned your identity and been turned off by it, many of your old friends had left you in the dust. considering you some kind of freak.

yet, there was cooper howard loyally at your side, his hazel eyes showing nothing but compassion and care for you.

you could remember it clear as day, the first time you filmed a scene with him. it was your first big movie gig after years of ads and small roles on television shows, a character that would be memorable if you played it well. cooper was the lead, a sheriff with a heart of gold, and you were his loveable, naive deputy. 

feeling sick to your stomach was an understatement, you vividly remember looking in a mirror and seeing how sunken in your eyes were. you’d been trembling all morning, repeating your lines under your breath as you sweltered underneath the heat radiating from the floodlights that lit up the desert scene.

cooper approached you with that big smile of his, his teeth perfect. everything about him was perfect.

the two of you had run lines weeks and days before, but as you stared at him then, you felt your mind draw a blank. you weren’t going to make a good impression on anyone, especially him.

“you good, kid?” he asked you, head tilting as the makeup department did quick touch ups before the cameras started rolling.

“yeah. i’m great, never been better.” you forced a smile, which got a snort of laughter out of the esteemed actor.

“you’re a terrible liar,” he laughed, reaching over and giving your shoulder a few strong pats, “don’t worry, alright? remember that you’re here because you deserve it. you’ve got skill.”

the rest of the movie was a breeze.

cooper had stuck by your side since then, taking on a role like a mentor. he gave you acting tips, took you for coffee to meet with a better agent, and made sure you had all the connections you needed for making your career even bigger than his own.

you’re not even sure of the exact day you fell in love with him, but after a year of pining for him in secret, you knew you had to end things before trouble found its way to you.

then, he and barb divorced. so, like the devoted little mentee you were, you stayed by his side. 

you helped him start up his gig work, which took weeks of convincing, and it only paid just enough to get the alimony to his ex-wife. you’d even started purchasing the dinners and coffees that you two love to frequent, knowing that at some point he wouldn’t be able to treat you as much as he used to.

cooper had become your lifeline, and this was the easiest way to repay him.

“why would you think that?”

cooper’s voice snapped you out of your daze, eyes readjusting to focus on the man sitting in front of you. he sat there with his brown eyes big and wide, the golden glow from your lamp creating a halo around his head. 

“well, uh, you wouldn’t be the first to think that,” your voice was barely above a whisper as you dropped your gaze, full of shame. 

he exhaled a heavy breath out of his nose, “i’d never do that to you, you know that,” his voice was a comfort to your broken heart, “look at me, i need you to see me say it,” you listened, eyes flickering up to meet his, “i will never ruin what we have over something that makes you… you,” he whispered, his hand holding yours, “you’re the same kid in my eyes and always will be.”

your bottom lip trembled as he spoke, his words digging deep into your heart and leaving you in a mess of emotions. you’d spent the last three days convincing yourself that life was over as you knew it, that all you worked for was just a heap of wood burning away into a pile of nothing.

cooper was a testament to the fact that things would be okay, even if the world wasn’t fair. after his divorce, you knew that he’d lost out on role after role, and if he managed to keep his pride, so could you.

“shit, coop, you’re so stupidly kind,” you laughed, tears rolling down your cheeks as intense emotions flooded you for the first time in months. you weren’t much of a crier, but these wouldn’t stop, “i don’t think there’s anyone in the world who’s as goddamn nice as you. it’s almost sickening how sweet you are.”

the man grinned, “don’t go rubbin’ that in, you’ll inflate my ego and you do not wanna’ see me like that.”

you let out a god-honest laugh for the first time in days, one that made your stomach flutter and leave your cheeks a little sore. 

the days got easier after that night. cooper visited you every day, bringing you a coffee and lunch, not leaving until he got a smile out of you. the two of you would sit around chatting for hours, he’d tell you all the bullshit stories of the gigs he’d picked up. he shared how barb was going to let him take janey to the gigs, too, and you saw how bright his eyes shined at the thought of getting to be with his babygirl, even for just a few hours in a day.

cooper reminded you that it was the little things that made life manageable.

a week later, he’d convinced you to go with him to see sugarfoot at her stable the day before a birthday gig, his first time that janey would tag along.

“hey, coop?” your voice was quiet as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, eyes watching the trees pass by as you made way for the stable in a secluded area outside the city. the evening was warm and bright, filling the sky with hues of orange, red and pink.

“hm?” the man hummed, tilting his head to you, but not taking his eyes off the road.

“why me?” 

his eyes flickered to you, “what do you mean?”

“why, uh… why’d you choose to mentor me?” you mumbled.

the car slowed down as you approached the turn-off to the stable, cooper looked back to road, “guess i can’t really get away with saying it was just outta’ kindness, huh?”

you chuckled, “i want the real answer.”

as you approached the ranch, cooper rolled the vehicle to a stop and shifted into park. you moved to open up the door, but his words interrupted you.

“you reminded me of myself when i was younger,” he answered honestly, turning his head to look at you, “i figured helpin’ you out would heal my soul, or somethin’ like that.”

“how selfish of you,” you snorted, “and to think i thought you did it out of love.”

you kept laughing to yourself after you spoke, opening up the passenger door and getting out to stretch your long limbs. you turned to look over at cooper, able to see him over the roof of the car, and it was then you noticed the red blush that coated his cheeks. he couldn’t hide it from you, even if he tried.

“c’mon, coop,” you smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you stepped around the vehicle, motioning for the older man to follow, “you don’t have to admit your love to me yet, just shower me in presents and i’ll know it’s true.”

“you’re a real pain in the ass. you know that, right?” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. 

neither of you needed to admit it out loud just yet, the look you shared spoke more than words could.

“i do,” you said through a smile, leaning into his touch as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and placed a gentle kiss to your temple.

you leaned back, taking one long, good look at cooper. he was breathtaking under the evening sun, his skin radiant. you’d never seen him so happy.

“thank you for everything,” you said.

the colour of my sky.   you set my world on fire. and i know, i know everything’s gonna’ be alright.

[transzilla]

You met me over grindr while I was in the city for a one night stand and for some reason we kept in touch, some glow around me that you really liked. Your living situation is a little crowded so we figured we would hook up in an empty bulldozer at a construction site at night. I work at a fire tower in the mountains and I really like other trans men but due to the geography haven't found anybody to stick around, so I tend to get around quite a bit when in the city.

Your living situation is tough. You've tried to go on hormones, or blockers, but keep being shamed and rejected and getting pressured out of it by distant family members or chaser-y roommates. You have no room to grow. You're fucking miserable. You contemplate offing yourself, guiltily, but quickly shoo the thought away considering you have a roof over your head and no real reason to be sad.

We text obsessively. I'm lonely out there, stealth trans in the middle of nowhere, and whenever I have service we text, call, vent, joke, bust balls, tell each other all our deepest, darkest secrets. They're looking to hire another lookout, my coworker retired. It requires you to live onsite and they provide housing without taking it out of your paycheck. I sympathize with your situation, I tell you you'd do well in this position, I'll put in a good word for you with the forest service, you should apply. Get you out of that glorified pig sty and somewhere with fresh air where you can finally breathe.

You get the job, make a fucking decision and leave everything behind to come work with me. We reunite, get drunk, get you accustomed to your new life. You talk to very few people and nobody seems to clock you as trans anyway. Your daily work is hard and manual but refreshing compared to customer service. You let me rail you every night, your food is taken care of, you're reading and working out and getting your back blown out on the clock.

Sometimes it feels like I make you do everything I'm supposed to do, I seem to enjoy watching you sweat and lift heavy things and slack on my work. I have a ton of testosterone that I share a little too excitedly with you and it doesnt look prescription, in small brown vials with blue caps, some of them are labelled cypionate but also proprionate, enthonate, undecanoate, demonic incantations you've never seen before in your life. And I'm real weird about always doing your injection for you. I stab it in so fast and it looks violent but it doesn't feel as bad when you do it, but the way I make eye contact and hold the needle in my teeth while I do my own injection is a little off putting. I'm constantly pushing you, nothing you ever do is good enough for me, all of my fetishes while we're fucking seem to entail you doing push ups naked, squats, bending over and letting me examine you, your legs getting so sore after im making you ride it, letting me squeeze your tits and feeling your pec underneath the breast. I smoke a pack a day and pressure you into joining me, complimenting you on how raspy and fucked up your voice sounds.

You have doubts. You aren't able to call your friends as often as you thought you would. When you talk to people you've been isolated so long you talk over them garishly, talk all about yourself, make too many dirty jokes and swear too much the way we talk to each other, awkward and unfit for civilized society. All you have is me and you have no choice but to trust that I have your best intentions in mind.

You let me teach you how to use a shotgun the salty perfume of the gunpowder staining your hands as your aim gets better and better, your guard lowering the more I've been praising you for doing what I want. We went hunting and you shot your first deer. I was so excited and you were so validated by how proud I was, it felt like a big hug from the inside out. You send a picture of the field dressed deer to your old city friends, guts steaming in the morning sun. they're absolutely disgusted by the fact that you would do such a thing and show them. You're a fucking machine of a man now and you're able to tame the wilderness everywhere except for in yourself.

After months you plain don't recognize yourself in the mirror. Your hair is wild, your facial hair not just a few long pubes jealously untouched on your chin but a uniform patchy stubble shaved haphazardly when you were tired of it being singed when you did fight fires. Knuckles scarred, shoulders broad, the gross muscle you feared you would develop rippling like a tiger under your skin and the extra weight you've gained. You talk like I do, you act like I do, you think like I do, you can't tell where you stop and I start. Your reflection looks sleepless, disordered, lost, a thuggish stranger. Heartless man.

[jacksprostate]

Bob in female fight club au. Thoughts

Probably named Marge

Rather than doing a direct inversion (ie making the character the exact opposite, much tits -> no tits, etc) I think sort of an analogue would work better riffing off the motherly role Bob has, in combination with the group being for uterine cancer/ovarian cancer

The women come together, and they cry, cry, cry, over lost husbands, who left them because they got cancer, because overwhelmingly, men leave if their wife gets cancer, over lost relationships with children, who stayed but resent them, over lost Motherhood, that thing you were told was your worth but now you are told you're shit. Remaining Women Together. Despite. Despite despite despite.

What is it, about purposes. Want to see misery, see women fed their own physical oppression as lost salvation.

Marge, whatever her name is, her husband divorced her, left her with the kids and medical bills stacked as high as she is tall. She is thankful she still has her kids, it makes her feel like she's still worth something. She's had to try and get back into the workforce. No one wants to hire dear former stay at home mother Marge. She shows you her kids in her wallet in her purse and there are no pictures of her. There's a picture of her old husband, which she keeps to show her kids if they ask. They're old enough to go to school now, which is good, because it gives her more time to work. Life is hard, but she's doing her best.

Marge, who is on hormone therapy so she doesn't get those "side effects" she's heard about from other total hysterectomy patients, the future of early dementia and degeneration and horror. Who does pelvic floor exercises in hopes it will minimise the fallout of the surgery. Who carefully rips every hair out of her upper lip and chin because even if it would be normal for a woman, a woman whose gone through menopause, a woman at all — she knows, it's probably the estrogen tipping back over into testosterone, and she can't handle any more losses. She compensates. They all do.

The support group is her Me Time. It is the single hour plus half hour commute she can afford once a week for herself. So she gets here, and she cries, cries, cries, and the others cry with her, all over how their lives have fallen apart since they got ovarian cancer, got breast cancer, and their lives derailed because they can't be proper women anymore.

They cry in their waterproof makeup. Another product to promise womanhood. Identify yourself via consumption. Identify yourself by covering yourself up.

And when she finds fight club. When she finds something that says, jesus fuck. You are more than your children. You are more than your ability to have kids. You aren't a failed woman, that's a sack of shit you've been sold wholesale. When she finds something that promises her she will grow, achieve personhood, not because she was the ultimate martyr mother, not because she played the game of human or woman, but because it promises a freedom from all that, identification and repulsion of such sickening chains. When she stops worrying about her slightly deepened voice, and works to keep her dose even keel for her health, to avoid the toxic highs of accidentally juicing, rather than the lesser effects of a black lip hair or two. When she has a photo, not of herself in her wallet, but of the things she makes with other women from fight club, of the one view of the sunset from that one parking lot that she always thought was wonderful, when she has things in her wallet for her and her enjoyment. When she has corded muscle and a built up spine, when she sits her kids down and explains why they only see dad one weekend every other month, all the fun holidays, because dad decided staying with her through cancer was too hard even when she stayed with him through four lost jobs pissed away in alcohol and lottery tickets.

And Marge, who gets shot by the police on a regulation chill-and-drill assignment for Project Mayhem. Whose obituary in the newspaper talks about the children she left behind, how she battled cancer and kept caring for them, how she was such a strong mother, whose kids would now be shipped off to their grieving father who is so, so brave and stunning for standing up and taking care of the kids he made and dropped as soon as his live-in servant had a few issues. Her name is Marge Paulson, and she was forty-eight years old. She was a person. She will be remembered in the annals of Project Mayhem, lest what little there was of her be stolen from the world. She was killed by Project Mayhem, but they're the only ones who will remember Marge Paulson.

[literaryavenger]

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Summary: You and Sam are disconnected from the world during a mission in the Amazon while following a lead to track down Bucky. How much stuff can really happen in a week?

Pairing: platonic!Steve Rogers x F!Reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader, platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Warnings: Language. Reader being dramatic. My poor attempts at being funny. Nothing much, really.

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: I know in the gif there's a random woman (right in the middle) and I think it may be an edit, but this is the best gif I found for this scene so just pretend that's you, the reader lol.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

After the fall of Shield you're stuck with Sam to look for Bucky while Steve teamed up once again with the Avengers to retrieve Loki’s staff and bring Hydra down once and for all.

They’ve been doing a good job apparently, unlike you and Sam that have had no luck tracking down your missing supersoldier.

Tonight you get a break, though, as you got invited to the party Stark is throwing to ‘celebrate the revels of victory’, as the Captain so normally put it in his text.

When you step out of the elevator you see Natasha on the couch talking to Colonel Rhodes and you walk over to say hi.

You chat a bit with them before Rhodey, as he told you to call him, goes to look for Tony and you make your way to the bar with Nat.

“So... how’s the testosterone filled team treating you?” you ask her while she makes you your favorite drink without you even having to ask.

“If you saw how much time those guys spend on their hair, you’d know you and I bring more testosterone to the table than them.” She tells you smirking and you laugh as you take the drink she hands you.

You look around you and notice Bruce making his way to the bar, so you turn back to Natasha and say “Here comes your damsel in distress.” and you wink at her as walk away, going to find someone you know.

You find Sam at the pool tables. “Hey, you just missed me kicking Steve’s ass.” he says when he sees you.

“Are you sure you weren’t just daydreaming, birdboy?” he tries to glare at you but ends up laughing with you, inviting you to play with him.

Obviously, you beat him and then suddenly he’s not in the mood to play anymore.

“Aww, are you mad I kicked your ass?” you coo at him and giggle at his pout.

You guys find Steve and start making your way to the second floor as he tells you about the team’s last mission.

“Sounds like a hell of a fight, sorry we missed it.” Sam says.

“If I had known it was going to be a firefight I absolutely would have called you.” Steve said.

“No, we’re not actually sorry.” you clarify ”He’s just trying to sound tough.” they both laugh with you.

“Yeah, we’re very happy chasing cold leads on our missing persons case. Avenging is your world.” Sam says as you make it to the overlook.

“Your world is crazy.” you add, seeing the whole room from your elevated point of view.

“Be it ever so humble.” Steve says, looking around too.

“You find a place in Brooklyn yet?” you ask after a moment of silence.

“I don't think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.” he says, glancing at you and you laugh.

“Well, home is home, you know?” Sam says.

You keep talking for a bit, then make your way downstairs where you meet new people here and there and chat with various Avengers, until eventually it gets late.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here tonight?” Steve asks you and Sam while you wait for the elevator “We have guest rooms.”

“As much as I’d like to see how Stark lives,” you start “we have an early flight tomorrow.”

“We’re following some breadcrumbs on our missing robot.” Sam clarifies at Steve’s confused look, making both him and you roll your eyes.

“Gotcha. Good luck.” he says directly to you, glancing at Sam that's now glaring at you both while you chuckle.

You say your goodnights and step into the elevator. You give Sam a ride to his apartment and then drive to your own, going to bed right away.

You begrudgingly wake up earlier than you would’ve liked to and meet up with Sam to catch your flight.

“Morning, sunshine.” he says, chuckling at your hangover state.

“Bite me, Wilson.” is all you can muster the energy to say.

“Why did you drink so much last night if you knew we had to wake up early?” he's not even trying to hide his amusement.

“It’s not how much, it’s what.” you say while sipping the coffee he thankfully brought you. “This is the last time I let Romanoff make my drinks.”

“Well, have a long flight so you’ll have time to sleep.” he says, letting you rest your head on his shoulder while wrapping his arm around you, stroking your arm as you wait for your plane to start boarding.

“Thank fucking god.” you mumble and you hear him laugh quietly.

You’ve gotten close with Sam since you started your manhunt for the Winter Soldier previously known as Sergeant James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. 

You already spent a lot of time together when you started with both Sam and Steve, but ever since the Captain started taking down Hydra bases with the Avengers all your time is now spent solely with the Falcon. 

You fly together everywhere your leads take you, you spend days on end in each other’s company and you research together as much as you can about Bucky and Hydra in between missions when you’re home.

You’re basically best friends now.

Sometimes you think the only good thing that honestly has come from your search is your friendship with Sam at this point, but you’re trying to stay positive knowing how much this means to Steve.

You board the plane and, once again, rest your head on Sam’s shoulder as you fall asleep.

When you wake up, about an hour before landing, you notice Sam fell asleep too. You smile at his peaceful face, it’s always nicer to be around him when he’s not talking shit. 

You finally land and get ready to spend a whole week in the middle of the Amazon with no reception and just Sam’s dumb ass for company.

-

“We really don’t get paid enough for this shit.” you say as you sit back in your seat with your eyes closed, your body almost giving out because of exhaustion. 

“Now, that’s something we can agree on.” Sam chuckles, as tired as you and still a fucking ray of sunshine. How does he do it, you don’t know.

You’ve just spent a hellish week in the depths of the Amazon forest. You almost died about three thousand and sixteen times and all you have to show for it is scars and bruises and bites of insects the size of cats. 

You didn’t even have time to clean up before your flight, the closest thing to a shower you had all week being when you fell into a river trying to help Sam out and then both of you almost fell down a waterfall.

A. Fucking. Waterfall.

You both basically passed out during the flight, being awakened suddenly after what felt like only a second by a flight attendant. Both of you were so startled that you almost pulled your guns on her.

You're already waiting in line for a taxi before it even crosses your mind to check your phone. Really, how much stuff could have happened in the seven days you were gone?

Turns out, a lot.

Like literally the robot uprisings and flying cities kind of a lot.

You were frozen staring at your phone when Sam’s voice finally registers as he says your name and shakes you a little, effectively taking you out of your daze.

“Have you checked your phone?” you ask, ignoring all his questions, still scrolling through the hundreds of texts from both Natasha and Steve.

“What the hell…” is all you hear from him a minute later and you don't need to look up to know his actions are now mirroring your own.

Before you know it you're entering a taxi and giving the address of the Avengers Tower while ignoring the skeptical look on the driver’s face once he takes notice of your disheveled appearance.

You're both on your phones in a second, you with Natasha and Sam with Steve, letting them know you're alive and assuring yourselves that they're okay too.

They greet you at the front door of the Tower, offering you to stay here for the night and this time you both accept. 

After a much needed shower, you sit down with the rest of the team for dinner and they tell you in more detail about what happened.

Natasha waits until you're alone in her room to tell you about Bruce, and you do your best to comfort her resulting in both of you falling asleep in her bed. 

The morning after Steve tells you and Sam that the remaining Avengers are be relocating to a new facility in Upstate New York, and asks you both to join the team.

Needless to say, neither of you need more than a second to think about it. Obviously you're both in.

You spend the next few months getting to know the Avengers both old and new while the new building was being restructured, and now here you are at the new Avengers Compound for your first day as an official Avenger.

Clint’s home with his family, you and Nat visited when Laura gave birth to little Nathaniel.

Thor’s got some big space adventure, Banner is still nowhere to be found and Tony’s on his way home to Pepper.

So now it’s up to Natasha and Steve to train the new Avengers: Rhodey aka War Machine, Vision, Sam aka the Falcon, Wanda and, proudly, you.

Steve and Natasha enter the room you were all waiting in and everyone falls silent, very eager to try you new suits and gadgets, courtesy of Stark Industries. 

“Avengers…” Steve says, in his captain voice.

This is gonna be fun. 

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes

[bugcouncil]

Now im really interested in Roach can you tell us abt roach something👁👁👁👁💥💥💥

you wanna hear about my little creature!!

he's my outlast trials Reagent and he's rly messed 🖤

he's late-20s/early-30s something. scraggly, sickly, anemic, etc. he abandoned his birth name years and years ago and took on Roach full-time. it's a nickname derived from 1) he's a critter, and 2) he has a deep and passionate fascination for insects

essentially he ran away from his home out on a farm ~18 yrs old and got his ass to the big city, where he picked up work as an orderly/assistant at a medical clinic where he blackmailed one of the doctors in order to get free HRT/testosterone

the hustle fell apart when someone else aired the dirty laundry and the clinic had to shut down, though. suddenly Roach is out of a job with no reliable supply of T and rent is coming up fast and he's running out of options.

cue Murkoff and their fliers asking for the lost, hopeless and downtrodden to partake in their therapy program that'll fix all your problems!

Roach is desperate so he's like Sure Right On. Biggest mistake of his life thus far. The trials are fucking ruthless, but Roach survives fairly well from the get-go because he's just really good at scurrying and hiding in the filth, like a bug

As time goes on though he goes from being fairly avoidant to absolutely unhinged in how violent and confrontational he is, mf will straight up chase down any and all potential assailants just so he can pelt them with bricks. it's enrichment for him.

outside of the trials he's just generally weird and off-putting, Kubrick staring at walls and dissociating and organizing his collection of teeth that he picks up during the trials.

he's also besties with @skeltrr's reagent oc Jaime! They get partnered up during the trials and become inseparable. The co-dependency gets so bad they eventually cannot function properly without the other one there, and once they're released back into the world this becomes VERY clear to Murkoff's field agents when they do their trigger tests and they don't work right.

Another strange thing that happens is that Jaime and Roach will just gravitate towards each other -- like on a geographical level. They can be planted states apart and they will unconsciously try to close the distance. They do it perfectly, too! It's a direct shot every time, and Murkoff stands there scratching their heads as to how these two reagents consistently move towards each other without even having any contact that would make coordinating this possible.

[fanfichubcircuit]

Cowboys and Chems || Ghoul X Trans!Masc reader

He’s here. Your cowboy is here. You don’t see Cooper often what with both of you traveling. He had his bounties and you had Chems to sell, but you always had a way of running into each other.

You’re sitting on your bike keeping the motor going in case you had to split soon. It wasn’t like you had been well behaved in that dive bar, but you were itching for a fight today and you got nothing to show for it. Which either meant no fight or someone would show up with friends.

“Well I’ll be.” His voice is honey on a hot day, and when you turn to him that million cap smile is lighting up his scarred face. “Pretty Boy’s in town. Didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Well if it ain’t Coop.” You leaned over your motorcycle. “What could I do you for, Mr. Howard?” You winked. Your smile quickly faded at seeing the girl with him. A pretty vault girl. Venom’s at your lips before you could stop it. “What’s up with Bug Eyes over there?”

She looks appalled, but Cooper waved her off. “Now now Darlin’ there’s no need to bite at friends. She’s helping me with a job.” He walked over to you casting a cool shadow over you. “What say you and I exchange a proper hello?” But it’s not really a question.

You glance around. The Ghoul always draws eyes wherever he goes. Men kissing in a town like this might cause problems.

“Come here Cowboy, lay some sugar on me.” You grabbed his coat lapels and dragged him close.

Luckily, you loved problems more than your buyers loved chems. You could make all the drugs in the world and you got hooked on adrenaline and danger. Maybe that’s why you fell in love with Coop in the first place. He gave you plenty of both.

His lips are dry and cracked and his teeth find your lip immediately. You let him bite you his fill before tipping his head back. He could pretend to be a predator all he wants, but he gave his softness away every time you pushed for it. He tastes like shitty Radaway, but you don’t care. His mouth is soft and warm and yours. Only ever yours.

After what was far too long to get away with in public you pull back. “Hope he didn’t take all your caps on that batch.”

Cooper just smiled down at you. “Doesn’t matter. I know you’ll take care of me.”

You nodded. “Always.” You finally separate to pull out a set of vials for him. “You gonna need some stims too?”

He nodded. “It’s a big fish.”

You shuffled around in your bag nudging the vials of testosterone aside to pull out the packs. “Always is with you. Just don’t break your fishing pole reeling it in. I still need it.”

Cooper let out a laugh. “Yes, Sir.”

You pile the items together and he started counting out the caps. Before you two became more than friends you used to give him a discount as part of a deal for not bringing you in. And when he started flirting with you you gave him an even bigger one figuring it was worth the ego boost. Nowadays he won’t let you take anything below full price.

You’d been confused at first but he had just scowled. “What? You think I can’t take care of my man?” You never argued it after that too warm and melted by the phrase.

Your voice is hushed as you look over the girl again. “Don’t tell me I gave you a soft spot for Vaulties.”

His eyes land on your leather jacket blue and faded. You had already told him how you had stitched it together out of your old suit. But that was years ago. And no one around now knew what you were once. No vaultie had the amount of scars you did.

“Nah Darlin’. This is about old scores.” He looked wistful.

You nodded and looked around. There was some mean bastard starting you down. He looked even more pissed when you gave him a shit eating grin.

“You have fun fishing Cowboy. Come back to me?”

“Always.” His smile was soft. Then the walls were back up and he was the fierce hunter once more. “Alright Vaultie. We’re going!”

She’s gone.

“Sonofabitch.” Cooper sighed.

He ran off your laugh ringing in his ears.

As heavy footsteps closed in on you your hand found your tire iron. “Now sir I’m a taken man.” You dodged the sloppy punch he threw. “But I don’t mind dancing if you really want to!”

[boyinafandom]

YOU

Stalker ticci Toby x reader

Part 2

story notes:this is kind of an au??? Idk what I do know is that it’s basically were Toby doesn’t become a proxy, I mean he moves out and stuff but his dad doesn’t die and he has a stable life also no cheek scar either, he’s a stalker so he looks like a normal person,reader is trans ftm

song of the installment is:

______________

WARNINGS

•stalking

•kidnapping

•in details about kinks, trauma, Toby being a pervert

•Toby being way to horny for someone he technically barely knows (💀💀like please get a grip bro)

• vulgar language and themes 

•y/n is seriously fucked

______________________________



…

…

…

I like watching you,because you..oh FUCK you.

You’re so, perfect, just, there, waiting for someone..no ME to come into your life and sweep you off your stunning feet..

______

This is where you work, a club. You also have a tendency to come here and hang out, never drink though, you don’t like drinking, so why do you come here? Well because, it’s the only place you feel welcome.

It’s good that you’re isolated, and traumatized. And I know that that sounds like a stretch but I’ve read your note books, when I go into your, no OUR home, I mean you have a lot of those things. Like a lot a lot , I mean how much baggage could one man have, and don’t get me started on the fact that you have a “boy pussy” as you like to call it in the erotic fanfiction you write that you swear isn’t self insert but 100% is, I mean I get writing fanfiction for trans people, but you could change it up to male to female every once and awhile.

Anyway. You work here not because you like it, but because: (based on what I read) you, and I quote: “think the owner wants to fuck me, I don’t think she realizes that I’m a biological woman, she is not gonna like that fact that I can’t dick her down with the cock that I don’t have, I think it’s the only reason she keeps me around”

It probably is, your right tiger, she probably is just keeping you around because she wants your pretty non existent cock in her. I bet your loud to..

As I think that last thought in my never ending inner monologue I hear your voice, your sweet sweet new to testosterone voice, it’s all scratchy, I bet your voice breaks when you moan, when you moan my name…

“Hey there…you?”

You say, fuck me I got to close to the bar, when did I even start sitting here? I thought I was supposed to keep far away so I could keep watching you from a distance

“Not gonna say anything? Alright then..I’ll just assume you want a water”

You say as you rub a glass clean with a rag

“Toby…”

This is my chance

“I’m sorry?”

You’re so polite

“My name, is Toby, I’m not a stranger”

“Alright Toby.. well my name is Y/N”

I know that tiger I know your name

“Can I get you something or are you gonna sit here till close?”

So sassy, god this is orgasmic, it’s our first time speaking and it’s already going so well.

“Oh no I’m good, I uh don’t drink”

I have to be on guard, to make sure that I can be at my best, just for you.

“Then why are you at a bar? I mean, wouldn’t you drink if you’re at a bar?”

“I just…had no where better to be so..”

Fuck, I didn’t think you were this smart how am I gonna get you out of this one..

“Uh huh..”

You nod your head, tongue sliding across your inner cheek, mouth slightly agape.your thinking. About me, fuck how I want to consume your thoughts, and then someone calls out to you. Fuck your getting taken away from me, so soon?

“BARTENDER!”

“Shit.. YEA?”

You mumble the first part under your breath waving to me before walking across the bar to the fuck face that had the nerve to cut our first conversation short.

In all honesty, this isn’t actually our first time speaking well not my first time speaking, to you that is. I was working at a convenience store, I was like 14, my cuck of a father said I “need to get a fucking job and stop being a little sissy bitch” or something, all I know is, was that when I was working that meaningless job, you came in, one fateful day, you looked about 13 or 14 and you had a tick, while you were looking for something, and it triggered one of my tics, and you looked at me, with your beautiful eyes I swear I saw your pupils get a little bit bigger, it was kind of far away, but I could tell you liked me to, you even bought something for me, a monster energy, I said that the white flavor was the best one, you quirked and eyebrow,turned around, walked to the overly cold freezer section that I low-key freeze my hands on every time I had to restock it, because the fucking owner didn’t know how to keep the temperature down and pulled out another one, walked back over placed it on the crusty old counter and said, with your sweet pre testosterone voice:

“You want one? I have enough?”

The rest of the memory is kind of Dingy, but what I do remember is that I saved it for weeks, dusted it for prints and then when I finally got the prints scanned I cyber stalked you to the fucking fullest.

That’s how I found out about your name,your family that you hate, you’re old and new address, your age, were you work and all that good stuff, but the funny thing is, is that I didn’t find this out through your social media, I found it through your friends and family, because, you didn’t have one, not a singular social media account. Intel about a year ago, and after that you gained a huge fallowing, it’s so cool that people love you as much as I do.

it’s like your paranoid, I mean, I would be to, there are a lot of cases on your public records from getting restraining orders, being apart of multiple custody battles, a name change, but surprisingly, no criminal record, bringing back to one of my other points, you only have one account, it’s a tumblr account, where you post, once again, erotic fanfiction. And thank god for that, maybe I’m over analyzing this (which I’m not, because I’m right) but your writing says a lot about you tiger, you really want someone to treat you like a dog, puppy play kink was it? It’s shown in a lot of your fics “be a good dog “Y/N”” I mean seriously, if you want me to put a leash on you and fuck you till you bleed just tell me. I’ll fucking do it. And don’t get me started on your parent issues, your obsession with psychology and over analyzing characters, and over all your problems you pass of as “giving y/n a personality” when anyone in your tumblr comments tells you how much they love your character wrighting and that “it’s not a typical blond haired blue orbed y/n with tits and no personality”

“Sorry about that, he’s a regular here”

You smile, snapping me out of my horny thoughts

“Oh uh yea..”

My neck pops, fuck what if my tics off put you? What if your a different person that you were back then?

You cock your head to the side, like a puppy

My puppy.

“So…”

“Hm?”

“If you’re not gonna drink..what are you here for?”

You. I’m here for you

“Maybe I wanna make a friend”

“Oh yea? Like who?”

Is this what flirting feels like?

“Maybe..”

I take a look around, swiveling in the bar stool

“You?”

You smirk, biting your lip in the process. Your pretty slightly yellow teeth gleaming under the bars over head light

“Alright…you’ve caught me, my shift ends in an hour, meet me by the back exit?”

Alright wanna play this game? We can play tiger.

“Sure, wanna keep me entertained till then?”

I chuckle, like I’m not about to fucking cream my pants.

“Well, I’m not sure I can do that for an entire hour,but I can come around and chat from time to time.”

“I’d like that”

I’d love that actually, more than anything, any chance I get to talk to you is enough to make me want to jump over the counter and take you infront of everyone.

______

After an hour of banter (aka you teasing me by breathing in my general direction)

You take your apron of your twinky ass waist, and walk over to ask if I’m ready to go

“Oh yea totally”

I get up. I bet I’m taller than you.

As it would turn out I am, as we walk out, you seem so unaware that I need you all to myself

You open the door for me

“Oh thank you, such a gentlemen~”

I would give anything to jerk off right now. Fuck, please just let me please you.

I as I walk out I hear something, then I feel it, it’s cold, and it hurts, you just hit me over then head. With a metal object and I crash to the pavement

“Good night rogers.”

Then everything goes black.

____________________________________________

READERS POV

“You caught me,my shift ends in an hour”

This is all I need. I just need to get him isolated and then I can ask him all the questions I want, like why he’s stalking me, and stealing my boxers and blood stained underwear…I wonder if he smells them?

His face lights up, bet he think he’ll get his Squirrley dick wet.

“Sure wanna keep me entertained till then?”

What does he think I am? Fuck, I’ll have to play his game.

“Well, I’m not sure I can do that for an entire hour,but I can come around and chat from time to time.”

Catching him isn’t worth losing my job, but I need to keep him here.

“I’d like that”

Of course you would. Fucking creepo.

___

After an hour of going back and forth between actual customers and a guy who’s been stalking me for who knows how long, my shift finally ends and thank fuck for that, because I can finally figure out what this guys problem is.

“You ready to get out of here?”

“Oh yea totally”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes FUUUUCKKKKK YES. Get out of here so I can…wait fuck what am I gonna do with him? He’s like three feet taller than me, how in the fuck am I gonna get him to talk to me..

As we walk out I open the door for him

“Oh thank you, such a gentlemen~”

Bet he’s a pervert

He’s walking infront of me, without a care in the world…

Fuck it, it’s the hard way or the hard way, I pull my gun out of my waist band and cock him upside the head with it, he immediately hits the ground…thought that would be harder but I guess not?

“Good night rogers.”

____

POVS:

Toby

Reader

Ok…so now there’s a guy locked in my basement…how did I get here?

Da-Dink!

Oh shit? Is there movement?

I check the camera screen

There is, he’s awake.

____

The door creaks open

And then I see you.

“Hey tiger..”

Fuck my head hurts

“Don’t call me that… that’s not my name”

Now that my rage and mild adrenaline rush is gone, I can’t help but take him all in…his lack of clothes, that I striped him of because I knew it would make him feel vulnerable, his very well kept body, his shaggy brown hair, his chocolate brown eyes… his white teeth and sharp canines…

…maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Why are you stalking me?”

Strait into the shit

“Why won’t you let me call you tiger?”

“So you admit it then? Your stalking me?”

God you look so good, just standing there, right in front of me, god if I wasn’t tied down right now that things I would do.

“Maybe…but I can’t help it..”

“What does that even mean??? You’re fucking stalking me.”

Then I remember something, you called me rogers..that’s my last name…

“How do you know my name? Hm?”

Shit.

“Because you told me?”

“No, I told you my name was Toby, you called me rogers before I passed out, after you knocked me to the floor, really…took my breath away”

Is he seriously trying to flirt? Not the point, he’s onto me,,, no..he knows I’m stalking him back

“So? I checked your id when you bought a drink?”

This is a lie, he said he didn’t drink

“Uh Nuh uh-?! Firstly I don’t drink- I told you that, and second, I didn’t buy a drink.”

“No I’m pretty sure you did.”

I cross my arms over my chest

“You’re not a good lier.”

“Fuck you.”

“What did I ever do to you?”

He puts his leg out in an attempt to nudge mine

“Don’t touch me.”

“Untie me”

He sounds smug, I don’t like that

I want to touch you, if you want of course, but… fuck just take me here..

“Fuck just take me here..”

Fuck did I seriously let that slip out?

“I’m sorry?”

What in the fuck did he just say??

“I mean…if you want to”

Then I watch you slump to your knees in-front of me fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…

“May I?”

You say, with your pretty voice

I feel myself getting harder

And then I’m snapped back into reality

“Are you hard right now..?”

I can feel myself getting sick, how far gone is this guy,I mean seriously?

Although…

NO NO NO NO NO.

What in the fuck am I thinking?? This guy is a creep. A stalking,grimy, slimy, nasty..kind of hot..NO EW GOD NO.

“What are you thinking about?”

Shit, I got to lost in thought and now he..god why am I so bipolar? Can I please have one solid thought without..

And before I know it I’m cutting off his ropes, taking him upstate’s to the main part of my house and..we’re talking? No we’re flirting, we are 100% flirting.

God please tell me you know I’m flirting with you.

_______

The stupid end because I can’t make good endings for things

[hankwritten]

Slake Her Thirst

Pauling/Pyro, 2k Warnings: binge drinking

Sunday (July 9) : Party | Music | Games

Escape was before her. A thin band of light under a closed door. And just as easily, that chance was whisked away by being a second too late to leap on it.

“You’re not staying for the party?” Demo asked, a lager in each hand.

Pauling groaned internally, her hand on the doorknob now as useless as an ice screw left lying on the ground. She drew it back and tried rustle up a smile.

“I didn’t want to impose…” she said.

Which was a bad start because Demo immediately replied with, “Ach! It’s no imposition. We hardly ever see ye lass, it’s good to have you come every now and then.”

Damn. She’d walked right into that. “Seriously, I’m kind of don’t do well at parties, just going to bring the mood down…”

“What’s the matter? Ye got somewhere to be or something?”

There. No way out of this one, not when she’d already tipped her hand and let slip this was her day off. Her palm glumly fell from the doorknob.

“…No. I guess not.”

Demo took this opportunity to shove one of the lagers into her now unoccupied hands.

“Good!” he boomed. “Drinks on the house lassie, so start throwing ‘em back!”

Actually drinks were on TF Industries, and the generous salaries it was doling out to these guys, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She tipped it back and drained it in one, long-running gulp (much to Demo’s enthusiasm as he cheered her on) and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve when she was done. She was probably going to need several of these to make it through tonight.

Because mercenary parties were nothing to sneeze at. Pauling wasn’t a fan of normal parties—of their prying, incessant purpose to crack you open and get you to spill yourself onto confetti and barely trustworthy acquaintances—and the mercs of 2Fort didn’t stop at too loud music and a lot of beer. No, a lot didn’t even begin to cover it. It was a stupid amount of beer. A disaster-waiting-to-happen amount of beer. And she was right there in the middle of it.

Sniper had brought his family’s moonshine. Heavy, as she watched, hauled a truly massive keg into the base common room. Even Pyro was drinking a beer through a curly straw.

That last one was pretty adorable, actually.

“Ah, so you decided to stay after all!”

The sudden appearance of the team’s Medic made her jump, and if there were still beer in her mug she certainly would have sloshed it over herself. Medic, immediately categorizing this as a deficiency, replaced her lager with a full one.

“Oktoberfest!” he cheered warmly.

“It’s July,” Pauling said.

“Not if you find the spirit of the season in your heart,” he said.

She shrugged, and began to imbue from the new one as well. Still, her eyes kept finding her way back to the Pyro, even as she hid it behind glass and glasses. Medic, of course noticed.

“He was very much hoping you would stay,” Medic said. “It was his idea to do the briefcase pre-check, thought you would be more inclined if we did so.”

That had been a welcome surprise when she’d first stopped on base, saving her the hassle of going through the checks herself.

“I should go say thanks then,” she said honestly. “Maybe try to get him to itemize my other classified documents too.”

It was a joke, but one not too far from the truth; she trusted with secrets, and that trust went both ways. Namely, the fact that ‘he’ wasn’t an accurate descriptor.

Or at least, that’s what the Administrator said. She hadn’t really provided any proof, or what Pyro might look like under that suit—that was left to Pauling’s imagination and it was something she really shouldn’t be thinking about while drunk and approaching Pyro’s sofa. She waved the thoughts away.

It wasn’t hard to guess the reason for the deception. This was a man’s job, and no one was going to let you forget it. Every other person in this room was showboating and getting hopped on testosterone, and even if they’d always treated her kindly, she’d never be treated the same. The Administrator wasn’t immune to either—to work for Helen you did assassinations in heels and you negotiated weapons contracts in a skirt, and if you couldn’t do that you went home. Even now, she could feel Scout’s eyes on her, desperate to come over and wind up another ill-fated schmooze on her, only screened by the Engineer trying to convince him of something.

So no, she didn’t begrudge the Pyro for being private. And she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to blab to the guys.

“Heyyy buddyyy~” she said upon reaching Pyro and wow was she drunk if her voice was already doing that thing.

Pyro didn’t mind, immediately sweeping her up into a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you too. Thanks for um…the um…briefcase thing.”

Though, maybe if she’d still been stuck in the intelligence room, she would have had a valid excuse to skip the party. Oh well. She was actually starting to enjoy herself.

And becoming a little afraid of what that meant. Quashing the little part of herself that hated losing composure, hated becoming uninhibited.

“Hudda huh?” Pyro asked, setting Pauling down.

“Noooo…I’ve only had like. Two.” Within the span of ten minutes.

“Mmph,” Pyro said, tapping her own straw.

“Contest? Oh hell yeah. You’re on.” Then Pauling’s brain caught up with her words. “I mean, actually, I probably shouldn’t stay for too long…”

“Pssy.”

“Oh fuck you! You’re the pussy.”

So Pauling chugged the party down thoroughly, Pyro by her side and matching her drink for drink. Until the straw proved to be too much of a limiter, and Pauling started taking on extra drinks while waiting, taunting Pyro to catch up.

She found herself on the dance floor, maybe being a bit too clingy to her ‘favorite buddy’. But she quickly soothed that spike of worry—they guys were taking notice, and maybe having a bit of a laugh as Pyro and Pauling made clumsy fools of themselves to the overly sugary music, but as far as they knew there was nothing wrong with it. Sure Scout was oddly put out, but that was a blessing really, and the whole situation became almost comforting. That for one night, maybe things would go well.

“Huddah huh!”

“Keg stand? I can’t do a keg stand! I’m in a skirt!”

“Hudd mmrr huh.”

“Pantyhose don’t count as pants. They’re underwear, Pyro.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh!”

Somehow, maybe a testament to her level of inebriation and a sign that she should stop this, Pyro convinced her to do a keg stand under the conditions she would hold up her skirt while she did it. The nearest mercenaries cheered when she finished, and she put both fists up in victory.

“Wooo!”

“Mmmm!” Pyro echoed.

“This is great! I’m having so much fun. I can’t even remember why I didn’t want to have fun in the first place.”

“Great to hear it, lass,” Demo said.

“You guys are my best friends! I feel like my skin is on fire. I could kill every person in this room and no one would even care. I’m holding together the world’s most expensive corporate conspiracy with packing wire and multicolored sticky notes and I can’t even get a government mandated sick day! Isn’t that funny? Ha. Haha. HAHA.”

It wasn’t that funny.

“Pmmph hudd?”

“I’M HAVING SO MUCH FUN.”

She doubled over laughing. She tried to wrap her arms around her stomach to keep the fun inside her, but it wasn’t helping. The laughter was shaking every cell in her body, threatening to tear her apart at the seams.

The mercenaries were milling about in concern, and it was only Pyro holding up a hand that kept them back.

She found herself in Pyro’s room. Minutes blurred by or when on achingly slowly with no rhyme or reason, and the hysteria only started to lessen when the thrum of the party was applied through several layers of base walls.

“This,” she said, still trying to hold herself with arms and elbows. “This is why I can’t. Can’t let it go for even a second.”

“Mmm hurr?” Pyro sat by her on the bed.

“It’s like molecules in a solid. Stress is keeping you together. But then you start bombarding them with energy and they bounce off each other and then the whole structure goes bleh and leaks like goo out of the edges.”

Pyro was rubbing her back. Pauling’s hands found her shoulders, her neck, the edge where the suit met the mask. She was barely thinking, here whole structure, her whole all of her leaking over the edges and on to Pyro.

“And I just…I can’t let my guard down for even a second…”

Except for now maybe. When her lips were bumping against rubber mask that was just close enough to skin it could trick her brain into believing something else.

What was she doing? What was doing? They other guys might know Pyro was a woman, but Pyro knew was a woman, and here she was now doing something that definitely couldn’t be brushed off as being too drunk or too out of her mind…

But Pyro wasn’t pushing her away. Even as Pauling straddled her, gloves came up the back of Pauling’s neck, undoing her chignon and letting her hair fall black and cascading around them. They were suddenly kissing in a tent of darkness, and Pauling was here, on pushing her flat onto the bed, her finger’s searching for the zipper of the chemsuit-

“Prrmmng.”

It had to be here, somewhere along the neckline-

“Prrmmng,” Pyro said more firmly, guiding them back into a sitting position.

“What?”

“Hudda mur hhrm.”

Pauling tried to follow the finger as it moved from one side of her face to the other. She really did. But suddenly one finger became six, then down to two, and then her eyes started to hurt for no reason as the scrutiny of the blank lenses kept her pinned. Pyro shook her head, and gently moved Pauling off her lap.

“Shit. Shit, Pyro I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Pyro silenced her wish a shake of her head, and gently cupped Pauling’s cheek with a gloved palm. An assurance that everything was alright.

It didn’t feel alright. But she was suddenly so, so tired, and didn’t have it in her to fight anymore. She could only manage one last surrender, obeying when Pyro told her to get some rest. Collapsing unfamiliar pillow, her hair spread out in an absolute mess, she let the mercenary take off her kitten heels and pull a thin blanket over her shoulders.

The rim a plastic filter nudged her temple, a kiss goodnight.

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

The Jealousy of Dieter Bravo

(Dieter Bravo x horror lover female reader)

Summary: Back in the world with horror loving reader, Dieter gets jealous when you start working with a hot new actor

Check out masterlist here

Warning: Dieter being grumpy, some swearing, a cookie gets sacrificed

Notes: Reader is Australian but not the stereotypical sort

Dieter Bravo hated a lot of people; people in general were stupid, fake, and self-centred. Up and coming actor Jagar Aldritch was the latest person on his list of people he hated. His totally non-biased opinion of the hip new actor was that that he was a pretentious prick.

He generally avoided reading any type of media relating about other actors, especially this jerk, except for this one article. Only because it was about a film you were working on: Hyde Away with Dr. J was a new modern take on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This stupid actor with an even stupider name spent the whole article waffling on about going all method. Dieter thought actors who went method were compensating for something.

“I struggled with the juxtaposition of the duality of the character but managed to adhere to the contrast of man and monster”

What the fuck did that mean? And not once did he mention the hours of sitting in the makeup chair while you worked your magic to create half his character. Total prick.

Dieter just happened to be visiting on set for the last day of filming. He was planning to surprise you with a little celebration, and actual celebration of dinner at a nice restaurant, not his normal celebration. He grumbled around looking for you, then he heard your beautiful laughter.

You were there with that prick, being absolutely professional, wiping your elaborate makeup off his stupid chiselled face.

 “And there we go! No more being stuck under a mask anymore!”

Damn it, you were being a ray of sunshine while that idiot flashed his probably veneered teeth at you.

“Thank you. So much”

How dare he hold your hands in his. Dieter had bigger hands.

“You made those hours in the chair feel transcendent”

“I was just doing my job”

“I feel we had a good rapport going, just wondering if you’d…”

Dieter immediately feigned a coughing fit, interrupting whatever that prick was propositioning.

“Dieter! What are you doing here!”

“I came to take you out to dinner. To celebrate”

Your arms went around his waist and gave him a quick kiss.

“Aw, you’re so sweet!”

“Yeah, I’m an amazing boyfriend to my wonderful, hugely talented girlfriend”

He may have said that a bit too firmly. And his arm was very firmly around your waist.

You quipped in before the biting match began.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Just through our agent”

The testosterone was so thick you could spread it like butter on toast.

“I guess I’ll see you at the premiere then!”

That prick known as Jagar Aldritch then grabbed a cookie out of your Tupperware, took a small bite and waived it as he walked away.

Dieter glared after him, just to make sure that prick didn’t think of coming back. You decided to start putting your stuff away.

“Dieter, do you want to help me?”

That stopped his angry glaring. He might as well be the amazing boyfriend he claimed he was. He actually proved very helpful, although he did everything with a grumpy pout on your face. Once everything was put away, you decided to address the grumpy elephant in the room.

“Dieter, are you jealous of Mr. Aldritch?”

“What? No” he scoffed.

You looked at him the way a schoolteacher looked at a naughty schoolboy.

“Dieter Bravo, you may be an award-winning actor, but you are a terrible liar”

He hangs his head; he felt scolded.

“Okay maybe. You were being nice to him”

“I’m nice to everyone”

“He’s a pretentious prick!”

“Yes, I know”

He perked his head up.

“You do?”

“Of course, it’s obvious. He asked if I was Australian but then proceeded to go on about all the beaches he visited, and I’ve been to none of them, and he pronounced a bunch of them wrong. And I clearly put in more research into his character than he did. Did you know he hasn’t even read the book? Didn’t want it to interfere with his character or something”

Your angry ministrations were stirring something in him.

“You know, you’re sexy when you rant”

“I could go on for hours!”

“Please do”

“No, not now, I’m hungry. Can we go eat?”

He would have to remember to bring the subject up later tonight. He moved to help you grab your stuff. Picking up your Tupperware he had that glare again.

“Can’t believe that prick ate one of your cookies”

“Don’t worry, he only takes a bite to show off, then throws the rest out in the trash”

“He WHAT?!”

“It’s not that big of a deal”

Oh, it was a big deal. No one throws out a delicious cookie made by an equally delicious woman. That cookie was a work of heavenly bliss, and he was going out for the hunt!

Dieter stormed off.

“Dieter, no! No, don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it. Don’t you dare eat that trash cookie!”

[slowlyhardgoatee]

Now, I bet you’re wondering why I brought you over here to my house today, right?

Well, there’s a couple of reasons, Smith. Let’s just say I’ve got a proposition for you.

Firstly, there’s the work situation. You’ve worked for me at my construction business for a long time now, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand why you stick around despite the low pay. Hell, everyone knows you like nothing more than jacking off over a pair of dirty construction overalls and boots in the back workroom. We’ve all seen you doing it. But I’ve noticed that, nine times out of ten, you specifically pick MY overalls and boots. Am I your type, Smith? ‘Yes Boss’, was that? Good. Keep that subservient attitude up, faggot. Oh, that’s your name from now on, by the way. Faggot.

The second reason you’re here is actually to do with my wife. As you probably know, I’m a married man. Been with my wife for just about 30 years, and let me tell you she is a classy lady. Very proper. Now, me, I’m the opposite of her. I’m ex-police, ex-military, hell, even did a stint as a prison guard for a while. Tough work, done by tough men. Thing is, all that testosterone flying around turned me into a 24/7 horn dog. My wife puts out once a month for the most missionary sex possible, and that’s nothing like enough for me. I need my dick sucked several times a day - and she does not suck dick. She said to me, ‘Find someone else if you want that shit’ - so faggot, I’m finding you.

I’m shutting down the construction company. But don’t worry, I’m keeping you on. Your new job is as my personal cocksucker. It’s a full-time, live-in and entirely unpaid position starting immediately. I know you live alone and have no family, so you should have no problem getting started right away. What do you say, faggot?

Atta boy - ‘Yes, Boss’, and dropped straight to your knees. Good faggot. Go ahead and get my cock out. Look at that. Look at the piece of meat that’s gonna be running your fucking life from now on. You want to nurse on it, faggot? Go right ahead.

Fuck yeah, right down the back of your fucking throat. Fuck, that’s a sweet and talented mouth. I’ll be putting it to near-constant use.

Ah - what do you think you’re doing? No no no - hands well away from your cock, faggot. In fact, give ‘em here. There. That’s where your hands belong when you’re sucking your Boss’s cock, faggot - tugging on my fucking nipples. I’ll be locking your cock up in a cock cage first thing in the morning - and you’ll beg me to throw away the key.

Oh, fuck yeah. Oh, you’re gonna be at my beck and call whenever I want. I think to start with, I’ll keep you down here in the basement. But every so often, on special occasions, I’ll take you upstairs and let you suck me in the actual house. Y’know, on my birthday, or our wedding anniversary, or my wife’s birthday, days like that. I’ll always make sure she’s in the house when I take you up there, as well, so she can see first-hand how you satisfy the demands she wouldn’t meet. If my wife won’t give me what I want, I’m happy to make a cuckold out of her in her own living room.

Last thing, faggot - you don’t smoke, do you? No? Good. Nor does my wife. She hates it when I smoke. So - I promise that every time I fuck your mouth up in the house, I’m gonna light up the biggest cigar I can find, and I’m gonna smoke it nice and slowly while you’re servicing my meat. Then, because we can’t have you taking too much pleasure out of your new life of servitude, once you’ve swallowed my cum in front of my cuckold wife, you’re gonna beg me to put my cigar out on your faggot balls. And believe me, faggot, the sound of you screaming and whimpering like a pathetic little bitch is only gonna get me hard all over again.

Now, hold still. I’m gonna blow my load all over your face, bitch. Here it comes, here it… fuuuuucking comes, you CUNT. FUCK. Look at that, dripping all over your face. That’s the first of many, believe me.

What do you have to say to me, faggot?

Yeah, ‘Thank you, Boss’. Good fag. Now clean my cock off for me, and then let’s go upstairs into the house. The wife’s due back from work in about fifteen minutes, and the first thing I want her to see is you begging for my cock in your mouth while I’m smoking. If you’re a good faggot, I might rape you in front of her, too. You like the thought of that, eh? Your Boss’s married seed up your faggot cunt? Yeah, thought you would. Well, you just concentrate on being a good cocksucker, and we’ll see what happens. Now, come on. Up we go. Time for you to get a good feel for your new job.

[lukabitch]

Hey, can you do a trickster x (trans) male survivor reader who's emetophobic but just comes back from a trial against plague? So that he's completely anxious and needs some comfort (of course just if that doesn't make you uncomfortable in any way!)

Omg I love your trickster fic! This one is going to be absolutely adorable. Thank you so much for the request! :)

Tw: Plague is kinda grass™️

Today was not the day for you. Not only were you sent to a trial but it was a trial against the Plague. To say you were extremely upset after the trial would be an understatement.

All you wanted was some comfort but no one was available to do so. Now your just wondering through the woods trying your best to forget about the trial. It was only making things worse for you to the point your knees just give out. All you wanted to do was cry.

“Aw what’s wrong pretty boy?” Looking to see who the voice came from you saw the Trickster. He showed some amount of concern and that’s all it took for you to fully break down. “Focus on my voice okay? Deep breath in and out. In for 5 out for 4.” His voice was soothing to hear.

You did as he said taking deep breaths. You were starting to calm down though your anxiety lingered. “Has anyone told you how handsome you are?” His words were sweet and definitely helped your confidence. “No one has not recently.” Your voice sounded rough from crying.

“Well you are I’m surprised no one has.” He was running his hands through your hair. You were practically purring at his touch. “Have you’ve been taking your testosterone?” You nod your head leaning into his touch.

He was enjoying how needy you are. “You were in that trial against Plague huh? I heard she didn’t get any kills. You did a good job didn’t you?”

“I don’t think I did too well.” He cupped your face with both hands; pulling you close. “Trust me handsome you did great.” A small kiss was placed on your lips. You felt little butterflies in your stomach.

“See? Great survivor and a great kisser.” He could always find a way to make you giggle. The way he was able to make all your worries go away was like magic.

“Thank you.” You heard a small laugh come from the killer. “No need to thank me pretty boy. I’m always here for you.” Knowing that gave you the only sense of comfort you’ve had since you got here.

Maybe things will turn out for the better.

[writingsofwesteros]

pack nanny

Ned's nerves are frayed so thin you wouldn't believe. Ned works as a prosecutor and he's had a hard day at work. It's that Greyjoy gang wreaking havoc in the city yet again. Eddard and the Mayor Bob Baratheon have their hands full with Greyjoy shit. Just the usual: drug dealing, illegal whorehouses, asassinations...

On top of that, Catelyn has been nagging Ned lately about how he doesn't spend enough time with family.

Thing is, he does. Just not when Catelyn is around, and that's the problem, really. He's spending a lot of time wth the children. Noticing how the Nanny takes such a good care of them. How she hugs them when they cry. How she kisses better every scratch and bruise. It's been driving him FUCKING NUTS.

Just two days ago, he has caught the Nanny making out with the Greyjoy brat behind his garage. He grabbed the rascal by the ear and dragged him off of his premises, then gave the Manny a stern talking to, all the while ignoring the tightness in his pants. It's only by the desperate effort of his last two braincells that weren't completely addled by testosterone, that he's resisted taking her then and there against the back door of his garage and marking her as his.

So this night, when he comes back from the courthouse, he notices three things. One: Catelyn isn't home. She's told him she'll be working late tonight (she's a creative director for a clothig brand and they're about to release a new collection, so she's been busy). Two: the children are fast asleep in their beds. Three: the Nanny isn't around. But she wouldn't leave the children unsupervised, she has to be somewhere in the house.

Ned stalks upstairs silently, wondering what is going on... He hears it, a quiet breathig, no, it's... panting. And then a moan. He feels his cock harden at the sound. Damn it all to hell.

She is in his bedroom. Again. After he's specifically forbidden her to enter there. He approaches and looks through the crack in the door.

The sight he's met with makes his blood boil.

Nanny is lying on his bed, her shirt and bra discarded, her skirt hiked up. She is writhing sensually and panting, tweaking her nipple with one hand, while her other hand is...

...between her legs, her fingers burried deep in her drenched, glistening cunt. The SOUNDS she's making are obscene. He can almost feel the heavenly, salty SMELL of her arousal. Her eyes are closed, she seems completely unaware of her surroundings. How unprofessional, he thinks, what if something happened to the kids?! But the thought is just a fleeting wisp quickly blown away by his raging desire. She's mewling, uttering some incoherent littany.

"Yes, oh, yes... like that..." she moans, "...just like that, I'll be good, I'll be your good girl, I promise... Please, oh... oh shit! Yes! Ned! YES! Mr Stark, right there, please..."

Has he misheard? Is she calling his, Ned's, name? The last thread of his self control snaps. He is already unbuttoning his shirt when he bangs the bedroom door open and marches towards the bed. He discards his shirt and starts working on his trousers, towering over her with menace on his face.

The nanny halts all of her movements and blinks. She's visibly shaken and frightened.

"Mr Stark, I... I'm sorry, I wasn't..." Words get stuck in her throat.

"You're out of control, Nanny," he states, matter-of-factly, though the horny rasp in his voice belies his meaning. "What am I going to do with you, hm?" he asks, stepping out of his trousers and kicking them to the corner. "Theft. Loitering with the bad seed of this town, indecent exposure at work, public misconduct ON MY BACKYARD no less..." he ennumerates her sins, "and now THIS!" He crosses his arms waiting, hoping to hear her pleading.

Sure enough, she starts sobbing.

"Please, Mr Stark, Sir, don't kick me out. I need this job, else I'll end up on the streets." Tears are streaming down her cheeks and Ned's heart almost bursts. "Please, I beg you! Don't you fire me!"

She pleads with him so sweetly, how could he refuse her? He slowly takes off his briefs and his fat, hard cock springs free. Was it his imagination, or did the Nanny just lick her lips at the sight?

"Fire you?" he asks, bemused. "On the contrary, you're being promoted," he declares, as he kneels on the bed and crawls over the nanny, taking in her surprised expression and the slight tremor of her beautiful body.

"In addition to my children," he says, looking down at her, his face just centimetres from hers, "from now on you'll be taking care of THIS," he gives his sentence, as he pushes his cock into her slick, tight, virgin pussy.

(Ned Stark is my bane.)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HOT HOT HOT!!!!!! DROOL WORTHY !

NSFW GIF

He's lost all control now and we love it !!