#he will take her last name or I’ll die

[zweiginator]

imagine you’re using arts phone cause urs died or wtv and you stumble on him and patricks convo and cause ur hella nosy you go through it and it’s then saying the FILTHIEST things about you sending each other shitty yet lewd pictures of their dicks mid strike… like kat zimmerman all over again 😫😫😫

Yes …… and art is a little out of it just not thinking because he’s hanging out with you, and you’re asking him for help!!!

So of course he gives you his phone to use and he’s just kinda standing there with his hands in his pockets not knowing what to do while you’re trying to call an Uber, muttering how you’ll pay him back.

And Patrick is sending him tons of texts, just spamming the fuck outta art.

Yo are you with her?

What is she wearing

Don’t leave me hanging

they can’t be talking about you, surely not. You barely know Patrick or Art. Art you know more due to the fact that you had a class with him last semester. You had met Patrick a few times when you went over to their shared apartment to study a couple times.

But nothing notable happened. Just studying, awkward small talk—that’s it.

You’re curious, and open their messages, scrolling to the beginning of the day.

Patrick complains about not being invited out.

Sorry it’s a Stanford thing, Art responded.

I can’t wait to see her

The messages start out sweet.

Can’t wait for you to tell me exactly what she’s wearing , patrick said.

Another one from Patrick underneath.

What I’d give to cum all over those tits

It doesn’t surprise you to see Patrick’s texts; you don’t know him as much. But you know Art. He’s sweet. Cute. Nervous and antsy.

Me too

Innocent enough.

Art sends another text.

I’d fuck her face until she cried

Your face grows hot. Art is looking at his watch, tapping his foot.

Bet her little pussy is so tight, what if we shared it

And then a video. You make sure the volume is down; you’re sure it would be pornographic had it been turned on even slightly. Patrick bucks his hips up, fucking his hand. His mouth hangs open, veins in his cock pulsing. His phone , propped up on a book, falls over from the force of his thrusting. His cock is huge. It’s almost scary.

Art sends one back; he sends it along with a text: I’d love to fuck her with you. he spits in his hand slowly. It drips into his palm. He coats his shaft, the pink head, even his balls. Spit drips onto the chair beneath him. He’s slower, more deliberate. You accidentally turn the volume up a bit. Art’s moans are soft, they grow into desperate groans. He moans your name—and then he moans Patrick’s.

Art’s face is white. You realize you outed yourself. No, you shouldn’t be looking through his phone—but is he really going to be mad at you after what you found.

“Oh fuck. Um-“ he doesn’t even know what to say. Nothing about this is redeemable. There’s no excuse, no way out. You’re the girl he has daydreamed about marrying and you just saw perverted homoerotic texts, and he and Patrick jerking off. Together.

You find it cute, how embarrassed he is. And the sick part of you—which takes up more of your brain than you’d like to admit—is flattered that they long for you like this. Want to fuck you this bad. You turn his phone off and hand it to him.

“Tell you what. I’ll just sleep over at your place tonight. That shouldn’t be a problem right?”

Art shakes his head. “No, not at all—you’re more than welcome.”

“I really didn’t know you and Patrick were so close.”

Art wants to fucking die.

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[starkwlkr]

it’s nothing new | sebastian vettel

part 1 part 3

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

update: i decided to make this into a series, thanks for reading! you can read it here!

“hello?”

“mark, hi.”

“y/n? it’s been a while. how are you?” the aussie asked. it had been years since you spoke to mark, but he always kept you updated. he sent messages about how everyone in the paddock was doing, which you appreciated him for.

“i . . i’m okay. is this a bad time to talk to you?” you asked. you suddenly remembered about time zones.

“it’s alright, i always have time for you. what’s going on?” he questioned.

“so i am at my sister’s house and i didn’t want to sleep the whole flight so i decided to read your book.” you replied. “it’s a beautiful book, mark.”

“thanks.” he knew there was more you wanted to say. “are you mad?”

“mad about what?” you asked. “what you wrote about sebastian and i? is that what you’re talking about?”

“well yeah. i tried to contact you several times. you wouldn’t answer my messages so i assumed you changed numbers. seb told me he didn’t care if i wrote it in—”

“mark, i’m not mad. i’m far from it. i just want to know if it’s true. did he tell you everything? the night he won the title, i mean.” you asked. you remembered that night clearly. you didn’t finish the race, but that didn’t stop you from celebrating with sebastian.

“he would never lie about you, love. i told him to tell you, just to get it off his chest but he wouldn’t. you were with someone else, it was wrong.” mark explained. “you know the day you announced your engagement, he hated himself for not telling you sooner. maybe things would’ve ended differently if he had.”

maybe . .

“does he hate me?”

there was always that possibility. but when it came to sebastian, he would rather die than say he hates you.

“he could never hate you even if you did throw a show at him and call him a cunt.” mark chuckled. “he still loves you, you know, he asks about you all the time and i have no idea what to tell him.”

“well maybe i could tell him myself . . do you have his phone number?”

after you were given seb’s number, you noticed he never changed it. you weren’t sure why, but you decided to text him instead of calling.

y/n

hi seb, it’s y/n. i know it’s been so long and i’m sorry for how things ended. i hope you’re doing great. i’m not doing too good right now. my marriage is ending so i have that going for me. i’m staying with my sister and her family. anyways, i hope you don’t mind me messaging you. mark gave me your number but turns out i still have it saved. speaking of mark, i read his book on the flight, it’s very interesting. i’ll leave you alone now, thanks for caring about me all these years.

after you sent the message, you didn’t expect a reply. it was as if he was waiting for a message this whole time.

seb

hi y/n. i hope you know i never forgot about you after all this time. i’m sorry about your marriage, i really am. i don’t mind at all that you message me, i never changed my number in hopes that one day you would. as for mark’s book, i hope you’re not mad, but if you need to know, it’s all true and i wouldn’t change anything. being with you made me happy and everytime i hear your name, i’m reminded of the joyful memories we shared. i have something to tell you, only a few people know. i plan to retire at the end of the 2022 season. it would be nice if you would come to abu dhabi for my last race. i understand if you can’t make it. take care and i love you always. (it’s nothing new at this point)

@hc-dutch @lightdragonrayne @multiplefandomwritings @woozarts @jggykhug09090 @neivivenaj @kissesandmartinis @barnestatic @avythef1addict

[minihotdog]

Caught Red Handed // Part 1

Summary: Soap Catches His Roommate Reading an Erotic Novel

Part 2

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!Reader

a/n: Most likely gonna be a follow up fic for this, already brainstorming

c/w: oral (F receiving), a little penetration

word count: 2k

***

You sat on the end of the couch curled up in a blanket, completely enthralled by the book in your hands. Your nose is buried inside the pages and you only move to readjust your glasses every once in a while.

Soap saunters into the kitchen to get some water, noticing you in a trance-like state as he reaches for a glass. He calls your name to no avail. Eventually, he gives up and plops down on the other end of the couch and your eyes rip away from the book to him. You cautiously put the book down on your lap, hoping he hadn’t caught some of the words.

“What are ye readin’ tha’ has ye blushin’ like tha’?”

“Huh?” You pretend to not know what he’s talking about and try, nonchalantly, to cover the book with your blanket. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a little warm.”

He eyes you, not believing a word of what you’re saying and you try to play it off as if your soul didn’t jump out of your skin from him interrupting you while reading the most filthy paragraphs of your life. 

Soap raises an eyebrow at you, a smirk appears on his face. Heat continues to rise to your face as his muscles bulge while he scratches the back of his neck. He always lounged around in a pair of gray sweats, chest exposed. You always assumed you were used to it until you were close enough to take all of him in. The Scottish flag on his left pec and a quote on his ribs you had yet to get close enough to read, and worst of all, the sheer size of him. 

“Yer full o’ shite,” He accuses you playfully. “Let me see then?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you toss the blanket at him as a distraction and take off running. He fights off the blanket and is hot on your heels as you try to hide the book in your room. 

He comes up behind you and snatches it from your hands. 

“Johnny! No!” He holds the book above his head and you’re jumping up, trying to take it from him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll give it back.” You put your hand out and he turns, running into his room. You follow him only for the door to shut in your face with a click.

“Give me my book back!” You try to open the door, banging on it when it won’t budge.

“Be quiet, I’m readin’.” He shouts through the door.

You put your forehead on the door, cursing yourself for reading such a thing when you had someone like him around. 

“Why’s there a big lad wearin’ a kilt on the front?”

Your eyes close and your hands cover your face. You stood there about to die of embarrassment thinking about how this couldn’t get any worse, until…

“His body was as hard as steel, forged frae generations of resistance against the soothern British armies - fuckin’ Brits -.” He murmurs the last bit before continuing. “Her hands ran ower his muscles as he slid his throbbin’ member intae her soaked…WOAH!”

“Johnny, stop!” You plea for him to stop reading. Your ears hurt at the sound of it being read out loud.

The room falls silent for a while and you call out his name once again. The quiet fuels your embarrassment. It feels like a thousand years go by before he opens the door and stands in the frame, holding the book at his waistline. He points at you with a wicked smile,

“Oh, yer a dirty, lass.” You snatch the book from him and stop towards your room.

“John Mactavish, you are so nosey!” He laughs as you shut and lock your door so you can read in peace.

***

You tip-toe out of your room, not quite ready to confront your roommate after the events earlier in the day. You poked your head into the kitchen, seeing his mohawk peaking over the other side of the half wall separating the two rooms. You quietly enter the kitchen, turning your back to him to try and open the refrigerator, hoping that the TV is loud enough to cover the sound of the door opening.

“Y/n, ye done being mad?” He taunts, resting with his forearms on the half wall, looking right at you. You stick your tongue out at him and he chuckles. He never took you seriously when you were mad at him. To piss you off, he’d often tell you that you reminded him of one of those little dogs, angry as hell and completely unaware of how small they were.

He motions to the couch, “Come watch a movie wit me.” You shake your head and he whines, “O’ c’mon, y/n.” 

“Fiiiine.”

You walk over and sit on the other end of the small couch, your nerves building up in your stomach. Soap is wrapped up in your blanket. You glance over at him as you rub the fabric on your pj shorts. He scratches his scruff and his eyes slowly meet yours. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Wha’s wrong, lass?”

Your eyes drop, heat rising to your cheeks from being caught staring.

“Nothing.”

“Lassie, there’s nothin’ wrong wit readin’ those types o’ books.” A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “There’s nothin’ wrong wit wantin’ a big Scotsman tae throw ye around and fuck ye silly either.”

You hide yourself with your hands, not wanting him to see the horrified look on your face. He scoots over to you, wrapping you in a bear hug.

“Oh, innocent little y/n has a dark side, I cannae believe it!”

“Nooo!” You squeal, “Stop bringing it up!”

You turn to push him away but he locks an arm on both sides of the armrest behind you, trapping you. His blue eyes bore into your soul making you squirm.

“So, tell me, Ye read tha’ because ye like it? Or did ye wish it was another Scotsman ye know?” He tilts his head, looking up as if he’s trying to remember something. “His grasp on my throat tightened as his thrusts became harder, pushin’ me over the edge… Is that what she said?” You cover his mouth with your hands and he grabs your wrists in one hand, pulling them off. 

“I’ll make yer little dreams come true, just tell me ye want me.”

Your breath catches as you try to speak, “Johnny…” You’re left not knowing what to say to him. He catches you off guard, pulling you onto your back by your hips. His body forces your legs open and he rests his weight on his forearms. His lips graze your ear, “I see ye lookin’ me up and down all the time, lass.” His hand travels down your body to cup your pussy through your shorts. A wave of heat shoots through your body. “I hear ye moanin’ my name at night when ye play with yerself, now I catch ye readin’ a book about some lad wrecking a wee thing.” He pushes the hem against your clit and you grip his shoulders. 

“Jus’ admit it and I’ll be more than happy to give it to ye.” His hand grabs your jaw, giving it a taunting little shake. He holds himself above you, eyes glued to your lips, whispering, “C’mon, c’mon,” encouraging you to answer.

You find the courage to speak, the fire coursing through your body is unbearable.

“Johnny, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He mutters before coming down to kiss you, pressing his bulge against you through his sweats. His lips move with yours, his kiss leaves you feeling hypnotized. By the time he begins pulling your shorts down, you’re seeing stars. He throws the shorts off to the side and his fingers run over the wet patch on your panties. He lets out a shaky breath, and he takes in the sight of you. Legs spread for him with your nipples poking through your oversized t-shirt. Your big doe eyes watch his every move as he positions himself lower on the couch, throwing your legs over his back.

He kisses down your thighs, nipping at the soft flesh, until he reaches where you want him most. He leaves one last kiss on your clit through the fabric before pulling it down your legs. He groans, watching you drip for him. He parts your lips with his thumbs and licks a stripe up to your clit. “Oh, lass.” He moans, tasting you on his tongue. He leaves slow licks on your clit, savoring the small sounds he’s coaxing out of you. He looks up at you from between your legs,  as you squirm, 

“Quit fuckin’ tryin’ to get away fra’ me.” He wraps his arms around your thighs forcing them to squeeze his head and continues lapping at your clit. He was usually impatient when he was in this position, wanting to draw out the most erotic sounds from whoever he was blessed with his tongue, to drink from them like a man stuck in the desert. Of course, he would do the same to you, but at this moment he wanted to revel in what he had fantasized about doing for so long. His beloved roommate whom he dreamed of, and spent so many nights imagining beneath him had his head in between her legs. 

He closes his lips around your clit flicking it repeatedly. The attack on your sensitive nub has you arching your back. His name falls from your lips, your eyes clamp shut, one hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk and the other digging its nails into his arm. 

He goes back and forth from flicking your clit quickly and leaving long licks, lapping up your wetness. 

“Johnny,” You breathe out. His name being drawn out from you causes his cock to ache every single time. One of his hands rips your shirt up, exposing your breasts. He kneads the soft flesh, giving the mound a gentle slap. He moans when your hips move against his mouth.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He gives his head a shake, letting his tongue move with it. The motion has you mewling as your orgasm begins to build up. 

“Johnny, p-please I’m gonna-” Your words trail off as he eats you out like you’re his last meal. His scruff scratches against your thighs leaving the skin irritated as he bobs his head, licking away. His pace doesn’t slow when you gasp and begin squeezing around nothing. Your hand keeps him in place while you ride out your high. His name fills the room in a chant. Your body jerks violently as the waves continue hitting you even longer due to him not wanting to stop.

He cleans you up, groaning at the mess you made. His mouth leaves a gentle kiss on your overly sensitive clit before he rises from his position. He wipes his chin off, his eyes cloudy just like yours.

“Fuck, lass. Yer addictin’.” His rough calloused hands run over your curves. He pulls your shirt completely off and leans down to give you a deep kiss. He trails down leaving wet kisses all over your neck. He goes further, leaving hickeys on your breasts, catching one of your perky nubs in his mouth. He then licked from between your breasts and up your neck, giving you one more kiss before pulling away to free himself from his sweats. He kicks them off and kneels in front of you completely bare. The sight of him and his body has you dripping once again. His piercing blue eyes were darker than normal, his hair a mess from you holding onto it for dear life, his muscles contracting with every movement. Your eyes run over him, admiring every part of him until you get further down. 

“Oh dear god, Johnny.” You gasp. He lets go of his member and it slaps down on your stomach. He was long and thick, the head was bright red with a bead of precum threatening to fall from it. “No wonder you’re such a cocky ass.”

He laughs at your playful insult. 

“We’ll see how much talkin’ yer gonna be doing in a second.”

He rubs the tip on your sensitive clit causing you to jump. He teases you by running the length of his cock in between your pussy lips, collecting the wetness. Both your eyes are glued to the pornographic scene.

“I better never catch you readin’ one of those books again, lovie.”

“Why’s t-that?”

“Because I’m a better fuck than tha’ clown you were readin’ about.”

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. In all truth, he was a little upset that you were drooling over some scot in a book when you had him right here. His competitiveness with the fictional character was enough to fuel him. 

He positions his tip at your entrance, poking into you slightly.

“Alright, lass. Deep breath.” 

You listen, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Ready?” He looks down at you with a gentle smile. You nod your head and he focuses back on your dripping core. “Finally got ye where I want ye.” He mutters, shifting his weight. The fat head of his cock slides into you, your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open.

[gi4hao]

vernon x gn!reader — lighthearted fluff, teasing as a love language, vernon is a nerd

plot: vernon is in a flirty mood. that’s literally it.

“don’t you think it’s a weird saying?”

on your right, vernon hums interrogatively without taking his eyes off of the tv.

“the guy just told her ‘i love you to the moon and back’. i think it’s a weird thing to say.”

this time he turns his head towards you. partly out of interest for your last words, but mostly to grab the bucket of popcorn you’ve been hogging.

“you’re right, how dare he declare his love to his wife? such a weirdo…” he scoffs as he grabs a handful of popcorn, slightly frowning at the realization that there were a lot more last time he had the bucket on his lap.

his unserious reply calls for more drastic measures, so you grab the remote and pause the movie.

“i’m just saying, why the moon? why not the sun? it’s much farther.”

vernon takes a couple of seconds to ponder over your observation, face completely still except for his active chewing.

“good point. if it were me, i’d tell you i love you to GN-z11 and back,” he remarks, but immediately notices that something is not clicking in your brain. “it’s the farthest galaxy from earth. well, that we know of at least.”

“oh wow… you’re such a nerd,” you chuckle, “you’re telling me you just woke up one day wanting to know what’s the farthest point from our planet and looked it up?”

your puzzled expressions look almost similar in that moment, although provoked by two very different things. to vernon, none of his words are worth such a dumbfounded reaction.

“…yeah? is this what i get for trying to be romantic? bullying?” he replies with an air of fake offense. “nevermind, i guess i only love you to the supermarket and back then.”

the gasp you let out is so loud it almost makes him flinch and knock the bucket over. but that gasp was nothing compared to the way you suddenly slump down on him, fully taking him by surprise.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! i love your nerdy flirting, i would die if i had to live without your fun little facts, i’m so serious!” you exclaim, hands on his cheeks to force him to look at you. “i love you to that galaxy with a weird name and back, i swear! now say it back please.”

it’s not that vernon doesn’t feel like continuing this fake argument just for fun, it’s that he physically cannot with your pleading eyes staring right into his.

“i’ll forgive you if you let me finish the popcorn…” he starts, pausing until you’ve nodded in agreement, “and yes, i love you to GN-z11 and back, of course i do.”

it takes all your physical and mental strength to not tell him how cute he looks with his cheeks slightly squished by your palms. so instead, you channel this affection into a loud kiss on his lips, which he extends by placing a gentle hand on the back of your head, applying more pressure on your mouth.

when your lips part, your eyes are opened a bit wider than usual, still surprised by the intensity of his kiss; which he notices with a slight smirk.

now laying on top of him, you prop yourself up on your elbows, a bit out of breath:

“they need to discover a farther galaxy. this one isn’t gonna be enough,” you blurt out, and watch his smirk morph into a genuine smile, bringing a light blush to his cheeks.

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED <3

[anothermansjeans]

oooo i would LOVE if you could do a blurb where we see youtuber reader getting ready with spencer’s voiceover spliced in between your descriptions!

hehehe YES! i was wondering if anyone would have wanted to see it SO THANKS FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO WRITE IT!!

cw: fluff, spencer is a menace at times

wc: 599

youtuber!reader masterlist

++

The engagement of your most recent TikTok was off the charts. It wasn't something that you normally thought about. Yes, making content was your job and what helped keep the bills paid, but you always did well enough to not have to worry (you're very aware and never take this for granted). There was just something about Spencer in your videos that made the views and comments skyrocket.

The video went as follows: it was a simple set up, you were at your vanity with your makeup setup, and you sent a smile and wave to your phone. A voiceover of yourself talking. “Hey lovelies, I’ll be doing my makeup but Spencer will be doing the voiceover! Okay, bye!”

The video continued on with you massaging spf onto your face, followed by some primer. “This is Y/N doing her makeup routine, even though I tell her every day she already looks perfect.” Your awe was heard after his statement. “It looks like Y/N is putting sunblock all over her face. She’s not putting on the recommended amount which is about ¼ teaspoon. Many dermatologists recommend the ‘three finger rule’ when applying so that you know you’ve used enough.” Your scoff could be heard in the background, but Spencer continued. “She’s now using another product with the name ‘elf’ on it. I believe this is a skin primer, which I learned blurs pores and smooths your skin so makeup can glide on.”

The video continued on as you went through putting on concealer, foundation, and contour. “She’s now putting concealer under her eyes and on red spots. I believe this is for color correction, but she should be using a shade of green to neutralize the red and then put concealer or foundation on. She’s now blending in the concealer very vigorously.” His next words were a bit softer, most likely looking directly at you when he spoke “you should have a lighter hand so bruising doesn't occur or worse, when you're blending on your eyelid the possibility of popping a blood vessel.”

Your giggles could be heard as well as your words, “okay babe, you're missing some of the video though.”

“Right! Okay, now she's using foundation. This shade looks to be a shade too dark though. Y/N, did you run out of your winter shade?”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry, sorry, now she’s blending again, still very harshly, but now she's using a darker shade to contour under her zygoma and on her mandible.”

The video went on with Spencer’s commentary sprinkled in. He knew exactly what each process was (you think he watches more of your videos than you originally assumed), and he would only roast you every other step. It was the end of the video when you were putting setting spray on and Spencer let out a sigh. “And the last step. I think. She’s spraying something on her face. She told me this helps her makeup stay on all day, but her skin produces oils throughout the day so it's likely this really only works for a couple of hours at most.”

Your grumbled voice could be heard after his. “Outro, Spence!”

“Thanks… for watching? Was that good? I don't know how to stop the recording, Y/N–”

And the video was over. People were obsessed with Spencer just from his voice alone. The quips were funny, his voice was a bit raspy, TikTok declared they loved him (and you– they were obsessed with this relationship). You had a feeling Spencer would be a lot more involved in your content from here on out.

++

BONUS: some comments

@ user: HE KNEW SO MUCH??? 😭

@ user1: he's so sassy PLEASE...sassy man epidemic is REAL

@ user2: his...voice... girl i would die a happy death fr

@ user3: SHE'S GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH SHARING HIM WE'RE WINNING

@ user4: why is he DRAGGING you ever so slightly LMAOSHSJDJD

@ user5: yall are so cute i want what you have 🫶

++

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part 3 of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 4.)

summary:

the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you.

wc: 4k.

tw: blood, gore, possessive feyd rautha, bene gesserit shenanigans, determinism but make it sexy, bit of knife play, blood play, wound fucking, fingering, oral (fem recieving), somewhat sub feyd, breeding, inkpie, brief mention of cockwarming.

you’re kneeling. or rather, two guards are forcing you down on your knees, fingers digging in the meat of your shoulder until they reach the bone. you hold back a wince. 

you fail. 

your breath is heavy, stuttering little gasps leaving your lips with droplets of blood. your left side is on fire, each inhale pure, agonizing torture. use the voice and they’ll kill you.

you’re kneeling before baron vladimir harkonnen in his personal chambers, in a tattered robe. it’s filthy, the way he looks at you like you’re prized meat.

you bare your teeth.

“such defiance, atreides.” from the murky depths of his bath, he tilts his head. volutes of smoke escape his parted lips, slithering towards you. “tell me, why should i let you live?”

careful. 

plans within plans within plans. you can’t let your feeble control over the situation escape you. inhale. choke on your scream - like hell you’ll show him your pain.

“if i weren’t useful to your plans, i would be dead.”

an image flashes in your mind’s eye. a spider woven out of human flesh, the mangled bodies of harkonnen prisoners frankensteined together. barely alive. an eternity of torment.

the baron laughs, a deep, cavernous rumbling. it fills the penumbra, fills you with dread. your shoulders tense - nervous impulse. you’re not in control.

“fair enough.” he inches forward, the gigantic mass of him rippling through filthy waters. “where is your brother?”

pain. it ripples through you, sinks its claws in your chest and freezes there, a sinking weight. you can’t breathe. you push through.

“he’s already given his last breath to the sands of arrakis.”

“how would you know?”

“dreams.”

the answer escapes your gritted teeth with frightening rapidity. good. let him think pain clouds your judgment. let him see you as weaker than you really are. 

one of the guards tightens his hold, forces you to stand straight. blood drips down your lip. you will not scream.

“dreams?”

the subtle narrowing of his eyes. a quirk of his lip. disbelief. intrigue.

“i’ve followed my mother’s footsteps.” 

“ah, lady jessica.” 

keep her name out of your mouth. 

he leans back in the bathtub. silence settles. stretches. stretches. he’s pensive, the baron. his lips wrap at the end of the pipe, mouth like a maw swallowing it, releasing acrid smoke that burns you. spice.

(visions. shai hulud deemed your brother worthy. on they go. march south or die. maybe the sands haven’t consumed him yet.) 

nervous exhaustion settles in. they haven’t treated your wounds. it takes every ounce of energy to remain conscious, every inch of pride to will your muscles to stop trembling. your vision blurs at the edges.

“i’ll ask again, atreides. why should i let you live?”

bastard. you’re on your last legs. he has you cornered. 

“because you’d have to kill your heir if you don’t.”

now that catches his attention.

“go on.”

careful. there’s a thin line between usefulness and danger. do not step on the wrong side.

“he’s recognized me in the arena."

the ghost of his touch against the wicked scar of your forearm. the flash of a grin, black teeth like a promise inked at the back of your skull.

you fought well, atreides.

behind your back, your nails dig into your palms. 

“he’ll ruin you.”

“is that so?”

skepticism. amusement.

“do you think it wise to try and find out, baron?”

silence. fate looms over you. spins its web in the calculated gaze of the baron, gaze like cold steel cutting through you. 

your life is in his hands and he relishes in it. in having you, half bare before him, chest heaving with each stuttering breath, red darkening the black of your dress.

you watch him lick his lips and shiver with disgust.

“do you think it wise to threaten me when i have wiped your house from the surface of the known galaxy?”

oh, right on a silver platter.

your mouth drips shadows as you bare your teeth in a grin.

“only because you were backed up by the imperium and its sardaukar.” you cough. blood drips on the ground. “you were a pawn, and that scum of an emperor could deem you a threat, too.”

a beat.

he’s smiling.

“you’ll be of use, atreides.” 

a wave of his hand.

the guards move. drag you up until you’re standing on faltering legs. defiant, still. breath ragged, panting, blood pooling at your feet. you feel soiled, with the way the baron looks at you, eyes dragging down to your womb.

there’s a commotion behind you. you still. in your state, you’ve neglected to analyze your surroundings, only focusing on the biggest threat in the room. you didn’t take into account the harkonnen court behind you. atreides. the baron practically signed your death. 

shit.

your vision is darkening in the corners.

“i ought to drown you in that tub.”

feyd-rautha, voice a low growl borne out of primal fury. feyd-rautha, in dark robes, shadow among shadows. you catch the slow twitch of his pale hand, the instinctual gesture of nerves calling for a familiar blade. to kill or protect, you do not know.

the guards freeze. you’re left there, struggling to stand, sweat dripping down your back with the effort of staying upright. how utterly humiliating. 

“do not be hasty, my dear nephew.”

a ripple. the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you. 

one step, two, until he’s facing you. 

he snarls at the guards. they let go of you. you collapse, only stopped from slamming upon the marble floors by two strong arms. 

he’s pulling you in his chest, arm wrapping around your waist. you shudder, nerves alight with the instinctual need to get away from this place, from the baron’s lecherous’ stare, from the court’s bloodlust. 

i must not fear. fear is the mind killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face my fear-

you don’t realize you’ve been shaking until a hand settles at the back of your head. warm. comforting. rubbing small circles in your scalp until you relax, if only by a fraction. he won’t let them harm you - you know it, deep in your soul. 

“yes, her.” dismissive. “and a bigger one. arrakis.”

you feel it, the way the na-baron’s body tenses, the ripple of the hard planes of his chest under the soft silk of his clothes. anticipation. unease. you press your cheek to his heart, listen to the erratic pulse of it.

“what about rabban?”

“he has failed to protect the spice production.”

paul. your fingers clench in your palm, piercing the skin.  

“tame arrakis feyd. free the spice, and i’ll make you emperor.”

you still. he who controls the spice has ultimate power over the known galaxy. power is power. knowledge is power.

“how?”

“use me.”

they still. rapt attention falls upon you. your fingers dig into the na-baron’s forearm like a vice to remain upright.

“if the great houses were to learn that the emperor ordered an entire house to be wiped out, they would question his authority. rebel. wage war until one comes on top.” you swallow blood. “you’ll have me as a living witness and weapon.”

“a weapon, huh?”

feyd-rautha looks down at you. there’s something awfully calculating in the way he assesses you, in the way his fingers curl over your hip - possessive. protective.

the baron rises by a fraction, mephistopheles bargaining.

“will you side with us, atreides?” 

you let out a shaky breath. laughter. you’re laughing at him, at the absurdity of the situation - you, last of your house, striking a deal with the devil for revenge.

“i will. i only ask for one thing in return - the emperor’s head.”

the baron’s gaze is riveted to you. he nods. bargain sealed.

“this must not leave this room.”

feyd-rautha springs into action, blades drawn out of their sheaths before the baron finishes his sentence.

bodies fall. 

carnifex. the butcher. oh, he’s gorgeous, feyd-rautha, twin blades slicing through gaping throats, droplets of blood landing on his pale cheek. 

the baron immerses himself in that wretched bath, until it’s only you and the apex predator that is him.

you take a step forward. two. three. until you’re facing him, slowly raising your hand. the motion alone has you gasping for breath. still, you persist, until your fingers settle on his cheek, thumb wiping away at the gore sprayed there. 

he leans into your touch, eyes half-lidded, nuzzling in your palm. his own hand cradles yours, warm, smearing blood on your skin. his lips press against your palm, against the many half-moons your nails have left in their wake. 

“come, my little atreides,” he mutters. “you need medical attention.” 

his eyes sink into yours, magnetic, all consuming. they dart to your parted lips, to the blood coating them. he leans in, breath like fire upon your soul, upon your awaiting mouth. 

your breath stutters.

oh.

“catch me, feyd.”

you fall. 

.

.

.

fall until you stand in the desert of arrakis. paul has his back turned to you, silhouette burning bright in your retina. corpses. they’re burning, all of them, and with the stench of sun-charred flesh rises a litany. lisan al gaib. 

lead them to paradise.

you want to scream. you want to reach out for cruel fate and rip her asunder with your bare hands until that twisted future is no more.

you do not know whether your brother is the kwisatz haderach. you do not know if there is a kwisatz haderach, what’s with the missionaria protectiva’s wretched tale.

warmth seeps in your womb, the gentle press of a lover’s hand. you do not know if the child you’ll bear will be the one. 

desert sands slips from your fingers.

you just want your family back. 

**

feyd doesn’t expect it, the moment you collapse in his arms with a whispered plea. still, he catches you. slides his arms under the back of your knees and pulls you close, where he knows no harm would come to you.

who would possibly dare to cross him? 

warmth spreads across his hand. blood, he realizes. your wound, that vicious strike of his hasn’t been treated. fury washes over him, gaping maw sinking in his heart. it is vicious, too, that fury.

it tells him of blood and death and destruction. death to the baron. death and misery upon those who’ve wronged you - doesn’t matter if he has to face the sardaukar, for he is legion. 

the hallways are empty. servants have long deserted the baron’s quarters, knowing not to disturb him. good. no one must know of your presence here. 

he looks down at you, at your wan face, at the blood dripping down your chin, spreading, spreading down your throat. 

he cannot let you die. 

he cannot compromise himself more than he already has by threatening the doctors to kill them should you die in their hands. he leaves you in their care and strides back to his own chambers. they’ll notify him of your condition. 

you, last atreides left standing. you, with your sharp wit, sharp blade and sharper smile. you, feral, snarling at him in the arena. you, hands dipped in ink darker than black, spreading it over his back. 

he had felt your warmth, back then. felt the softness of your skin on his, shivered as you ran over his deltoids, down to the rib - lower. each and every one of his nerves, raw, exposed, yearning for your touch. 

there had been a beat, a split second of hesitation on your part. blood calls for blood, and his house has spilled so much of your blood. it would have been easy for you to take a hold of his blade and sink it in his exposed back. 

he almost wanted you to do it.

(he had tilted his head, back then, a low growl leaving his lips at the mere thought of it. he could almost taste it, your sheer want.)

he, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen, lets his guard down, as if waiting for you to strike. why is that? 

his steps do not lead him to a place of honor. too much blood has been spilled in this palace - a tribute to harkonnen nature, really. verses upon verses of hymns interwoven with gore and the acrid scent of enemies torn asunder by their blades. hellish epics to those who died bloody.

retribution is second nature - and he expects it from you.

then why is he so soft around you?

you’re still an atreides. your only worth to his uncle as of now resides in this precise fact - that you remain a witness to your house’s demise. a hidden blade, ready to be sunk in the emperor’s back. 

his steps slow. 

there’s something.

you, standing in the arena, raising your head, voice distorted and hoarse, thousands of your foremothers screaming in righteous fury.

you will not perceive me as i am.

he hadn’t, not until his fingers met the jagged ends of your scar. 

a bene gesserit trick.

“are you lost, my lord na-baron?”

a silhouette in the shadows, shrouded in veils. he can only make out a smile - sweet, charming. not enough to conceal the sharpness beneath. witch. 

he remains silent. 

“what will you do with lady atreides?”

his resolve weakens. here, in the dead silence of the hall, he speaks:

“she will be mine.” a beat. the nervous twitch of his fingers, aching for a blade. “is it not what you intended, witch?”

he knows she is smiling, the bene gesserit facing him. 

plans within plans within plans. atreides, harkonnen, corrino, dozens of great houses and they’re none the wiser.

“it was.”

**

none of it is real, it is all an illusion - your touch is wrong, your judgment unjust, faltering. dreams have meaning, this must be one. you can still taste the sands of arrakis, hear the screams of the billions of people starving, begging-

you rise in your bed - information flashes.

a bed. bandages wrapped tightly around your side. harsh, cold walls. antiseptic. blood - a medical wing. 

feyd rautha.

you startle. he’s watching you, head slightly tilted to the side. assesses you still, gaze raking over the thin fabric of the covers.

his gaze is free to roam the expanse of your bare throat, to trail down to the dips of your collarbones, to the swell of your naked breasts. you shiver.

“is the sight to your liking, my lord na-baron?”

a chuckle like a rattlesnake. he steps closer, until he’s all but hovering above you, hand lightly pressing down on the mattress below.

“will you have me, my wife?”

you blink.

“we’re not-”

his fingers run up your wrist, press against the long scar marring your forearm. 

“does it truly matter? you were made to be mine.” slowly, he sinks to his knees, glacier eyes smoldering in the penumbra. “and i was made to be yours.”

generations of prefect planning for this - you, last atreides left standing, and him, feyd rautha harkonnen, alone in the same room, bred for one another, for the kwisatz haderach to be conceived.

you raise your hand, cradling his cheek.

“have me, feyd-rautha.”

he presses a kiss to your palm, your inner wrist. he grins, black teeth like a gaping maw ready to sink into the marrow of you. your pulse jumps at that, rabbit-quick against the thin skin of your wrist. he feels it, with the way his thumb presses down on the delicate flesh. 

his hand slithers under the covers, drags them down, until your side is completely exposed. he presses a kiss there, too, on the stitched up wound at your side. it’ll scar. a living, breathing reminder of him, of the kiss of his blade on your skin. the weapon is in his hand before you know it, slicing through bandages.

you feel his breath before you feel the press of his lips on your side. you gasp, fingers reaching for him, digging in his nape.

his tongue meets raw flesh, teeth worrying at the stitches until they snap. his nail rakes the cut, spreads its edges apart until liquid warmth blossoms at your side, trickling down your ribs. 

you scream.

his lips slam against your own. warm. scorching. bruising. he presses himself to you like he wants to sink in the marrow of you and taste.

your hand raises to his chest, a meek press against his heart, fingers weaving with the velvet shadows of his jacket. 

closer.

he growls. low, primal, needy. pushes his fingers in the gaping wound at your side - white hot pain surges through you. your mind grows blank. agony never felt so sweet. 

your lips part in a cry - he swallows it down with greedy laughter. 

you feel him smile against your lips, tongue reaching out for yours. heavy. you bring him closer. his hand twists, index curling up. you think he wants to reach your heart and never let go.

“feyd-”

he stills. nips at your lip one last time, backing away. a spider-web string of saliva links you both. he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you with a low hum. desire curls inside your lower belly.

“more,” you beg.

“where?”

you take his hand, bring it between your thighs, face heating up. he’s laughing, feyd rautha, the tip of his blood-soaked fingers brushing your cunt. 

you gasp at that, at the way he spreads you apart, sinks into you with shameless abandon. you whine as you feel his fingers curl oh so sweetly.

he’s watching you. leaning closer and closer, until you can feel his breath on your inner thigh, until- 

until his lips press against your heat, tongue lapping at you. you mewl, hand pressing him closer, nails sinking into his nape. you feel him growl against you, a low, needy sound as he tastes you, consumes you, tongue flicking against your clit.

something’s building in you, agonizingly warm, blistering fire spreading over your skin. a low vibration.

he’s purring, you realize, eyes closed in bliss as he laps at you, tongue delving into you, your essence running down his chin. you bite your lip until you taste blood. 

it’s all too much.

the way his fingers have you keening his name like holy prayer. the way his tongue burns a path of desire over your slit, skilled little licks having you thrash in his grip, the low vibration of his purr having you squirming in his grasp. his free hand tightens around your thigh, pulls you closer. 

his gaze flits to yours, glacier eyes melting under the weight of his desire. 

you cum with a whine of his name, a plea for him to stop, to give you more, to please please please, keep touching you. 

his eyes roll in the back of his skull at that. at the sight of you, lips parted in sinful euphoria, head thrown back under a tidal wave of pleasure. more. he needs more.

he grasps your hand, presses it against the length of his clothed cock, hard, throbbing, yearning for your touch.

“will you have me?”

“yes.”

as it was meant to be. him and you, bodies pressed so close nothing could come between the two of you, your nails digging in his back as he eases himself into you with a low hiss of pleasure.

him, pressing his lips in the crook of your neck, teeth nibbling at the tender flesh as his hips slowly rock into you.

“mine,” he growls, forehead against yours, picking up his pace until you’re gasping for breath. “mine.”

you close your fingers around his. press a kiss to his lips - you’re so full, so delectably full, your legs crossing over his lower back, driving him closer still.

his teeth break your skin, your lips painted over in blood. the sight has him moaning, reaching out between your legs to rub at your clit until you’re keening his name.

his release follows yours - he groans your name in the crook of your neck, hips stuttering madly against yours. 

your breaths mingle - two pieces of the same puzzle slotting against one another. complete. you’re whole, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest, his cock settled snugly in your pussy.

you can almost feel it, the satisfied smile of the reverend mother. an heir has been secured, deep in the confines of your womb, growing, second after second. a boy - the kwisatz haderach.

that wretched eons long plan doesn’t matter. not now, not when you run your knuckles against the sharp edge of his jaw, marveling at him.

“mine,” you mutter.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[world0fmadness]

TALK TO ME

lando norris x voice actress! reader

♡ general dating headcanons for lando with a voice actress partner!

୨୧ the game release dates are almost all wrong but just… shhh! you guys have been dating since mid 2022 <3

♡ related smau available here and related hc available here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: death stranding by chvrches - devil trigger by casey edwards - o’death by amy van roekel

♡ sticking with the meeting story from lovely voice, i’ll expand on it a little!

୨୧ lando was streaming resident evil village one afternoon, wanting a switch up from his usual games and he’d heard good things about this one so why not play it?

♡ little did he know how much a video game would absolutely change his life <3

୨୧ within and hour he reaches castle dimitrescu

♡ he’s immediately in awe of one character, but it’s not who you’d probably think…

୨୧ instead of simping for lady dimitrescu, like most people do, he was down bad for bela dimitrescu who just so happened to be voiced by you!

♡ he was VERY vocal about how much he was in love with this character but especially her voice… almost demanding his chat to give him the name of her voice actress…

“ guys, who voices this character here? god, she’s got such a lovely voice hasn’t she? can’t just be me who thinks that… ” ( it definitely wasn’t just him, he converted almost his entire chat info bela dimitrescu worshipers )

୨୧ not long after he begged from the voice actresses name, multiple people in his chat post your social media handle and as soon as he sees it filling up the chat, he pauses the game to take a peek

“ bloody hell! that’s her? well the face certainly matches the voice, hm? she’s beautiful ” ( this clip of him goes absolutely insane on twitter )

♡ when you guys officially begin dating, lando goes on a binge, playing almost all of the games you’ve voiced a character in!

୨୧ one of the most infamous being until dawn, which he played on stream…

♡ he had no idea how easy it is to lose a character in that game and you didn’t tell him, wanting to see how far he could get before killing someone off

୨୧ it didn’t take long at all and the first character to die was yours :( you got your jaw pried open and head crushed by a wendigo

“ oh bloody hell, love! i’m sorry, oh fuck, that’s horrible, is it over? i’m so sorry, oh my god… ” ( you could be heard laughing so loud in your shared bedroom before coming in to offer him some comfort )

♡ safe to say lando was fucking traumatised… to see your face and hear your brutal screaming, it was way too much for him and he felt horrible! it was enough to make him restart the game

୨୧ on his second playthrough, he just wants to keep your character safe, all the others can get lost, he doesn’t care but his baby? she’s making it OUT!

♡ and your character does make it out! she was the only one left alive but lando is fine with that, as long as you’re alive

୨୧ whenever you’re on a comic-con panel, you’ll get a question about lando every once and a while

♡ like most voice actors and actresses, you the the motion capture for a lot of your characters too!

୨୧ this has led to a lot of footage of you and lando behind the scenes of games making into “ the making of ” documentaries!

♡ a fan favourite being the documentary for the last of us part II! it had quite a few clips of lando coming onto set and constantly making you laugh during scenes, making crude gestures towards you and calling you “ dotface ”

୨୧ he got kicked off set many times… but that wasn’t enough, oh no! naughty dog wanted revenge for how many times they had to reshoot a scene…

♡ so they got their revenge in the form of lying to lando! they told him they wanted to give him a simple, innocent cameo in the jackson section of the game! he’d be an innocent npc

୨୧ lando was so excited! he agreed right away, letting them take the 360 scans of his face and body, he couldn’t wait to see himself when he played it on stream!

♡ when he did play it on stream, he was incredibly confused as to where he was in jackson, he couldn’t find himself… but he figured maybe he just missed it! all the while you’re sitting in the next room, watching his stream with a downright evil smile on your face

୨୧ he comes across his face and body a little later in the game and oh boy, he was SO upset!

♡ his character wasn’t some innocent npc… oh no… his character was a wlf member that ellie, your character, has to brutally kill to proceed with the story

“ that’s me! for fuck sake! love, did you know about this?! ” ( of course you knew, but you were too busy laughing at how upset he was to answer his question )

୨୧ safe to say he never trusted a developer ever again…

♡ lando is a HUGE shipper for a lot of your character’s relationships!

୨୧ seyloy? he’d scream it from the rooftops, he was rooting for them to just kiss already for the entire burning shores dlc and he yelled SO loud when they finally did <3

“ finally! you know i was getting really worried they wouldn’t make it official… thank god ” ( again, you can just be heard laughing in the background before yelling out “ seyloy for life ” which he repeats back to you whilst chuckling )

♡ one of your favourite characters you’ve ever had the pleasure of voicing is clementine in telltale’s the walking dead!

୨୧ it was the first character you EVER voiced at the age of 8 and you really grew up alongside your character, always coming back to voice her in the following seasons as she grew up

♡ the final season at age 16 was especially special to you because it reveals clementine to be bisexual, just like you… and it’s how you came out to your fans too

୨୧ you and lando have said if you ever have a child, you’ll give them the middle name “ clementine ” because of how much the character means to you <3

♡ of course, children aren’t something you two plan to have very soon so you adopt a dog and end up naming her clementine ( you love calling her sweet pea too )

୨୧ you and lando treat her like a princess and take her everywhere with you guys! one time, you bought her a little replica of clementine’s hat and lando thought it was so damn cute, he made you wear yours and got a picture of you two together before sending it to EVERYONE he knows

♡ whenever you get new roles, he’s so excited for you!

୨୧ he loves letting you practice lines with him at home, though he can never stay serious for long and starts cracking jokes within ten minutes

♡ but he really is just so supportive! when your new game trailer releases, he’s sharing it on ALL of his social medias, flexing about how he has such a talented partner who has played all of these amazing characters and don’t even get me started about when he’s in the paddock… he talks about you to EVERYONE who’s willing to listen

“ well, she has a new game coming out soon so she’s pretty excited to see fan reactions to her character in that and then she has some panels to do as well ” ( it won’t be long before he’s pulling up pictures of some of your characters to show them too )

୨୧ and whenever he’s in the city, if he sees a billboard or any other type of promotion for your upcoming game, he always takes a photo before sending it to you! if you character is on the promotion, he’s asking if you know “ who that beautiful lady is ”

♡ if any of your characters get figurines, he buys them ALL!

୨୧ he has a shelf for them in his streaming room, next to the shelf with his racing stuff on it… two things he loves so much right next to each other

♡ since oscar is also a pretty big gamer and plays some games that you have a character in, it’s pretty common for him to send lando pictures of character at unflattering angles, jokingly asking him “ is this your girl? ”

୨୧ to which lando promptly responds “ yes, yes it is, and what? ”

♡ when you were nominated for a best voice actress award for your role as aloy in horizon forbidden west at the game awards in 2024, lando was ecstatic for you!

୨୧ you’d already won two previous awards, one for your role as clementine in telltale’s the walking dead and another for your role as ellie in the last of us part II in 2023, so if you won again, this would be the second award you’d received whilst dating lando

♡ he dresses up SO good for the awards, just as you do of course, and as soon as you arrive at the event and your pictures are posted to social media… oh it was a frenzy

୨୧ most people were going nuts over how good you both looked whilst some people said nothing would ever top him wearing the custom made cult of the lamb suit at the 2023 game awards

♡ the award show is going great, you and lando loving to see all of the other incredibly talented people receive their awards and chatting to people around you but eventually, it’s time for the winner of best voice actress to be revealed…

୨୧ lando holds your slightly sweaty hand in his, squeezing it as they read out your name as one of the nominees

♡ when your name is read out as the winner, lando lets out the loudest yell right in your ear before helping you stand up and giving you a tight hug

“ YES! oh i knew it love, i knew you’d win! go on, go get your award, i love you ” ( he gives you a quick peck before you walk off too, no doubt being screen recorded by fans watching at home )

୨୧ while you’re on stage accepting your award and giving your speech ( making sure to thank lando at least twice for his constant love and support ) he’s filming you and taking pictures of you on his phone, as if there aren’t multiple professional photographers doing that for him, he looks like a proud mother holding his phone up and very quietly cheering you on from his seat

♡ you guys go out for dinner with some of your co stars after the award show ends, lando constantly telling you how proud of you he is

“ i’m so proud of you, you know that? you deserve it so much, you really do, love ” ( he has so much love in his eyes whilst saying it, it’s nearly enough to make you cry )

୨୧ you spend the rest of the night enjoying a delicious dinner, your dream boyfriend by your side and close friends chatting amongst each other

♡ what a night it was…

landonorris: everyone say congratulations yn! my girl just won her THIRD best voice actress award! i’m so beyond proud of you love, my greatest achievement in life is being able to love someone as talented and beautiful as you

ynln ✔️: oh, lando 🥹

> ynln ✔️: thank you so much, i love you more than you know

> landonorris ✔️: love you so much more

> ynln ✔️: do you ALWAYS have to turn stuff into a competition? 😩

> landonorris ✔️: absolutely ❤️

landoynforever: congratulations yn! three awards is insane…

> loveyouyn: right? no one is doing it like her 😭

oscarpiastri ✔️: congratulations yn! speech could’ve used some work but i’d say it was decent

> ynln ✔️: i’ll pretend that last last little bit isn’t there, thank you oscar!

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Beer and Bunny’s

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Eddie can’t seem to get himself to make a move on the new bartender at the hideout he has a crush on, but one night you decide to take matters into your own hands and he sees something that he just can’t resist. Wk:4.5K

Warnings: 18+MINDI Smut (unprotected P in V), Oral (M & F), Eddie being a lil pervy but reader is into it, kind of inexperienced!Eddie (he’s really nervous and has a lot of self doubt. My head canon for this Eddie is that he’s been with a few girls but none of them were interested in more than a one night stand), no use of Y/N so pet names, and I think that’s it? The smut is kinda soft n sweet, nothing too crazy. Lmk if I missed any!!

A/N: So I was running errands wearing my black mini skirt and my pink bunny panties the other day and this idea came to me. It’s super self indulgent tbh, but in my mind Eddie would lose his shit over something like this and I’ll die on that hill. 🫡 Also I usually read through my shit obsessively but I only read through this once so if you see mistakes, no you didn’t. (Not really tho pls tell me so I can fix them bc typos make me crazy) My Masterlist

Eddie was in a trance, playing his guitar on autopilot as he watched you bus tables, make drinks, and occasionally indulge a customer’s flirting for extra tips. Not that you needed to, that dress and your sweet smile was enough to have any man dumping his wallet out and emptying his bank account for you. Or maybe that was just him.

He knew it wasn’t though, because even though his band was up there putting their hearts into playing for 15 people tops, most of their eyes followed you. Granted it was mostly drunk middle aged men besides Ruth, a 60 something year old woman who was always sitting in the same stool at the bar, drinking the same cheap vodka, with her red lipstick smudged on her teeth. But still, he’s convinced even if the room was filled with a hundred women you’d still be the prettiest one there.

You started working at the hideout a few months ago when you moved to town and ever since then it was like Eddie was possessed by you. He thought about you constantly, the way those cut up band tees always fit so perfectly and how your ass always looked in those tight little skirts has him fisting his cock sometimes twice a night. He wanted to record the way your voice sounded saying his name when you’d bring him his favorite beer after a show without him even asking and play it on a loop over and over again.

But that wasn’t all, he thought about little things like holding your hand, or going to the drive-in and watching horror movies with you. Or just kissing you, god, he wanted to kiss your pretty glossed lips.

The only issue was every time you talked to him it was like his brain turned to mush and everything he had practiced to say disappeared from his mind.

Tonight was different though. After their last song when you came to bring him his beer, you gave him that sweet smile and told him how awesome they did like you always do. But then it happened. You accidentally walked backwards into one of the small amps, tipping it backwards.

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry, shit!” You apologized before turning around to pick it up and when you did Eddie felt like he was about to cum in his pants.

You were wearing this tight little faux leather mini dress with a zipper that went all the way down the middle and these sexy calf high combat boots. But when you bent over he saw you were wearing the cutest pink panties that had little bunnies printed all over them and something about that combination made him absolutely feral.

He heard a whistle behind him and when he snapped his head around to see where it came from he saw one of the guys sitting at the table closest to the stage practically licking his lips while he ogled you. He instantly felt possessive and moved closer so he was standing a few inches behind you, blocking you from everyone else.

You pulled the amp up with a huff before turning around and nearly jumping out of your skin when you realized how close he was.

“Holy shit! You scared me!” You brought your hand to your chest and laughed. “I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Y-yeah I’m sorry, when you bent over, you could uh- see your panties and um… people were looking.” He turned beet red and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh, you’re so sweet Eddie, protecting my modesty.” You placed a hand on his forearm and caressed it with your thumb a few times before you stepped close enough to him to whisper in his ear. “Were you looking too?” You pulled away just enough to look up into his eyes through your lashes.

“I- I mean- fuck.” He sighed and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t have you were just standing right in front of me and then that guy whistled and-“

“Eddie!!” You squeezed his arm gently to get him to look at you and when he did you just wanted to kiss him. Those big brown eyes all filled with a mixture of lust and guilt were driving you crazy. “It’s okay… I want you to look.”

He’s pretty sure his brain just short circuited, you want him to look? What does that mean?

“I- you want me to- really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You think I dress like this every time I work? Nope. Only on Tuesdays… just for you, Eds.”

“Shit. Really?” He looked at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe the girl he’s been dreaming about is really standing here in a sexy little dress telling him that she wore it for him.

“Yeah.” You nodded and bit your lip. “I like how you look at me, it makes me… So. Wet.”

He threw his head back and groaned, he never thought you’d be so forward like this.

But he didn’t know that you had been waiting for him to make a move on you for weeks. You were tired of dancing around your obvious attraction to one another so you decided tonight you were going to take matters into your own hands.

“Shit sweetheart. You can’t just say things like that to me in public. You’re seriously going to make me bust in my pants. ”

“Well… don’t do that.” You giggled. “I know somewhere better that you can cum though…” You ran your hand down his arm and linked your hands together causing him to shiver. God, he was so responsive, you knew he liked you but apparently you didn’t know just how much.

“Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Deadly. You have a van, right? What’s the back like? Maybe you can show me.” You winked at him.

“Shit, yeah, I’d love to. But I have to put all this shit in the back and take it back to Gareth’s garage.” He looked so disappointed you just wanted to kiss his pouty pink lips.

“Hmmm… well, I live down the street. What if you drop off your stuff and meet me at my place after?” You suggested.

“GARETH! Take my van to your house, I’ll come get it later.” He turned to his drummer and threw him his keys.

“Dude. Seriously? You’re just going to leave us to pack up all this shit?”

His other band mate, who you think is named Jeff, looked between you and Eddie and put two and two together pretty quickly.

“We’ve got it man, have fun!” He wiggled his eyebrows at him before going back to packing up their equipment.

“Well, it looks like I’m all yours.” Eddie smiled at you nervously. God, he was just too cute.

“Looks like it, cutie. I’m off now, just gotta clock out. I usually walk so if you just wanna wait outside I’ll be right there.” You got on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek before jumping off the stage and walking toward the back of the bar, making sure to swing your hips extra for him.

•

The walk back to your apartment was filled with easy conversation and stolen glances, hands grazing but not quite grasping onto each other. The air heavy with the tension of what was to come.

“This is me!” You gesture towards the front door of your apartment before unlocking it and letting him inside.

Eddie looked around as you turned on some lights, he saw some cool posters on the walls and a large bookshelf in the corner. But before he could take in too much of your world you walked over to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Hi.” You smiled at him with a glint in your eye.

“Hey.” He returned your smile with a crooked smirk, bringing his hands to rest on your hips.

You brought one of your hands to his jaw, cupping it and running your thumb along his cheek. “I really really want to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t respond, instead he pulled you closer by the hips and smashed his lips against yours. His lips felt just as you imagined, pillowy soft and just the tiniest bit chapped. He tasted like the beer you gave him, the cigarette he smoked on the walk, and something that was just him. You moaned into the kiss, shoving your hands into his hair, tugging slightly. He groaned when you licked along his bottom lip, allowing you access. He kissed you until your knees were weak and you were both breathless.

“You are so beautiful. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m here right now. This feels like a dream.” He ran his hands up your sides over your dress. “Also this fucking dress… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah? You like it? It’s new.” You took a step back so you could do a twirl for him. “I thought about you when I bought it, you know…” you brought your finger to the o-ring at the top of the zipper and tugged on it a little.

“I thought about you dragging me to the dingy bar bathroom, shoving me up against the wall and ripping it off me.”

“Holy. Fuck. You’re naughty, huh?” He chuckled.

“Maybe, wanna find out?” You grab his hand and start walking backwards toward your bedroom, dragging him with you.

You plop down on your bed to take your boots off but before you can reach for the laces Eddie walks forward and takes your foot in his hand, unlacing your shoes for you. Once they’re loose enough he pulls them both off your feet and he’s pretty sure you aren’t real at this point.

Your socks are the same pink as your panties with cute little bunny ears at the top of the ankles. Your socks match your panties.

“Yeah, you like these too?” You wiggled your toes in front of his face and giggled while he looked at you and froze, his face turning bright red.

“Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did. Wanna know if my bra matches too?” You sit back on your hands and stick your chest out.

“Hell yeah I do.” He nodded dumbly.

“Why don’t you take my dress off and find out then, pretty boy.”

He didn’t hesitate to lean down and slip his finger into the o-ring zipper of your dress, slowly beginning to slide it down. When the tops of your breasts were exposed it became more and more clear that your bra didn’t match your panties because you weren’t fucking wearing one. He pulled the zipper down until it was just under the bottom of your tits and just as he thought, no bra. Your chest was on full display, slightly glistening with sweat from the material of your dress and he wanted to lick it off.

“Fuck, look at you… prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” Not that he’d seen many but he’s pretty sure these are the best tits in the world regardless.

“You can touch them Eddie, I want you to.” You brought your hands up to squeeze them a few times before grabbing onto your nipples and twisting.

“Hold on, I’m appreciating the art before I destroy it.” He grabbed back onto your zipper and pulled it the rest of the way down so your dress was hanging open. You let the straps fall down your arms, leaving you in just those little panties and socks and he had never seen anything sexier. Your hair was a bit disheveled but still in the style you had done it in before you left for work earlier that night and your slightly smudged dark eye make-up contrasted with the soft pink of your garments. You stand up in front of him and play with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Take this off? I wanna see you too.”

He reaches behind his back to pull his shirt over his head and god damn. He has a few tattoos littered across his pale chest, his skin mostly smooth aside from his happy trail that you wanted to nuzzle your nose into on your way down to his cock.

“Wow. You are so sexy Eds.” You run your nails down his chest and torso, hooking your fingers in his belt loops and pulling his chest against yours. The feeling of your bare nipples pressed up against his warm skin sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah? You think so? I think you’re the sexiest girl in the world.” He blushed.

“Thank you baby, can I take these off?” You pull on his belt loops with your fingers, running your thumbs along his soft waist.

“Please”

That’s all you needed to hear before you were on your knees in front of him, undoing his pants and pulling them down with his boxers.

“Holy shit Eddie…” Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him fully bare in front of you. “You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to taste it.” And you meant it, his cock was fucking huge, the hard tip leaking just for you.

He was speechless, looking down at you on your knees in front of him with wide eyes.

You lean forward and run your tongue along his slit, holding eye contact with him while you take his tip in your mouth, suckling on it a few times before taking him deep in your throat.

“Oh fuuuuckkk holy shit.” He brought his hand to the back of your head and rested it there gently, letting you set your own pace.

But it was too gentle. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Eddie.” You pulled your mouth off him with a pop and a string of saliva. “Use me, pull my hair, fuck my mouth, don’t be shy.”

“Holy shit. Are you- are you sure?” He was panting, looking down at you like you just told him he won the lottery.

“I’m so fucking sure, so so sure. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you baby. I promise, I like it rough.”

You spit in your hand, grabbing onto his cock and tugging it a few times before looking up at him with your tongue out.

He was still looking down at you with those big shiny doe eyes and you were about to lose it if he didn’t do something. Your other hand grabs onto his, guiding it to your hair and signaling for him to grab onto it. It took his mind a second to catch up but when he did it was like something snapped in him.

He grabbed onto your hair hard and slid his cock along the length of your tongue, hitting the back of your throat.

“Close your mouth- yeah, like that.” Once your lips were wrapped around him he started to slowly rock back and forth in your mouth, testing you by going deeper with each thrust.

After a few times of him hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag he realized you liked it. Your eyes were watery, mascara starting to run down your cheeks, drool was dripping down your chin and you were fucking moaning around him like you were getting as much pleasure out of this as he was.

He was fully fucking your mouth now, pumping his cock down your throat while he cursed and moaned, using you just like you wanted. You reach your hand up to grab onto his drool slick balls and take them in your palm causing him to jerk forward and let out the sexiest moan yet.

“FUCKING SHIT!” He used your hair to pull you off of him and you look up at him with hooded eyes, a mixture of his precum and your drool dripping down your chin and he has to physically will himself not to cum at the sight. “ If you keep that up I’m going to cum in the next thirty seconds and I was really hoping I’d get to fuck you.”

“What? You don’t wanna cum twice? We have all night, unless you’re busy then I guess you can stop.” You said dramatically, in a way that he would’ve stopped to find really cute if he wasn’t so fucking turned on right now.

He practically growled as he grabbed back onto your hair and resumed his assault on your throat. One of your hands finds its way back to his balls while the other snakes around him to grab a handful of his ass for leverage.

“F-fuck this mouth is so fuckin- You’re such a good girl fuckin droolin all over, grabbin my balls while I use your little mouth. Wearing those little fuckin panties and socks. Fuck!” His grip on your hair tightened and his hips sputtered as you felt him explode in your mouth. You swallowed around him, moaning at his taste and taking all that he gave you.

He released his hold on your hair and you pulled your mouth off of him, bringing your pointer finger to the corner of your mouth to swipe the cum that dripped there into your mouth.

“Mmmm, you taste so good Eddie.” You smiled up at him, still on your knees.

“Yeah? I bet you taste even better.”

“Wanna find out?” You smirked at him, getting to your feet and laying back on the bed.

“Fuuuuuck” Eddie groaned at the sight of you laying there for him with your legs spread, a very prominent wet patch in those fucking panties, your hands grabbing on to your tits while your fingers pinch your nipples. You looked like the only meal he wanted to eat for the rest of his life. He got on the bed on his knees between your legs, smashing his lips to yours and kissing you like his life depended on it. He slid his tongue along your bottom lip and you immediately granted him access. He tasted himself on your tongue and it caused him to moan into the kiss.

He kissed down your jaw to your neck, running his tongue along the column of your throat, stopping just behind your ear at your pulse point to suck a mark there. He kissed and licked and sucked all the way down your body, stopping to pay your nipples extra attention.

When he reached the band of your panties he licked across your waist and nipped at your hips causing you to let out breathy little moans. He placed a kiss on each of your hip bones before placing one right on the top of your mound, looking up at you with those fucking eyes.

“Mmm baby, I can smell you.” He groaned as he breathed in your scent, flicking his tongue out to run it along your cloth covered slit, adding extra pressure to your clit. He wraps his lips around your bud, swirling his tongue, and even with the small barrier between you it still makes you see stars. He licks all around your cunt, soaking your already wet underwear as he laps at it. Finally he brings his finger to your panties to move them to the side and you barely even have time to process before he’s shoving his tongue as deep as it can go inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out.

“Oh f-fuck! Yes Eddie fuck!” Your hands come down and tangle into his hair, tugging it and causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations going through you like a shockwave.

His tongue came back up your bud, rotating between rough and soft flicks. His pointer and ring finger circle your hole before he inserts them both fully without resistance. He pumps them in and out of you, the room filled with the sounds of your moans and wetness as he laps at you. He sucks harder on your clit just as he curls his fingers just right and you see stars. Your grip on his hair tightened as your hips rocked against his face, his name on your lips like a prayer, riding out your high until it becomes too much and you’re pushing his head off of you.

He looks up at you with your jucies still running down his chin and fucking smiles.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

“Yeah? And have you tasted a lot of pussys, Mr. Munson?” You tease.

“I mean-“ Suddenly his face flushes red and that shy nervous boy from earlier was back “Not… that many, a few. I’m no lady killer or anything I mean you know this town is I-“

You grab his face in both of your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips.

“Honey, I was just teasing, I don’t care how many girls you’ve been with, I wouldn't even care if you hadn’t been with any.”

You smiled at him sweetly, pushing his bangs off his forehead and he smiled back, kissing you deeply. There was something so comforting about you to him, he felt like he could truly be himself with you and he’s not sure he’s felt that when he was with a woman ever.

You sit up and push him down by his shoulders, swinging your leg over to straddle him. Your underwear were still pushed to the side, your slick pussy lips were nestled on either side of his shaft as you slid back and forth on him with ease.

“I can’t wait to feel this pretty cock splitting me open.” You leaned forward and slid your fingers in the band of your underwear to take them off but Eddie’s hands came down on yours, stopping you.

“Can you keep them on?” His eyes were pleading, his lips pouty.

“Anything for you, sweet boy. You really like these huh?” You giggled.

“The whole cute pink panties and socks underneath the black leather thing is really doing it for me, if you couldn’t tell.” He bit his lip, running his hands down your sides before bringing them to your tits to squeeze them roughly.

You giggled as you rose up to your knees, taking him in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and sink down on him slowly. Once your hips were flush against his you both moaned loudly.

“Fuck, so big, filling me up so good Eds.” You rocked back and forth slightly, just adjusting to the feeling of him so deep inside you. Once you felt adjusted you rose almost all the way off his cock before slamming back down on it causing him to jerk forward and moan out your name.

“Holy fuckin shit, your pussy is suckin me in so good holy fu-fuck, ridin me s-so good baby.” And you were, you were riding him like your life depended on it. “Bouncin on my cock just like those little bunnies on your panties, is that what you are? A lil bunny?”

That snapped something inside you, it was like he said the magic words and nothing else mattered in that moment besides riding his cock, being his little bunny.

You were on your heels now, using his shoulders for leverage as you bounced on his cock. Rotating and rolling your hips, the patch of curly brown hair at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

Eddie was in Heaven, he wanted to throw his head back and shut his eyes but he couldn’t tear them off of you. You were bouncing on his cock like a rabbit in heat. A layer of sweat glistened on your body, your hair a mess, there was a bit of drool dripping down your chin and your pussy was swallowing him hole over and over again, you were so wet he could see a milky white ring of your cum on his cock. He was going to cum soon but he absolutely needed you to before he did.

His grip on your hips tightened causing your movements to halt, but before you could even protest he was fucking up into you hard and fast.

“Oh fuuuuck yes, just like that baby, right fuckin there don’t fuckin stop I’m so close.” That’s all Eddie needed to hear, he brought one of his thumbs down to your slick clit and started rubbing fast circles on it while he continued to fuck up into you at a brutal pace.

“Shit, me too bunny, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Inside! Inside please Eddie I want you to fill me up.”

“Oh godddd” He let out a guttural groan, throwing his head back while he pumped his cum deep inside of you. The feeling sent you over the edge, coming undone on his cock while he continued to sloppily fuck you both through your highs.

You sighed, and exhaustedly let your body slump over Eddie’s while you both tried to catch your breath.

“Holy. Shit. That was… wow” he chuckled, running his hands up and down your back.

“Yeah, it really was.” You giggled as you rolled off of him, laying on your side next to him and resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. He was so pretty, his hair disheveled, his skin flushed and decorated in your nail marks, his lips swollen with your kisses. He smiled at you sweetly, shifting around so he could hold you better, he finally got a glimpse of your room.

He didn’t even really look at it when you walked it, he obviously noticed that you had a black open canopy on your four post bed but what he didn’t notice was the cute stuffed animals that were sitting by your black silk pillows, or the cool ass horror movie posters on the walls that contrasted that completely. You noticed him looking around, his eyes filled with awe, like he was genuinely interested in your world and it warmed your heart.

“I like your room, you really have this whole creepy cute thing down to a science don’t you?” He smiled at you, cradling your jaw in his hand and you leaned into it.

“Mhm, I guess I do.” You returned his smile with your own sleepy one, yawning. “You wanna stay the night? You don’t have to if you don’t want to but-“

“I want to.” Eddie cut you off, it was his turn to reassure you. You had seemed so sure of yourself all night but when it came down to if he was going to leave or not he could tell it made you nervous, like maybe people didn’t usually want to stay with you after and that broke him a little. Who wouldn’t want to stay with you? You’re perfect. To him at least. “I want to stay, and I want to take you to breakfast in the morning. I also would really like to take you on a proper date, if that’s something you’d want to do.”

Your heart swelled, because you did want that, more than he knew.

“I’d love that actually.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

You both giggled and kissed each other sweetly, whispering jokes and sweet nothings into each others ears until sleep peacefully took over.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

You want my jacket?

John Egan X W.A.C! Reader

Summary: Y/n wants Bucky's jacket, but they have a little competition before...

Warning: Swearing/ sport inaccuracies (Wikipedia stats)/ use of Y/n/ flirting/ mention of erection/ kiss/ sexism (little bit)

Word count: 1.1k

The music was loud, Y/n and her friends made their way through the room, it was a party in their honor, and someone’s 25th mission. The W.A.C division Y/n was in just got transferred to Thorpe Abbotts. Y/n was a weather broadcaster, she was going to brief the men on the conditions they were going to fly. She liked her job, sure it was boring sometimes, but she got the insight on big mission and her job was important. She felt like she was truly having an impact on the war, not a big one, but still.

When John Egan learned that W.A.C were coming on the base, he was like every man on the base; excited. Unlike Buck, he didn’t have anyone to write to at home, he was single and loved woman! When his eyes stopped on Y/n, he knew that he needed to talk to her. Her uniform fitted her so good; her curves were highlighted, and he always loved woman with curves. So, when he walked up to her, he was a little nervous, but he tried to hide it.

‘’Hello ladies’’ he said, looking at all the woman, then he looked at the one he wanted. ‘’Hi, I’m Major John Egan, but please call me Bucky, what’s your name, gorgeous?’’ he flirted. Y/n blushed and hid a giggle. ‘’I’m Y/n, nice to meet you’’ she extends her hand for him to take. The other girls were a giggling mess. When Bucky took her hand, she felt something pass through them, maybe she was just nervous, but it felt weird. They went to sit at a table and Bucky ordered drinks. ‘’So, Y/n, what are you doing here?’’ he asked, looking at her. ‘’I’m the new weather broadcaster, so we’re going to see each other a lot’’ she flirted. Words of his reputation had got to Y/n’s ears, when the Colonel briefed them on the attitude of the men at the base, the woman were warned about Major Egan. Y/n was curious to see if his reputation was true. ‘’You’ll be Miss Sunshine?’’ he asked, with a grin on his face. ‘’Exactly, but with this English weather, I’ll be Miss Cloud, Rain and Fog’’ she joked. He laughed at her joke, he always thought English weather was shit. ‘’Maybe your presence will bring more sun over the base’’ he took a sip of his drink. Y/n tilted her head, before taking a sip of her drink.

‘’I highly doubt that, but hey I’ll probably die of cold, you on the other hand, you’re going to be okay with that beautiful jacket’’ she smiled. He looked at his jacket, then looked at her. ‘’You like my jacket?’’ he asked, with a crooked eyebrow. She nodded as she finished her drink. ‘’Yeah, they didn’t give us any jacket, they didn’t have the money for us’’ she chuckles. A wicked idea came to her mind, she was a fan of baseball, so was he… ‘’Okay, what about a quiz, on the subject of your choice, if I win, I get your jacket, if you win, what do you want if you win?’’ she says. ‘’I want a kiss’’ he grins. ‘’Then if you win, you’ll get your kiss. You in?’’ she asked. He nodded and called Curt, he was a fan of baseball and knew the Yankees. ‘’I’m on, and by the way, I hope your baseball knowledge is good, you know the Yankees, sunshine?’’ he teased. He was 100% sure he was going to win; nobody knew baseball as good as him, but that’s what he thought. Y/n was grinning like a devil, she was getting that jacket!

‘’Ok, last question since you’re both equal in points, Spud Chandler broke the record for what this season?’’ Curt asked. Y/n thought for a second and then took the apple, it was their buzzer. ‘’Y/n?’’ the room went silent; money was changing hands around the bar. Their little competition was the main entertainement right now, soldiers couldn’t believe that someone knew baseball better than Bucky. ‘’ Lowest earned run average in a season’’ she said, smiling. Curt pushed his tongue on his cheek before looking at other guys. ‘’That’s right, you officially win!’’ He exclaimed, making the woman and some guy’s cheer for her. Bucky’s jaw was on the floor, that woman knew baseball, was supporting the Yankees and she just beat him. Now he had to give her his jacket! Bucky looked at the woman, she was smiling proudly. He smiled as he shook his head. He went closer to her. ‘’Let’s get out of here, sunshine’’ he said, she nodded, and they went outside.

‘’How come you know that much about baseball?’’ he asked. They started to walk around the base. ‘’Weather girl wasn’t my original plan, I wanted to be a sport reporter, but because I’m a woman, it’s impossible, but I know a lot about sports’’ she explained. He thought he was dreaming; this woman was surreal. ‘’That was really impressive, even though you beat me, it was amazing’’ he said, he truly meant it, he was in awe before her. ‘’Thank you, but I think you owe me something’’ she grins. Bucky rolls his eyes before taking his precious jacket off. ‘’Take care of it’’ he said, before giving it to her. ‘’Can you help me put it on?’’ she asked. Her back was facing him, he helped her put the jacket on, smelling her perfume properly for the first time. She smelled good, too good, it was going to be stuck in his mind now. Seeing her in his jacket kina turned him on, he didn’t know why, but it was a problem. ‘’Thank you, Major’’ she smiled proudly. ‘’I wish I could say it's my pleasure, but that would be a lie’’ he said, laughing to hide his pain. Y/n giggled as they continued their walk.

‘’That’s me, I have to go to bed early. I’m waking up at 0500 tomorrow I have to do my job’’ she smiles. Bucky nods quickly, expecting her to walk to her building, but she stays in front of him. ‘’Since we were equal, it’s only fair that you get your part of the bet’’ she says. Before he could process what she meant she quickly kiss him on the lips. By the time he acknowledges what just happened, she’s already at the door. ‘’Good night, Bucky, thanks for the jacket’’ she says, his name sounding like a prayer on her lips. ‘’Good night sunshine’’ he said. She blew him a kiss before entering the building, with his jacket on her. Yep, his problem was definitely growing more…

[bananami]

and just like that i’m back on my nanami bs. i hope this helps you all heal from the trauma that was season 2 of jjk <3 (cw: pure fluff, dad!nanami, wife!reader, sex is alluded to a number of times, nanami is just desperate for his wife ok)

“he just passed out, he usually naps for a good 30 minutes. i can do it in 20.”

you can’t help but laugh at your husband. ever since adopting yuuji the two of you have been adapting to your lives with a toddler. that included very limited one on one time, and it was taking a toll on nanami.

“i have to fold the laundry,” you’re tone is apologetic but your face tells him you find this amusing.

“you’re the greatest multitasker i know.”

you feel his arms wrap around you as you continue to fold yuuji’s t-shirts. the kid was so messy sometimes, it caused him to go through his entire closet in a weeks time. “we need to seriously go shopping and get him more things to wear.” you spun around to wrap your arms around his waist. “your child is a dirty little gremlin.”

“your husband is trying to be one too but you won’t let him act on it.”

“you are not gonna be 20 minutes, you say that but you’re not quick with it anymore old man.”

“who are you calling old man? i’m spry for my age.”

“see, you even sound like an old man.”

“an old man who just wants to show his wife how much he still loves her.” his hands slide up and down your back, holding you to him and bringing his lips to yours. “i love you. i miss you.”

“i miss you too kento,” you let him take his time kissing you. “ok, what if-“

“i love where this is going already.”

“i haven’t even told you.”

“the prospect of things makes me excited. really gets me going.”

you giggle, “so repressed.”

“you have no idea, it’s taking everything in me not to turn you around and accost you right here on the dining room table.” he leans his face down to nuzzle and kiss at your neck.

“accost?”

“accost. respectfully.”

you tighten your arms around his waist, satisfied with the heavy affection he’s showing you. “what if i call up gojo-“

“and just like that i’m soft.”

“kento!” you smack him in the back but can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your face. he’s so easy to rile up.

“you know the emotions his name invokes in me. i can’t stand him.”

“i was going to say, what if i called him up to see if yuuji can spend the weekend at his and geto’s place with megumi, and then you and i can have the entire weekend together. just the two of us.”

“i love him.”

“wow, wait until i tell him you said that.”

“i’ll never admit to it.” nanami takes your face into his hands, kissing at your lips over and over until a giggling voice breaks the moment.

“eeeeew!!” yuuji runs forward from the other side of the hallway, jumping up and down at nanami’s feet. “up, up, up!!” and when he does the pink haired little boy leans over to give you a kiss on the nose.

“thank you, yuuji,” you give his nose a kiss in return.

“thank you, mama!!”

nanami narrows his eyes and scratches at the boy’s belly, sending yuuji into another round of giggles at being tickled. “guess who’s house your gonna sleepover at this weekend.”

you send a look toward your husband. “he hasn’t agreed yet, i still have to call him.”

“he’ll agree. because if he doesn’t,” he presses a million little kisses all over yuuji’s face, “i might actually die. and then who will he have to annoy at work?”

“he does like to annoy you.”

“i’m well aware.”

“i’ll call him now.”

nanami sets yuuji down, sending him into the kitchen. before following him, he leans over to give you one last lingering kiss on the lips. “i love you,” his smile lifts into a tiny smirk, “and it is for that reason exactly that i say, with all of the love i can muster, i am going to ruin you this weekend.”

“ruin me?”

“ruin you. respectfully.”

[little-diable]

Chi, I'm here to request a smutty Tommy blurb if you're still accepting them. I can't stop thinking of the garden scene you wrote recently and now I'm hoping you'll be inspired to cont that thought OR write something between Tommy x reader which finds them giving into their passion outdoors. I think you're onto something about this setting being relaxing for Tommy 😉

My love!! Thank you for this, I truly love this pairing just as much. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: No direct follow up to this, but the same vibes, just pwp, Tommy eats out his wife in their garden

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), outdoor

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (800 words)

“I think this was the first time they didn’t cry,” (y/n) whispered her words to her husband as she sat down next to him. She had just waved goodbye to her father who had taken her and Tommy’s children with him for the weekend.

“They’re growing up.” Tommy kept his eyes closed, smoking his cigarette as he enjoyed the sun rays dancing over his pale features. The soft summer breeze wrapped itself around them, teasing the two lovers. 

“Don’t act like I didn’t catch you close to tears as Emma told you she won’t need another bedtime story last week.” With a sigh Tommy opened his eyes, shaking his head at his scowling wife before rolling his head back towards the sun. 

“Don’t rub it in, eh? I can’t let my wife run her mouth and destroy my image without paying the price for it.” (Y/n) couldn’t stop her laughs from rumbling through her, leaning closer to kiss Tommy’s warm jawline. The hum leaving her husband left (y/n) grinning and squealing as he tugged her closer, landing on his lap. “So, we’ve got the house to yourselves now, don’t we?” 

“What’s your plan, Mister Shelby?” Their eyes met, his full of excitement and mischief, hers filled with curiosity and longing. He pulled her in for a slow kiss, allowing her to taste cigarettes and tea on his tongue, a mixture she had learned to love over the past years, adjusting to the way Tommy Shelby lived two different lives as a cruel gangster and as a loving family man. 

“First, I want to get a taste of my wife, right here only for my eyes to see.” Tommy rose to his feet with (y/n)’s legs wrapped around his waist. “And then I’ll fuck you through the night.” 

“I certainly won’t stop you from doing so.” She was placed down on the ground, on the blanket their children had sat on this morning, keeping their clothes clean before driving off with their grandparents. (Y/n)’s eyes followed his every move, watching Tommy push her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her bare cunt. “Took off my underwear after they left, I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to grow impatient.”

“A smart woman I’ve got on my hands, eh?” He smirked at her before he buried his face between her thighs, tongue brushing through her slit, tasting her arousal. The birds sang in the distance, yet not loud enough to drown out her moans, the beautiful sounds clawing through her as Tommy ate her out. 

He loved the sounds rumbling through her whenever he touched her, only his to pick up on, his to coax out of her. Tommy had his wife at his mercy, ready to feast on her, to turn her into a trembling mess as he towered over her with his cock twitching in excitement and his heart racing from the adrenaline thumping through him.

“You taste so sweet, fuck, I could die between your thighs, darling.” He groaned his words against her cunt as his fingers found her pulsing bundle. Cruses left (y/n) at the touch, forcing her to arch her back off the blanket, eyes focused on the blue sky above. He always managed to push her close to the edge within a few seconds, leaving her gasping and trembling for him only.

“Jesus, Tom, you’re too good at that.” A proud grin tugged on his lips as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, feeling her walls tense around the strong muscle. She was close, ready to let go with his name leaving her – the first orgasm of many to come. Her fingers tightened their grip on the blanket, trying to hold onto it as the intense feeling washed through her.

It was a spectacle so beautiful, Tommy wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of his brain, imagining the most beautiful sight he could come up with. But the moans were too powerful, and the trembling of her body was too real, leaving him chuckling as he watched her fall apart.

“I won’t say no to spending the next few hours like that.” (Y/n)’s breathless whispers drew another laugh out of Tommy as he crawled up her body, meeting her lips in a slow kiss.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.

She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.” 

Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of them. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.

Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.

That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again. 

Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.

“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.

Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.

He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.

She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.

She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, she finds his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.

They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her. 

His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.

He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.

Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.

Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.

“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”

She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her. 

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.

She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[atinylittlepain]

okay i was wondering if you could a joel x fem reader maybe even dbf joel where it’s loosely based on the song diet mountain dew by lana del rey? like the pining part of it and also the lyric “let’s take jesus of the dashboard” THATS SO HOT TO ME SO IDK

ive never requested anything before soo hope this is okay 🫣🫣

ahhhhhh, this one is a doozy

Ride It

pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

joel milller masterlist

She calls her dad's co-worker for a ride and gets a little more than she was expecting.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, age gap, DBF!joel, and not much else y'all

............................

“Hello?”

“Mr. Miller?” She can hear sheets rustling, his gruff sigh over the crackling receiver.

“It’s late, honey. What’s wrong?” Her heart stutters at the sweet name he calls her, the same name he’s called her since she first met him when her dad started working for Miller Construction four years ago.

“It’s my car. I think I have a flat tire and I can’t drive on it.” A long sigh filters through the phone.

“You should call your dad. He’s probably worried sick about you.”

“No! I can’t– he’s gonna be so pissed. Please, Mr. Miller. Would you– would you come get me? I know you’re good with cars and all. Please?” Another long sigh.

“Alright, honey. Will you tell me where you are?” She does, pulled over on the shoulder of the highway, a little ways out of the city but nowhere near home.

“Hang tight, I’m coming.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times– just Joel, honey.”

“Thank you, Joel.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” She clicks her cell phone shut with a sigh, slumping back in the driver’s seat of her car. Her stomach swirls in anticipation. Normally, she’d try to tamp down the crush she’s had on Joel for quite some time, but after a night out in the city with a few of her old high school friends, she’s just warmed up enough to let her mind race with thoughts of him. It’s silly, something that could never really happen, seeing as her dad has been best friends with Joel for years. But it wasn’t impossible, was it? After all, he’s younger than her dad, and only fifteen years older than her. Jesus christ, get a grip. She huffs, shaking her head to still her thoughts as she looks out at the pitch-black Texas night.

It isn’t long before headlights are brightening up the inside of her car and she turns in her seat to see Joel’s familiar pick up truck pulling up behind her. 

….

The rosary that hangs off her rear-view mirror is swaying harshly, the only sound beside their harsh panting and the sticky slap of skin is it clinking into the windshield over and over again. She’s not entirely sure how they got here, a mixture of late night talking and boundaries being flirted with until they both gave in to something they couldn’t have in the light of day.

“Shit, honey– fucking squeezing me– bit of a stretch for you, huh?” A high-pitched whine falls from her lips, her nails digging into the fabric of his unbuttoned flannel. Joel lets out a breathy laugh.

“That’s it, bounce on it for me, there you go– fuck– boys at school just not cutting it, are they? Need someone with a little more skill.” He punctuates his last word with a jolting thrust up that has the swollen tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it makes her crumple up against him, his rough fingers digging into her ass to support her as he starts a jagged rhythm of his own.

“C’mon, miss college. Use your words. Who’s making you feel so good?” She hadn’t been expecting it, a surprised yelp leaving her lips when he smacks the curve of her ass, hard, broad palm sure to leave a mark. There is nothing comfortable about the position they’re in, her straddling his lap, scrunched over him in the driver seat, one hand pressed up against the car door window while the other digs into his shoulders for stability. But all she can focus on is the sweet snap of pain and pleasure licking up her spine with each of his thrusts. 

“You, Joel– you feel so good– want more– please, please–” Her words die in her throat when he thrusts up particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in a deep grind. She lets out a choked sob of his name, cunt clenching hard around him and coaxing a low moan from the back of his throat. 

“Been wanting this for a while, haven’t you, honey?” His words are a smear against her bare chest where he had tugged down the front of her dress and bra, leaving harsh grazes of his teeth to the swell of her tits. He chuckles when the only response she gives him is a preening whine.

“Fucking knew it. You think I didn’t see how you were looking at me? Practically begging for it– shit– dirty little thing, aren’t you? What would your old man say, huh? Does he know his daughter’s just a little slut?” His voice is a southern slur stamped hotly into her skin, low and drawling and all melted together, pushing her even closer to the brink as her wetness starts to smear down hers and Joel’s thighs, the sound of skin slicking and sticking with each thrust becoming impossibly lewd. It’s almost too much when his one hand dips under her rucked up skirt, fingers harshly toying with her clit.

“Give it to me, honey. Make a fucking mess, c’mon.” The pleasure floods over in an instant, the only sound she can make is a breathy chant of his name as her hips seize up and she spasms around him. He’s not far behind as he thrusts into her a few more times before his hips stutter to a stop and she feels his warmth spreading inside her. She clings to him, both of them breathing hard and flushed with pleasure. 

“Jesus christ, I’m sorry– I should’ve–” “S’fine, I’m on the pill.” He throws his head back into the headrest at that, chest still heaving. But he doesn't stay still for long, jostling her in his hold as he suddenly leans forward and yanks the rosary still clinking into the windshield clean off the rearview mirror, tossing it haphazardly onto the passenger seat. She quirks an eyebrow at him as he settles back into the seat.

“Damn noise was driving me insane.”

[ragingbookdragon]

She feels the warmth flooding down the front of her gear as the frigidness seems to crawl up from her fingers and toes. Her breathing labors as the man pulls her inside the crumbling building under the veil of night and cradles her against his body, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers find their way underneath her vest, and she knows she should feel pain where his fingers press against, but all she feels is a numbness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

“Ghost,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m scar—I’m scared, Ghost.”

He shakes his head a single time. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t wanna die,” she says more to herself than to him, panic setting in. “God, I don’t wanna die now. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not dying,” Ghost growls. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Ghost—”

“You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna fix this. I’ll fucking fix—”

“Simon,” she stresses, shifting enough to see his face from the corner of her eye. “I’m dying.”

He swallows thickly and gazes at her for a moment before the lump returns. “Fuck, I—I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” she smiles, blood staining her teeth, and leans back, her temple to his chin. “Will you…will you stay with me?”

Simon presses harder against her, cursing the tears that sting his eyes. “Yeah, love, I’ll stay.”

She settles then, flightiness stilling in her veins as she relaxes against him. “This isn’t how I imagined going.”

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear all the fanciful bullshit she’s about to spew about how they grow old and gray, but Simon also knows he’d rather hear her voice all he can before he can never hear it again unless it’s through a speaker.

“How’d you imagine it?” he forces his throat to open.

Her smile is like the stars in the night sky. “Old. In bed together. In our sleep.” She shuffles a bit. “Our kids find us, cuddled close, safe.”

Simon grits his teeth, cracking them under the strain, his jaw aches. “How many kids?”

“Two boys. One girl. Simon Junior, we’d call him SJ. Jonathan Kyle, after Price, Soap, and Gaz.”

“And the girl?”

“Aphra Emeline.”

He nods. “Good name. Strong. Built for a fancy lady.”

“She’d run everyone over.”

“With your looks and my attitude?” he jokes. “Of course. She’d strike ‘em dead with one withering look.”

Her lungs are starting to fail her, and she shivers. “Simon, marry me.”

He can’t stop the tears this time and they drop down his cheeks onto her head. “Who’s gonna officiate?”

“Me. All power vested in me.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish, through sickness and health, until death do us part?”

“I do,” he promises. “And even after life, I will.”

“I take the same. I now pronounce us husband and wife.” She turns with the last bit of failing strength she has, pulls his mask down, and says, “Kiss me.”

Simon’s calloused hands are gentle as he cups her face, brushes his thumb over her cool skin and presses his lips to hers, tears mixing on each other’s faces as he kisses her with everything, he has in him. All the things Ghost is not, he gives in this moment to her. All his hopes, all his dreams, all his love for a better ending. He gives it up in this moment as he burns it into his mind that Simon Riley will never live after—only Ghost.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispers against his lips, and he shakes his head.

“I love you too,” he manages between hers. “I’ll stay,” he promises, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, staring at her. “I will stay.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you will.”

He memorizes the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, every detail he can about her, and it’s only when her head tilts forward, forehead bumping his lips that he knows.

Simon inhales and exhales one time, a single, agonizing howl.

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: LEE KNOW X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: GRIM REAPER! LEE KNOW, HUMAN! READER, DEATH, ACCIDENTAL OD, MENTION OF DRUG USE, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, MENTION OF S*ICIDE, HOSPITALS, INJURY, UNESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, PRAISE, FINGERING, HAND JOB, UNPROTECTED SEX, BEGGING, PET NAMES (PRETTY KITTY, KITTEN, BABY), CREAMPIE, ANGST ☾ ━━━ WC: 2.2K ☾ ━━━ repost from old blog ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Y/n didn’t believe in an afterlife. Not until she got pulled from it. The bright light of the hospital blinded her eyes as she blinked. No one else was in the room. 

     Well, except for the guy in all black in the corner. She blinked again to adjust to the light and he was gone. She was a bit confused but concluded it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Especially when a nurse walked in.

     “Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. L/n,” The nurse smiled as she grabbed her file and walked over to the monitor next to her.

     “How long was I out for?” 

     “Not long. Your friends neighbor works at the hospital and called us as soon as they came knocking. Gave you a bit of Narcan but you crashed just as the paramedics got there so they had to restart your heart. You’ve been stable since you got to the hospital about an hour ago. I’ll let the doctors know you're awake.”

     The nurse walked out of the room and Y/n groaned, trying to move her arms. Handcuffed. 

     She had a friend that knew people. They got some harder drugs one night. It was all fun. Music blared through the apartment. She remembered taking some and then closing her eyes. Between that and the hospital, she had no fucking clue.

     The handcuffs were confusing. Did they think it was on purpose? That she actually tried offing herself through drugs?

     “Ms. L/n, how are you?” the doctor’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

     “Tired,” Y/n shrugged

     “So am I,” the doctor pulled up a chair next to the bed, “Can I ask a couple of questions about the other night?”

     “I can’t guarantee I’ll remember much.”

     “That’s okay. Whatever you can remember,” the doctor answered, “Did you bring the drugs?”

     “No. I wouldn’t even know how to find a dealer. My friend knows people.”

     “Was this your first time using?”

     “Yes.”

     “I noticed in your file that you have a history of depression. Have you ever thought about—”

     “My depression is managed. Maybe once or twice a year I get a fleeting thought of ending it. But never have I thoroughly thought I would.” Y/n cut off the doctor

     “So the drugs were, just for fun?”

     “Just for fun. I accidentally took too much, I’m sure it happens.”

     “It does. You were lucky we were able to revive you. Get some rest Ms. L/n.”

     The doctor smiled at her before leaving the room. She did rest as the doctor said. Mostly since she really couldn’t do anything while she was handcuffed to a bed.

     Minho watched the whole thing. He’d been watching the whole situation since she took the drugs last. He felt bad for her.

     The friends she was with weren’t exactly the best influence. Offering more drugs to each other. He knew at least one of them was bound to die tonight. He didn’t expect it to be one of the prettiest humans he’d seen in decades. 

     He watched her confusion at the scene happening before her. Her friends screamed at her unmoving body to wake up.

     “What the hell?” Y/n asked no one, but Minho still answered

     “You're dead.” Y/n turned to where he stood behind her

     “Who are you?”

     “Death, Grim Reaper, whatever you prefer.”

     Y/n looked back at her friends still trying to wake her up, “do they know?”

     “Considering how high they are, they haven’t figured it out yet. Come on,” Minho said

     “Where are we going?”

     “Whatever afterlife you believe in. But you can’t stay here.”

     Y/n looked at the man in black and then back at her friends. What shocked her most was they were actually trying to wake her up. After they pressured her into joining them. Only ever talking to her when no one else wanted to join them

     “Why are they trying?”

     “Feel bad maybe?” 

     “For what? They never cared. No one did.”

     He’d heard that line so many times. A lot of it was lies. Everyone had one person that really cared about them. Minho felt like she wasn’t lying about this.

     “Humans are weird. Let’s go,” Minho chalked it up to that, he always did. But, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the soul.

     Rather than taking her to whatever afterlife she believed him in, he opted to take care of her soul, personally. He couldn’t explain why, but for the first time since he became a reaper, she made him feel something.

     “What’s this?” Y/n asked as they walked into his ‘home’

     “Call it home. It’s usually somewhere I just hide away when I need to be away from the other reapers,” Minho explained

     “I thought you were gonna make me cross over.” Y/n looked around the place, it was pretty nice, mostly grey and black decorations. Better than any place she had lived in.

     Minho ignored the statement, mainly because he couldn’t even pinpoint why he was doing this in the first place. And maybe the more time he spent with her, the more confused he got. 

     Time worked so differently in the afterlife, even for him as a reaper. It was hard to say how much time passed in the land of the living, but for them, it’d been a year of hiding away her soul. He still had a job but he always made sure to come back to her, even for a bit.

     He got involved with a rather, unpleasant soul who refused to believe they were dead. He’d dealt with it before, reaping them was an easy solution but the guy wasn’t easy. Minho got hit with his own scythe before he pushed the soul to the afterlife. He just needed to rest.

     He opened the door to find Y/n laying on their couch reading one of the books he had collected over the centuries. Not unusual, it wasn’t like they had any kind of technology in the afterlife to watch tv or text someone. If she wasn’t reading when he was home, it was his fault. 

     Their relationship became complicated a few weeks back. Randomly talking turned into playful flirting. Somehow it led to making out of the living room floor. 

     Y/n heard the door open and cast a glance at him, “You look terrible.” Her book was set aside as she rushed over to him.

     “I’m fine, just need to rest,” Minho assured her as she grabbed his face and looked over him.

     “What happened?” She asked, “You look drained.”

     Y/n got him over to the couch and sat him down, kneeling on the ground between his legs. “Violent soul grabbed my scythe and attacked me. I’ll be fine.” 

     “Minho,” Y/n tsks

     “Not the name,” He laughed, which was a bad idea.

     Y/n saw him grab at his torso and moved his hand, unbuttoning his black shirt to see the wound. “If you wanted me to strip, you could’ve just asked sweetheart.”

     “Have I ever told you how insufferable you are sometimes?”

     “Almost all the time.”

     There wasn’t much blood thankfully— if there was really any, to begin with. She was still trying to grasp the death thing honestly. 

     “Hey,” Minho called out and grabbed her hand from the wound that was indeed healing due to his supernatural abilities. Minho pulled her up onto his lap, her legs on either side of him, “I’m fine.”

     “Promise?” She asked

     “Don’t worry about me. It’s not like I can die again.”

     “Yeah but what if you just… disappear?”

     “I’m not gonna disappear.”

     “Promise me you won't? I don’t…”

     “You don't what?”

     “I don't wanna lose the one person that’s actually cared about me, even if we’re dead.”

     Minho leaned forward and pushed his lips onto hers. It took Y/n a moment to register what was happening. Slowly her hands cupped his face, lips melting to move with his. His hands held onto her hips and slowly rocked her against him. 

     “Swear I won’t disappear,” Minho mumbled against her lips, moving down to her neck

     “Fuck,” Y/n whined as his teeth grazed her sweet spot

     “How can you be dead but so fucking horny?” he asked as he kept kissing her neck

     “I was dead inside when I was alive but still horny,” Y/n joked

     Minho laughed with her as she pushed his shirt off his back. He took his hands off her hips to toss the fabric to the side and then slipped her shirt off her body and tossed it to the ground. 

     “Your fucking beautiful,” He pulled her back down onto his lips. His tongue slipped past her lips and fought for dominance with her as she pushed him back against the sofa. 

     His hands grabbed her breasts and massaged them as her hips rolled against his semi. Both moaned as their tongues danced together. 

     “I need you, Min,” Y/n spoke as her hands undid his belt and pants. 

     “Yeah? Thinking about fucking the grim reaper makes you that wet?”

     He pushed a hand under her bottoms and panties, fingers sliding between her folds before pushing two into her while her hand pulled his cock out and wrapped her hand around him. 

     Y/n jacked him off while he fingered her open on his fingers. Moans uncontrollably fall out of their mouths. 

     “I need to fuck you,” Minho groaned as he threw his head back

     “What are you waiting for?” Y/n asked

     Minho kicked into action, laying both of them on the floor and discarding the remainder of their clothes. He pushed his lips onto hers again, taking his cock into her hand and positioning the lips at her entrance. 

     He sunk into her slowly as he lay on his elbows, lips moving in sync with hers. Y/n cupped his face while her legs hung loosely around his hips. Being dead came with the perk of not feeling pain. 

     Minho pulled out and pushed back into her. Slowly and firmly. Centuries after dying and not feeling anything for anyone until now made him appreciate the moment. 

     Y/n moaned into his mouth as his hips deliciously rolled into her. More than sure he was hitting impossible spots no one alive could reach, ever. She couldn't help but clench around him.

     “Feel so good around me,” He spoke against her lips

     “I need you to come in me, min. Please,” Y/n begged as his head dipped to her breasts

     “Yeah?”

     “Yes. Please, Min.”

     “My pretty kitty needs the grim reapers come in her that bad?” His face picked up a bit, thrusting into her a bit faster as one hand came between their bodies and rubbed figure eights into her clit

     “Fuck yes! Please Minho.”

     “I got you kitten. Need you to come for me first. Come on, baby.”

     Minho's tongue played with her hard nipples as her legs tightened around his waist. Her hands tangled in his hair and held on tighter the closer she got. Her walls closed in tighter around him, making it harder for him to move but neither cared. It felt too good at the moment. 

    Her orgasm hit her like a train. Her back arched off the floor before her body went limp, convulsing under him as he chased his high. Only slowing down when his high finally hit. 

     Exhaustion didn't hit him. It never would, even though he was injured. “Fuck,” he groaned

     “You okay?” she asked as she calmed down

     “Yeah. Don't think being on top was a good idea though.”

     “If you wanted me on too there's better ways to ask,” Y/n giggled as he pulled out and sat back against the couch. 

     Y/n sat up a few seconds later, climbing onto his lap and cuddling into him. “Is it weird I'm in love with the grim reaper?”

     “Is it weird just fucked a soul I was supposed to cross over?”

     Both laughed at the questions before Y/n looked up at him. “What are we now?”

     “Soul mates.” Minho smiled

     Y/n glares at him as he laughed at his joke. “That was terrible.”

     “You love me though.”

     “I gue—” Y/n stopped when she felt something weird in her chest.

     “Hey, what's wrong?” Minho asked, very alert now

     “Weird pain,” Y/n whined as it came again

     “They’re trying to revive you…” 

     “What? No!” He’d never seen a soul fry real tears like he did now

     “I can’t stop it.” All he could do was watch, as much as he didn't want too

     “Why? You can do anything.”

     “You’re in limbo kitten. It’d be different if crossed over already. I can’t do anything if you're in limbo…”

     “What if I cross over?”

     “It’s too late…” 

     Minho watched her become more and more transparent as they pulled her back to the living.

     “Please, Min. I don't want to go back…”

     “I’ll be there when you die again, okay? I promise.”

     He knew how it felt for humans when they watched someone they loved die. He’d see them cry over the dead. Having Y/n pulled from him back to life was just like that. But he could wait. 

     He found her in a hospital, waiting in her room. Occasionally leaving when he sensed someone pass and brought them over before going back and watching her. Even when she slept. Hoping she felt his presence or saw him. 

     “Until death, kitten.” He stood by her bedside watching her sleep.

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