#touch ass and smoke grass

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

I'm here to touch ass and smoke grass. And I've been out of ass for like, most of the last decade

[karmaphone]

some bitch really paid money to blaze a post about the kardashians on the one website that don't give a shit about them huh

[oneknightlight]

I woke up this morning with more audacity then I have storage for

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[spectres-n-soap]

Soap x reader x Ghost Let's Walk in The Grass

Content Warnings - Angst, grief, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of a pregnant afab body, slow burn, MW3 is canon

"Alright." Price responds. "Light duty until maternity leave." You nod and exit the office once he dismisses you. Closing the door behind you, you gulp down the salvia that had built in your throat. You rest your head against the cool brick for just a moment and steady your shaking hands before you began to walk to your own office. You open the door, your mind too muddled to recognize that it was unlocked.

You turn on the light and jump back when you see Ghost sitting in your chair. The sight might had made you laugh in a different time. A time when Soap was alive to laugh with you at the sight of Ghost dwarfing the desk chair. You clutch at your heart or the part of your shirt that it was under. "You scared me Lieutenant." You mutter and lean against the door after closing it. "Can I help you?"

Ghost pulls a plastic, clear baggie from his pocket that held the three at home pregnancy tests that you had taken in the girls bathroom. He places the baggie onto your desk. You look between him and the tests, disgust washing through you when you realize he had to dig through a trash can to find these. Then horror settles into your gut when you meet his hazel eyes, something angry stirring behind a thin layer of indifference.

"How long?" He asks, voice gruff and grating. Maybe it was his natural voice or from years of smoking and yelling.

"None of your business." You reply sharply, matching his own narrowing eyes with your own. "If thats all." You step aside and motion towards the door.

" 'M not goin' anywhere."

"This is my office." 

"And I'm your superior officer."

You clench your jaw. You know that Ghost was a hard-ass. You had worked with him for easily two years, more if you counted the times before the task force. "Five weeks." You finally concede, "Satisfied?"

"No."

You throw up your hands in exasperation with a huff, "I gave you the answer. What else could you want?"

"The full story." Ghost leans ack in the chair. Your chair.

You can't help the laugh that comes from you; harsh and bitter. "With no respect sir, that's none of your business." It was hard to deny the chemistry that Ghost and Soap had. The banter and subtle shows of affection. Ghost, the bastard, was a smart as much as he was a hard-ass. Had he figured it out? Or had Soap blabbed about that night? You purse your lips at the thought and the silence that filled the office.

That night hadn't happened on base, you had sworn Soap to secrecy. He might had loved to talk but you trusted that he had taken that secret to his grave among many others. Eventually Ghost stands from the chair and leaves. You don't waste a second before locking the door behind him.

You sit at your desk and touch nothing. You stare at the small pile of paperwork, listen to the tick-tock of the clock and close your eyes. You could almost hear the laughter that used to bounce off the walls of this office and flow through the halls.

"Don't say it." You warned, narrowed eyes met Soaps gleaming ones. "One more joke and you're banned from my office."

"As come off it lassie." His scottish accent warmed the room, "Just one more."

"MacTavish." You grumbled and his smile only grew.

"What do ya call a solider who survived mustard gas and pepper spray?" He asked and chuckled when you groaned. "A seasoned veteran."

"I hate you."

"Ye wound me," A devilish smile grew on his face, he had another joke to tell.

You wipe at the tears that run down your face with a shaky breath. You felt like a fool, a fool for not holding onto every moment Soap gave you. You had suspected Soap had gotten those jokes from Ghost but you never asked, simply because you didn't care. Soap was spent time with you, told stupid jokes and you loved him. You glance at the wall to your right. His office had already been cleaned out but the spot he would sit on your desk was still empty.Patiently awaiting something that would never happen again. You still love him.

You couldn't help but think about how Soap would've reacted if he was here now. Once, while the both of you were a couple drinks in, he had told you that he wanted a family. The memory was fuzzy on the details, how the topic had come up wasn't something you remembered. Still, you wondered if he would have jumped for joy at the news.

It must have been a funny sight to see, a member of the task force waddling around base. Thats what you thought to keep your sanity at least. You had to waddle, you lost the ability to see your feet a month ago. Price of course did approve the leave request you had put in. Gaz held you steady as you walked up the steps towards the offices. You couldn't believe today was the last day and then you were off for 52 weeks.

Unprompted, Gaz had stuck by your side since the second trimester. Of course he didn't push your boundaries but he helped you climb stairs and keep the rookies you were training from causing too much trouble. "I'm fucking massive." You mutter, huffing and puffing when you finally arrive at your office door. Gaz gives you a empathic smile because you both knew who waited inside your office. Fucking Ghost. 

Ghost hadn't given up and at this point you knew he knew the truth. That the baby was Soap's, you suspected Ghost just wanted to hear you admit it. You push the door open and stare right into Ghost's hazel eyes. Gaz, smartly, walks away after closing the door. "What?" You snap, too tired and pregnant to deal with Ghost.

"Just say it." His voice overflows with raw grief, the voice of a man who was at the end of his rope. He was begging you. "Please."

"Why do you care so much?" You ask, tone cold as you tilt your chin up. 

"Because its all we have left of him." At least he was right about you only having this piece of Soap. When his office and bunk had been cleaned out, it seemed everyone had gotten something of his. Everyone but you. This baby, this piece of John MacTavish was all you had now. "He drew you." Ghost whispers, pulling you from your building rage. "Pages and pages of sketches of you."

"Ghost-"

"Let me hear it. I'll step in because he can't."

"I don't understand." You mutter and wipe away the tears that had begun to build on your waterline. "You don't need to anything for me."

Ghost shook his head, "This is all we have left of him. I loved him." HIs voice cracks under the weight of his pain, "I want to do right by him. I've had 38 weeks to think about this. 38 weeks of watching this piece of Johnny grow with the knowledge he never knew. And the knowledge that he wouldn't have wanted you and the baby to be alone." Ghost stands up from the chair only to walk over and kneel down, he doesn't touch your belly. He seems to hesitate before grabbing your hand, "Please let me do right by him."

---

Ghost- Simon, whatever he wanted you call him, looks at you with disbelief when he sees your flat building. It was old, not in the best neighborhood but it wasn't like you spend a ton of time at your flat. "No." He states, like it would change reality.

"Yes." You grumble and twist the keys in the ignition of his truck off before getting out, ignoring his protests and cursing. "You said you wanted to help, so you're gonna help but on my own terms." You say as you move just about as fast as your body would let you. You had 11 weeks to set up the spare room in your flat for the baby.

Ghost pulls your duffel bag from the bed of his truck and follows you into the apartment, noting how there was no doorman or security. He also noticed the dirty carpet in the halls, the peeling paint and the water damage. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything.

You waddle up the stairs to your flat, stopping at the top for a second to catch your breath. You swat away Ghost's hand before walking to your apartment door. You begin with the top deadbolt and work your way down to the doorknob lock. Finally, you open the door to your reasonably sized flat. Despite the state of the outside hallway, the flat was rather nice looking. Which didn't say much. Its paint wasn't peeling at least. Ghost sets the duffel bag onto your table and walks around the flat. Two bedrooms, the couch was clearly not new, perhaps a hand-me-down. Kitchen only had non-perishables inside but was stocked with pots, pans and the other needs for a human.

For an adult human. Not a baby. There was a lot of work to do in these last 11 weeks.

[chimielie]

got no shame (i love the way you’re screaming my name)

summary: Terushima x Reader. got shame? terushima doesn’t.

word count: 1.6k

cw: terushima’s a slut (who is domesticated unknowingly by reader), bad group project etiquette, general unwiseness.

a/n: this… wasn’t supposed to be this long. essentially nothing happens. it’s completely sfw even though i call terushima a slut. sorry

"Hi," you say brightly, setting your laptop down on the desk next to your assigned project partner. "I was thinking we could set up—"

"Yeah, hang on," he—Terushima, according to the instructor's sign-up sheet—interrupts you. "Hey. Hey. Can I get your number?"

You open your mouth before you realize he's talking to the girl behind you, who agrees as easily as he'd asked. They chat a little while longer, taking their sweet-ass time before he turns back to you and she to her partner.

"So I was thinking we could set up a shared document and do this all online," he says, unapologetic, a lazy grin playing on his mouth. You decide then and there that you hate Terushima Yuuji with everything you have in you.

Miraculously, you survive the group project (with the aid of remote work, aggressively polite wording, and a lot of pep talks from your friends). He should be thankful he survived, you think darkly, casting a glare at him as he chatters to a group of friends across the room. He doesn't know how many times you got through class by imagining wrapping your hands around his neck and just—

Anyway.

You're half-convinced the universe sent him to fuel you with inner rage, because even though you no longer have to work together, he just seems like he's cropping up... everywhere.

He's in the grocery, flirting with the attendant as he struggles with the self-checkout machine. He's in your favorite coffee shop, hanging over the bar while the barista makes your drink. He's even at the parties you go to, his loud laugh penetrating your buzz until you can't think of anything else by the end of the night.

You toy with the idea of accusing him of stalking you, except he'd made it abundantly clear upon your first meeting that he had no clue that you existed on the same earthly plane as him. Plus, at this point, you're slightly worried that it's the other way around.

(You try not to think about the time you'd been lying alone in bed, a little bit wine drunk from a self-care night, legs freshly lotioned, face freshly masked, and one of his social media accounts had happened to pop up on your screen. And your finger had happened to bump the screen and hit follow. And before you could process your actions enough to undo your mistake, a little notification had rung out in the horrified silence: @teru-yuuji followed you back!)

(You had rolled over and screamed into your pillow. You still do the same whenever you think about it too long.)

Anyway, he likes all your updates now, which is terribly annoying because it's not even an acknowledgement of your existence, probably, he probably swipes through everyone's profiles and sends little hearts flying haphazardly because he doesn't care about anyone, or anything. And maybe you can recognize that you're projecting a little bit, obsessing a little bit, but you're pretty sure that you're also starting to experience the same sort of revenge glow-up associated with terrible break-ups without any of the emotional pain, so who cares?

It's not like he knows you're even alive.

"I'm going to die out here," you say out loud, to no one, "and nobody will know."

Your car, steaming—smoking really, but you're trying to be positive—beside you on the side of the road, makes a strange noise in sympathy, and you jump.

In a sorely needed attempt to touch grass, you had ventured by yourself to one of your favorite hiking trails, a secluded spot you and your old car had journeyed to hundreds of times. Its small frame was perfect for the winding, mountainous roads; its engine, apparently, not so much.

Luckily, you still have one bar of cell service, except most people you know don't have a car, your best friend is at work, and when you try to call your father, he doesn't pick up and instead texts you: we went to lunch at this tiny restaurant! This is followed by several images that won't load but that are most likely of his food.

"Useless," you say, "I hate men." Just as a white, tricked-out, and worst of all, familiar car turns the corner, all of its windows down to enjoy the fresh air. You stare at its driver as he passes at about ten kilometers per hour, your eyes wide and despondent, his curious and probably devoid of actual human consciousness.

You momentarily contemplate running the opposite direction into the forest versus asking Terushima for help. As is his way, he interrupts.

"Is your car supposed to be doing that?"

Anything snarky, sassy, or otherwise bitchy you could have answered with dies on your tongue in the face of total, completely confident cluelessness.

"No?" You say, feeling almost as though you're witnessing this absurd interaction from above. "Obviously not?"

"Right," he nods, sliding awful, trendy sunglasses off his face and tucking them up into some compartment before putting his car in park and then exiting. As he advances, you note distantly that his eyes are really, really pretty. "Can I help you out? I am a man, though, just a warning."

He heard you. Great.

"I didn't notice," you say, staring firmly at his middle torso area, which is covered by a shirt which he has cut the arms off of. There are... shoulders, and arms, toned, tan arms showing. And he must have just gotten back from a hike of his own, because the material seems slightly damp with sweat, and it's sticking to what appear to be abs, and you suddenly feel like your car: overheated and broken down. "I guess I can forgive you for that. Just this once. If there's anything you can actually do about," you wave a hand at your car, which has thankfully stopped smoking, "that."

"I can give you a ride," he says, and doesn't seem to realize how completely his tone changes as he does, how his words suddenly sound layered and intimate and... You need to get a grip.

“I have a friend on the way,” you say. You don’t. But he’s still technically a strange man and you know better than to seem completely abandoned.

“Oh? Good,” he says, and you think that’s the end of it. He’ll leave you to your beforested demise. “Can I check the hood real quick, though?”

“Do what you want.” He waits for you to pop the hood—you had earlier, but fuck if you knew what you were looking at.

"Thanks, babe," he says, and you hate him all over again. Then he opens your hood, muscled arms stretching up as he latches the strut in place, bent at the waist ever so slightly, and you're sort of collapsing into a very emotionally confused puddle on the side of the road. "Aw, I think your fan is fucked. I have a buddy I can call, he can tow the car if you want? He’s a mechanic but he can take it to your usual person if you have one.”

"That would be really nice," you blink at him, feeling your mouth stretch into a smile without your permission. "Do you think we could call him now? I don't want to leave my car without being sure someone's coming for it."

"Sure," he nods enthusiastically. "Gimme a sec."

What follows is a bizarre five minutes where Terushima paces in front of where you've seated yourself cross-legged on the road, occasionally casting you furtive glances and muttering things like "Yeah, from the... Yeah, that one. Please, bro, I'll owe you... I'll get you Miwa's number. I promise. When have I ever... Okay, fair, but c'mon. Thank you. I'll give you our first-born."

You tune him out after that, fully baffled.

"Okay!" He finally turns to you, beaming a sunny smile you've never seen on him at you. "He's coming. I sent you his website and shit, so you know he’s real."

“He’s not," you say, holding out a hand so he can help you up. He does, and you immediately regret this decision, because he's standing so close, and his hand is really big in yours, and you're pretty sure you're flirting with him. "You’re crazy."

"You’re funny," he says, and laughs, clear and ringing. He’s flirting with you, but you can’t tell if that’s just his natural dialect or if he’s— "So your boyfriend’s coming to pick you up? Why didn’t he come with you?"

"I don’t need a chaperone," the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, which is becoming a worrying pattern. "And I don’t have one—a boyfriend, anyway. I was on the phone with my dad when you showed up, you know, ‘I hate men’. Or trying. He's too excited about grand opening discounted fried fish."

"Fried fish is important," he says solemnly, eyes literally twinkling, what the fuck. You didn’t think that was real. "I understand."

“See,” you roll your eyes, “This is why I hate men.” He’s looking at you with a soft gaze that makes you aware of your whole body, down to your toes, and it’s starting to make you flustered. “I, um, I actually don’t have a ride coming.”

“Then why’d you—” he starts.

“I thought you might murder me,” you shrug. “And then I panicked. You don’t seem like a murderer, and we’ve had classes together, so… I’m sorry about that.”

“So,” he looks hopeful, in a way you don’t understand. “You still need a way back?”

“I do,” you nod, “but seriously, if it’s an inconvenience at all, I really don’t want to—”

“Please,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get on your good side for a while. Let me take you home.”

[d1s1ntegrated]

hiiiii!!

so this feels kind of random and maybe a little ooc but i keep imagining shiggy as like a streamer (playing obviously league of legends but also like valorant, overwatch, fortnite, etc etc)

but could i possibly get some streamer shigaraki hcs pls and thank youu ♡

also i saw your post about emoji anons and id like to formally request that i can claim this emoji; 🧸 thank you for all your amazingly handcrafted beautiful posts!!!

ooouuuu yassss. i also love to hc shiggy as a streamer idc if its ooc!

also yes ofc ! 🧸is all urs bby <3

streamer!shigaraki hcs ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

[■■■■■■■■■□] 90%

it started as a joke, he didnt think anyone would really watch

but followers and viewers SKYROCKETED so fast, he was kinda overwhelmed at first

mostly streams LoL, but loves switching between diff games throught the stream (OVW, apex, valorant, fortnite)

but for some reason, he hates COD. HATES IT. if chat even mentions it he screams

he gets banned regularly for "random shit" aka trying to beef with the 12 year old's in chat, accidentally smoking on cam, etc

has absolutely no filter, just plays the game the same way he would if he were alone, which gives him one hell of a reputation online

chat goes WILD when he ties his hair back, cause usually its in his face

does a lot of 12-24 hour streams bc he cant sleep

streams at the most random and inconvenient times, like 4pm or 3am.

that being said he has no set schedule. he usually just hops online whenever.

loves bantering with chat, he thinks its so funny

"blueflame says... "this man needs chapstick lolz"

"well fuck you blueflame, you need a loving family and some bitches, but i guess both of us are fucked, hm?"

went through a huge minecraft phase and ended up creating a small cult following from it

which he abhors. like fucking hates it bc of all the drama in the minecraft community-he doesn't like to be associated with them.

calls his fans rats/bugs/etc.

goes on long-ass adhd rambles about random shit a LOT

"chat, chat watch this, gonna get this fucker"

*dies*

"chat. i am going to scream."

this man has 0 social awareness or media etiquette

like he's actually disgusting on stream it can be a hard watch at times. especially if he's eating cause he doesnt gaf about being "polite"

listens to a lot of hyperpop/metal/game osts in the background but has gotten in trouble for copyright lol

does dumbass dances in his chair if he wins a round

when everyone realized he wore gloves to game, he got sent a BUNCH of new ones, with different patterns and materials (he shows them all off) (his fav ones are the creeper-themed ones tho :3)

has "horror nights" where he'll stay up and play shit like fnaf, slender, closing shift, and other indie horror games

he played facade once but immediately removed the game from his pc (very dramatically) after trip denied his request to "kiss it sloppy style".

chat regularly begs him to play roblox but he always ignores it

even though he HAS it downloaded.

"chat what the fuck is skibidi ohio"

always drinking some form of energy drink no matter what time it is

"someone in chat said im cute. go touch grass"

has a discord server that he does in fact own and mod. but only lets certain people join (he does have a tier system after a while)

[■■■■■■■■■] 100%

ugh gamer streamer shiggy is so Real to me...and so cute...i need him viciously

thank u for the request, 🧸!

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Dating the Jackass Guys HC’s!

Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, drug use, alcohol, injury, car sex, tending to wounds, make outs, kissing, sex on a beach, public sex, unsafe driving, posessiveness, unwanted flirting

An: I wanted to write some head cannons based off of what kinds of dates the Jackass guys would take their girlfriends on (and all the ways that could go wrong)! Bam’s part was inspired by these headcannons by @1800miserablethot I love his work please go check him out!! Thank you for reading and please keep sending requests!

Steve-O

Assuming you were his asshole landlord, your boyfriend didn’t seem too happy when he threw open the door, clad only in his boxers, “What?!”

See, even though Steve planned to go out with you a week ago, he still wasn’t up by the time you got at his place, leaving you to pound on his door for what felt like an eternity to try and get his lazy ass out of bed

“Oh shit…” Shocked awake, Steve’s face fell after you, very unamused, reminded him that yes, you did have a date today. “Yeah, yeah- come on in!”

You knew that this was par for the course for him when you started dating him. What you weren’t aware of, however, was the state his apartment was in-

So much filth covered every surface that you started mentally repeating, “Don’t touch anything, don’t touch anything…” to yourself like a mantra

Despite the way your skin itched, there was something endearing about watching your boyfriend crack open a beer at noon, which he quickly drained, before pulling on a pair of jeans he had lying around.

“So, where’re we heading?” Given the fact Steve didn’t own a car, your options were kind of limited

The two of you ended up heading to the park and grabbing some hot dogs from a cart before plopping down on the grass together.

Even if he wasn’t half broke, he was never one for grand dates, and you could admire how genuine that was

Instead of wowing you with fancy dinners and sports cars, he preferred his dates to be about having a nice time with his lady.

Something not many people would know about Steve is that animals love him.

Out of nowhere, your boyfriend was practically knocked off his feet by an overexcited golden retriever who jumped on him and covered his face in slobbery kisses

It was heartwarming really, the way he laughed and smiled in that sweet, boyish way while giving the dog some good skritches!

Ah, you always knew men being good with animals was a green flag…

When it’s owner ran over and apologized for her dog getting off the leash, he told her it was totally cool

“But if it isn’t a problem, you don’t happen to have a tennis ball on you, do you?”

She did- as did the many other dog owners, who were as impressed as you were at Steve’s impromptu juggling act he put on in the park

Okay, maybe he was trying to impress you a little. But showing off you clown skills isn’t the same as driving around in some hot shit Lamborghini, okay?

As the sun started going down, and Steve walked you to your car, he asked if you’d be interested in coming up to his place, maybe smoke a little- who knows…

But thinking back to the piles of empty beer cans and the questionable stains on the carpet, you politely declined, “Uh…Maybe next time?”

You made another mental note to lay down some blankets down in your trunk before you saw him next.

Johnny

“Howdy, ma’am!” Standing at your door to pick you up for your date to the rodeo was Knoxville, who tipped his cowboy hat at you while you giggled at his little country getup,

What with the boots and those tights jeans that made his ass looks great- not to mention that obnoxious pink shirt that let you know it was your boyfriend under all that

“Are you really wearing that?”

“Well, yes i am,” Taking your hand, he drawled in an exaggerated accent as he led you to the car before opening the door for you, “and I do think we should be gettin’ a move on…”

You had no clue there were even rodeos in LA before Johnny took you there, but there you were, sitting with these great seats

And there’s nothing more your boyfriend loved than seeing that look of wonder on your face as you ogled at the real deal bull riders, not like the kinda stuff he does on Jackass. Which, speaking of…

“Excuse me, ma’am- I gotta go hit the little boy’s room.”

However, Knoxville was not squeezing past your knees to go to the little boy’s room.

Unbeknownst to you, he actually was a friend of the man who owned the stadium and had a little surprise planned for you

Not five minutes later, after they corralled the bull to set up for the next rider, guess who you see walk out into the ring? That fucking pink shirt…

“Johnny- Johnny! Don’t-“ and there he went, ploughed clean over much to the joy of the crowd and your anguish

Not assured at all by the thumbs up he gave you as he staggered to his feet, you couldn’t help but wince a little when you saw your boyfriend limp back to his seat.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” With a crooked grin, Knoxville waved a dismissive hand at you, “Yeah, I’ll be fine- just a little bruised…” Still, he didn’t dissuade your worries,

Turns out he was more than just a little bruised, as you would find out when things started getting a little hot and heavy on the drive back and Johnny had to pull over to a dark, secluded area just off the beaten path

Moving to straddle his lap, you felt him groan against your lips as you reached down to undo his belt, “mmm…ow- fuck!”

So, glancing down at the swollen, purple mess of bruise tissue on his legs, you decided to take a rain check.

Instead of ending the night getting laid in your boyfriend’s ‘69 Challenger, you spent the night at his place, holding ice to his sore thighs while he cracked jokes to make you laugh despite the situation.

If that ain’t love, then you don’t know what love is…

Ryan

When Ryan told you that over the phone that, “If you want, you could just come hang out at Castle Bam.” you thought that would mean swimming in the backyard pool and going out for dinner at Antonio’s,

But he meant it very literally, because there you were, sitting next to your boyfriend on the couch, watching TV.

I mean, you were happy to be hanging out with him, but is this his idea of a date?

“Is this all we’re going to do?” “Yeah.”

It was Dunn’s greatest power and his worst fault- he was horribly, aggressively chill

There you sat for hours, so comfortable with each other that you didn’t feel the need to make small talk, watching The Simple Life, or Nick and Jessica, or whatever dreck MTV away airing that afternoon

Later, Ry went to the kitchen to grab a few more beers, which certainly were aiding in his aforementioned chillness, when you called out to him,

“You know, I really had this image in my mind- maybe you’d take me out for food or some drinks tonight? Maybe a little courtship here?”

Plopping down next to you, Dunn passed you a bag of chips he got for you from the kitchen before handing you one of the two bottles from the side table with a faux bow, “Milady?”

Smirking, you took it from him, because you could never be mad at him for too long

But as the afternoon wore on, with the rest of the guys out filming something, your boyfriend eventually passed out drunk on the couch

“Yeah, this is how I wanna spend my Saturday…” Grumbling to yourself, you snatched the remote and absentmindedly flicked through channels for a while before you got bored

So, wriggling in next to your boyfriend’s warm, unconscious body, you laid your head against Ryan’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as you drifted off to sleep.

God, if there was a better way to wake up than to him gently playing with your hair and looking down at you with that sweet, lovesick look in his eyes, you didn’t wanna know

Mind you, he was still drunk given the fact he was only out for a couple hours,

And whenever you were within arm’s reach, Dunn got sappy drunk,

“You’re still here?”

Of course you were still there, but once he got like this, it was to your benefit to let him get it out of his system.

Tilting your chin up, Ryan planted a sweet kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “God- I am so lucky to have a girlfriend like you…”

Chris

When you broke it to Pontius that you had no clue how to surf, he dedicated a chunk of your beach date to teaching you, “It’s pretty simple- you’ll pick up on it in no time!”

Well, that’s not all he told you- he also said you looked hot in your bikini, but that’s not as important

“It’s easier if you practice this kinda stuff on land…” Your boyfriend dragged his board to lay down on the sand, waving you over, “Hop on!”

And, very close behind you, Chris stood guiding you on how to shift you weight and when to stand up with his hands on whatever part of your body made it easiest to explain to you

You’re not going to lie- you did pull the, “Is this how you do it?” card a few times more than was needed just for an excuse to feel his wide palms on your body for a little while longer.

But time came for you to actually do the thing he was teaching you, you totally wiped out!

(To nobody’s surprise)

Still, Pontius was the painfully kind guy you fell in love with, swimming out to wherever you fell and scooping you up Baywatch style before encouraging you to give it another shot

“You know,” glancing at him up and down- looking all suave and perfect with way the salt water glistened on his tan skin and curled his hair, “I think I’d rather watch you…”

What kind of guy would say no when their girl asks to watch them while they do something they’re awesome at?

With your ass in the sand, you spent hours oggling Chris from afar and cheering him on

Until the sun began sinking beyond the horizon and you decided to hit up the bar for drinks and something to eat.

Later that evening, once most of the tourists have cleared off of the beaches of LA, the two of you snuck back

“This place is beautiful at night- you gotta check it out Y/N!”

Visiting the beach to see it turned into building a bonfire, and there’s something so rugged and masculine about watching your boyfriend lug 50lb pieces of driftwood without breaking a sweat.

And with that visual in your mind, there’s only a few places the evening can go…

First with the arm around your shoulder holding you close, because it gets cold there at night, then a little kissing because hell, kissing always feels nice,

Which then proceeded to straight up beach sex. The fantasy kind of beach sex, where sand doesn’t get anywhere and there no seagulls or wayward cops patrolling the shore.

That night, still naked, you fell asleep in eachother’s arms by the smoldering remains of your fire, enjoying the warmth you shared.

Bam

“So I was thinking maybe we could ride four wheelers, chill out and play some pool, go for a drive in the Lambo, hit up the bar tonight- anything else you wanna do?”

The house was empty for one day, and your boyfriend just wanted to do the same shit he does with his dumb little buddies every other time they’re over?

Most of the time, your dates were more about him having fun than treating you to some sweet, romantic shit, but you had to admit that a part of you kind of contributed to the chaos

Once you got bored with jumping cars and doing tricks on the ATVs and headed inside, guess who came knocking on the door?

Dico, who your boyfriend totally forgot he made plans to work on the film edit with

But Bam had no qualms about shutting the door in his face,

“Yeah, yeah- I’m workin’ on it!”

Listening for him to walk away, your boyfriend turned to you with a smirk, “So, how’s that ride sound?”

The thing about living in the backwoods of Pennsylvania is that you can drive pretty much as fast and as recklessly as you want, and there’s no cops around to give you a ticket

Bam knew this and used it to his every advantage. He paid for the whole speedometer, why the hell shouldn’t he use it?

Especially when he had his girl in the car, who looked so cute when he made her nervous…

You ended up at Rex’s, and you were practically hyperventilating by the time you stumbled out of the Lambo,

“I could really use a beer right now…”

And as soon as you walked through door, there goes Mr. Friendly, paling arround with everyone in the bar and leaving you to drink alone. What a man…

But if there was something you loved about Bam, it was that he shows up when it counts,

Like when he caught that creep hitting on you out of the corner of his eye.

Never have you seen your boyfriend whip around so fast, planting his fist in the asshole’s jaw hard enough to throw him against the bar top

Wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and tugging you close, he spat at the guy, “Yeah- flirt with my girl again, fucker…”

You got back to the castle late, everything serene and dark as you laid snuggled up in Bam’s tousled sheets,

Which very quickly evolved into lazily making out, all slow and soft and romantic

(Because your boyfriend didn’t jump to screwing at every chance you got- credit to his immaturity)

And that’s how you fell asleep, with him nuzzling his face into your hair and nodding off

[starshideurfics]

Ring my bell, part 7

part 6

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, there’s plot now, in the smut, mdni 🔞

Powell isn’t quite finished with them, asking Lucas a few more questions, including when he had time to call Eddie. “After Patrick called 911. I knew the you’d want to talk to Eddie and I’d need a ride home. I didn’t want my mom to freak out.”

“Pretty sure that ship has sailed, Lucas,” Powell says, not unkindly. “But I also do not want Sue Sinclair on my ass, so I understand.” He looks around, too many teenage boys with haunted looks are still waiting to be questioned all huddled together on the grass. When he turns back, his attention sticks to Eddie. “I have more statements to take, but I’ll be in touch for official statements from you and Harrington. For now the three of you are free to go.”

Eddie nods, easily pulling Lucas into a hug with his free arm. “Thanks, Chief.” He steers their little trio back to Steve’s car, opening the back door for Lucas to get in, then heading to the passenger side himself.

Steve turns the key in the ignition and starts on the way to the Sinclairs’ house. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks gently, not sure what Lucas needs. Not at all sure what actually happened.

Lucas surprises him by talking right away. “I must’ve passed out before it happened… You know how the team is, get the freshmen wasted. I’m pretty sure I puked more than I actually drank, but after I just laid down outside the bathroom in case I had to hurl again.” He takes a slow, shuddering breath, and Steve can tell he’s trying not to cry.

“No one saw it happen. She was in one of the smaller rooms, I vaguely remember her and Jason arguing, so she must have gone off for some privacy. And Jason was drunk, so he must have fallen asleep without looking for her… But a couple guys stepped outside to smoke, and when Chase was talking to Powell he said the lights flickered a bunch around one. Steve, what if it’s—”

“Lucas, no.” Steve has to cut him off, can’t bear the thought of more alternate dimension horrors. Moreso, can’t bear to drag Eddie into any of it.

“I saw her Steve! It didn’t look like something a person could do!”

Which just draws Eddie in more. “What do you mean?” he asks softly. He swallows hard and adds, “I figured she must have gotten something stronger and OD’d…”

Lucas shakes his head, curls in on himself, his breaths turning into short gasps. He’s having a panic attack.

Steve changes course, takes them towards Forest Hills instead. They’re better off having this conversation at Eddie’s, and Max lives a couple lots away now. Easier to rally the troops.

When he parks, he gets out and climbs into the backseat with Lucas, offers him a hand and instead the young alpha hides his face against Steve’s shoulder. “Every part of her was broken, Steve. It didn’t look natural.”

“Like… something got to her?” Steve asks, imagining a demodog, what its teeth could do.

“No, not torn up. Broken.”

“And there were flickering lights?”

“Yeah…”

“Stevie, what are you talking about?” Eddie asks softly from the front seat. Steve had almost forgotten he was there, still doesn’t want to expose him, but it’s starting to feel too late. Eddie’s involved, whether Steve likes it or not.

“You remember when Will Byers disappeared in ‘83?”

“Yeah…”

“And the mall fire?”

“That you were in? Yeah, Puppy, I do.”

Eddie saying that is enough to shock Lucas into calming down a bit more. At least enough for him to pull back and give Steve a look.

“We think this may be connected to that.”

“WHAT?”

“I’m gonna call Nance, see if she can pick up Dustin and Robin. They’ll do a better job explaining than I can.”

🔄🔄🔄

Steve’s right. Bringing in the others helps, as they piece together what they can while explaining the basics to Eddie so he understands just how dangerous it all is. It takes a little while to sink in, but as it does, Eddie reaches shakily for his pack of cigarettes. He can’t get his lighter to catch and Steve goes to help, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s free hand after, index finger stroking over the band of a ring.

It’s the first bit of affection between them in front of the others and Lucas hasn’t said anything yet, so somehow, no one questions Steve’s presence.

But this is obvious. “What the hell, why are you holding Eddie’s hand?” Dustin asks loudly, eyes narrowed.

“Because he’s my boyfriend, Dustin.”

“No, he’s not. Eddie’s cool.”

“I’m not cool?”

“Not like Eddie.”

“You’re very cool, Puppy,” Eddie says softly.

Robin makes a face at the pet name and catches Steve’s eye; he knows she’ll give him an earful the next time they’re alone.

“What the hell?” Dustin says again. “For how long?”

“Five months,” Steve answers, plucking the cigarette from Eddie’s fingers and taking a drag. “Can we cool it with the interrogation? We’ve got bigger things to deal with right now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dustin whines. “This is the best news ever!”

“Probably because he knew you’d act like this,” Max chimes.

Steve simply nods towards her in agreement.

Max sits down next to Lucas on the couch and grabs his hand, not even looking at him. Like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. “We really should be focusing on other stuff, like what the hell happened to Chrissy. Plus, I’m starting to get a headache, so quit yelling.”

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • II

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 3.8K

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares.

Authors note: Chapter Two: Something of the past- (EDITED: 09-03-24) songs are One of Us by the world alive and Broken glass by unprocessed ;)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

I smiled at the brunette, feeling grateful for his willingness to listen. He returned the smile and gave me a knowing look, almost as if he understood.

Noah's attention turned toward the houses we passed. His gaze was intense as he scanned each one carefully.

"Sorry for dumping all that on you," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't know why I just told all that to a stranger."

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're not strangers anymore," he said. "More like acquaintances."

I felt reassured by his words and couldn't help but ask about him. "So what about you? You seem pretty mysterious."

Noah fell into silence, his brows furrowed in thought once again. His gaze scanned the grass intently as if searching through memories. Eventually, he turned back to me with a small grin.

“I’m…just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that. His eyes held a depth of emotion that hinted at hidden truths and untold tales. But I didn't push. After all, we had only just met.

"Well, 'just Noah,'" I said with a playful smile, "I'm glad our paths crossed today."

He returned my smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me too. More than you know."

+++++

NOAH

Jolly's angry voice cut through the air as he yelled, "Where the fuck were you? We've been waiting for hours!"

I slammed the door of our dingy motel room, shooting him a sharp look. "Nowhere, mom. Not like you need to know," I retorted.

He stepped forward, getting close enough that our chests almost touched. "You’re right. I don't care what you were doing or who you were doing. But you know what time you need to be back and you're late," he scolded, pressing his finger into my chest.

I pushed against him, creating space between us as I furrowed my brow. "Fine, sorry. I lost track of time," I muttered, throwing myself onto the cot that served as my bed. I let out a heavy sigh and buried my cheek into the musty pillow. As I stared at the retro 80s carpet on the floor, I traced the faint outline of a bloodstain left by Ruffilo last week when he cut his knee open during a job.

"It's your turn, Noah," Nick Folio announced, plopping a backpack onto the table as he reclined in his chair with his legs crossed on top of it. He had a joint dangling from his lips, the smoke billowing out between his teeth.

"I hate doing this shit," I grumbled in protest, shaking my head as I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes for a moment.

"Too bad," Jolly snapped, his voice still laced with anger. "We all have our parts to play. Now get your ass up and do your job."

I groaned, forcing myself to sit up on the cot. The springs creaked beneath me, a sound that had become all too familiar in our weeks of hopping from one seedy motel to another. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

Nick tossed the backpack towards me, and I caught it reflexively. The weight of it made my stomach churn. I knew what was inside without having to look.

"Remember," Folio said, taking a long drag from his joint, "in and out. Quick and clean. No fuck-ups this time."

I nodded in annoyance, my throat tight. The last job had gone sideways, and we'd barely made it out. All thanks to me. Again.

“Just this one for the week brother. Then you don’t need to worry about it till next week.” Nicholas Ruffilo said, smiling at me gently. He knew I hated this. He knew I wanted it to stop.

He tossed me my gloves and mask, the fabric hitting my chest eliciting another annoyed groan from me. Grudgingly, I pulled on the black leather gloves to cover up my tattoos and shoved the mask into my pocket.

I couldn't contain my frustration any longer as I stood up. "How many more weeks do we have to put up with this shit?" I snapped, looking at Nicholas for support. He placed his hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me down.

"I know," Ruffilo said cautiously, knowing how on edge I was.

Jolly let out a bitter laugh. "What else can we do, Noah? Pull a million bucks out of our asses?"

I loved Jolly, I really did. He was my oldest brother for as long as I can remember- but fuck, did I ever want to punch his face into the wall sometimes.

The Swede sat back in his chair next to Folio and continued, "You know the deal. We do what we have to do to survive. How else are we going to pay back D?"

I shrugged off Nicholas' hand and muttered under my breath as I grabbed my combat boots and kicked my old black vans under the cot. As I leaned down and tied up the laces, memories of past jobs flooded my mind and regret weighed heavily on me, knotting together past mistakes.

Cracking open a beer, Jolly took a swig before saying, "Don't forget that you're the reason we're stuck in this mess."

My head shot up, eyes meeting his intense gaze. A red hue adorned my skin as my ears burned with embarrassment and anger, "What's that supposed to mean, you fucking prick?"

Jolly raised his voice, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. "I'm tired of hearing your complaints, Noah. Do you think any of us enjoy this? Do you think we want to keep living this way? Don’t blame us for the work when you fucked us over first.”

My chest heaved with irritation as his words cut deep. "I was fourteen!" I shouted, spittle flying from my mouth. "I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't told me to in the first place!"

Nicholas reached for me, holding out an arm across my chest to force me back. I aggressively swatted his hand away and grabbed the backpack, tossing it over my shoulder.

"I never told you to do anything," Jolly growled, watching as my fists clenched and muscles tightened.

"You're the one I was supposed to look up to!" I yelled.

Jolly scowled, muttering between his teeth, “It's not my fault your parents died.”

Both Nick’s turned to look at him with furrowed brows of disappointment as my heart raced, my palms sweating.

"Don't you dare bring them into this!" I screamed, seething with anger and ready to pounce on the long-chestnut-haired man in front of me. Nicholas wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me away. I struggled against him, closing my eyes in fury as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

Just an hour ago, I had been sitting with one of the most beautiful humans I had ever laid my eyes on. It was risky spending time with someone I had just met, especially someone like Y/N. She seemed so brave, so gentle...so worthy.

How could someone captivate me so quickly? It left me baffled. I knew I was completely infatuated with her, and I already found myself craving to see her again. I've gotten coffee from that same cafe almost every day for a year; it's the only stable part of my routine. Everything was always the same - the coffee, the customers, the servers...except for Y/N. Seeing her there threw off my rhythm. It almost felt like she was purposely placed there just for me- like a breath of fresh air in my dull, grey, lifeless world. There was something about her - the way she spoke, her mysterious aura, her quick wit, and those beautiful fucking eyes.

But here I was, my unworthiness weighing heavily on me, reminding me that I didn't deserve anyone's love or attention.

Nick snapped me out of my thoughts by offering me a hit of his joint, trying to ease the tension between us. I took a puff and handed it back to him, nodding when Nicholas asked if I knew where we were headed next.

"I've been looking at this neighbourhood near the coffee shop," I told them, trying to act nonchalant. "I scoped out some places earlier. Lots of elderly folks, so they probably have some valuable stuff."

“Don’t you think that area is a little risky?” Nicholas said, raising a brow, “We spend enough time around there...as us.”

I shrugged, “Close together and tight nit. Enough places to hide.”

Nick suggested bringing a gun for intimidation, and I agreed. It was all part of the plan, even though a small voice in my head questioned what I was doing.

My finger grazed across the metal. Even through the glove, I felt its cool, metallic texture, my mind jumping back to the woman held before it earlier.

What am I even doing?

Shoving the gun into my waistband I opened the motel door, “See you guys later.” I nodded to each of them, eyes lingering on Jolly for a moment longer.

“Text if you need anything,” Jolly said through gritted teeth, taking another sip of his beer, and avoiding my gaze.

I left the motel room and walked down the wooden stairs, passing the rundown vinyl wall that lined the entire building.

As I passed the paint-peeled doors listening to various arguments, and the sounds of sex. The familiar scent of weed and stale alcohol lingered on the cement, decades of grime living within the premises, never fully washing away. As pathetic as it was, it smelled and sounded like home. It was all I had.

I pulled my hood over my head, letting my hair cascade as a shield around my face, my legs carrying me through the neighbourhood. It was 12:3am on a Wednesday, the nightlife bare as only a few cars passed by me, unaware of my felonies. I wasn’t sure which house would be my victim tonight, but I prayed, to whoever God was, that it would be quick. Get in get out.

Placing an earpod in my ear, I scrolled through songs, before choosing The Apparition. Perhaps, if this is all a dream, I can go back to the time I met her.

But truthfully, ignorance is bliss; and I was tired of consciousness.

And yet, here I am, still haunted by everything that has happened.

And it remains With me to this day

No matter what I do This scar will never fade

+++++

Y/N

I signed off at my job, releasing a heavy sigh after a gruelling 12-hour day. The four-hour shift at the bar was a relief, but I still felt drained, knowing that I only had 8 hours until I had to be back at the cafe for another round.

As I walked out into the chilly 1 am air, I reapplied my red lipstick to soothe my dry lips. Thankfully, home was just a short ten-minute walk away, and the thought of my warm bed and my cat waiting for me kept me going.

But even in my exhaustion, I couldn't shake off the excitement of meeting Noah earlier that day. His charming smile and mysterious demeanour lingered in my mind, making my heart flutter with butterflies. Was this just a one-time thing? It was hard to believe that I went on a 'date' with someone I had just met, but then again, work was pretty much all I did. My life needed a little bit of thrill and adventure.

As I hummed to myself, hoping for a text from Noah in the morning, I pushed aside the dread of working again tomorrow. Lost in fanciful daydreams, I reached my townhouse and inserted the key into the lock; only to realize that I may have left it unlocked in the morning when I was exhausted.

Shit, did I really forget to lock it? That's not like me...

With furrowed brows, I opened the door and double-checked that it was locked before stepping inside. But something felt off - there was no sign of my orange cat Juice by the door as usual. And none of the lights were on, even though I always left the living room lamp on so it's not completely dark by the time I got home.

"Juice?" I called out nervously as an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. Something was not right. The house was quiet and still as I made my way cautiously towards the kitchen.

"Juju baby? Where are you?" I called out, flicking on the bright kitchen light. What was once the comforting warmth of home, now turned into a thick sense of dread as I placed my bag on the counter, eagerly awaiting my cat's response. But instead of a familiar meow, I heard the floor above me creak in a rhythmic pattern that was definitely not feline in nature.

My heart pounded and my breath caught in my throat as I froze in place. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as goosebumps prickled along my skin.

I strained to listen for any other sounds, but all was quiet except for the occasional rustle coming from upstairs. Adrenaline surged through me as I reached for the largest kitchen knife from the block, gripping it tightly as I crept towards the stairs.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I cautiously ascended the stairs from the kitchen. With each step, I couldn't help but think, this is how people get murdered in horror movies, you dumb bitch, but it was too late to turn back now.

Finally reaching the top, I turned on the hallway light and scanned the darkened doors illuminated by moonlight streaming through the windows. My bedroom door slowly creaked open and a figure emerged.

My heart stopped and panic seized me until I realized it was just my cat; wide-eyed and meowing. "Jesus Christ, cat!" I scolded, overcome with both fear and relief as I fell to my knees and scooped him into my arms. His soft orange fur was a welcome comfort as I ran my fingers through it, rubbing my face along his head. He didn’t pur like usual though.

"You scared the absolute shit out of me," I laughed shakily, kissing his head before setting him down. Juice wriggled free from my grasp and darted into my room. Shaking my head with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, I placed the knife on the banister and followed him, grateful for his presence in the otherwise empty house.

Perched on my bed, Juice hopped to attention as soon as I entered the room. His tail flicked back and forth eagerly as he stared at my mirrored closet, emitting a series of demanding meows. I flipped on the lamp next to my bed and approached him, reaching out to pet him. "What's wrong, buddy? Are you hungry?" I asked, even though I knew his bowl was full downstairs.

He continued to meow and I shook my head, pulling off my sweater and tossing it into the hamper.

"What is up with you-" I started to say before a gloved hand covered my mouth, muffling my words.

Panic flooded through me as another arm encircled my waist, holding me tightly against the stranger's chest, and my eyes widened with fear as I looked up at them, unable to scream for help.

I could feel their heart pounding against my back, their harsh breaths mixing with mine as they turned our bodies towards the mirror. Tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the reflection of the menacing figure behind me. Their entire body was covered except for their eyes and mouth, peering out from behind a black ski mask.

I whimpered helplessly against their hand as my stomach dropped at the sight of the gun poking out from their black cargo pants.

The most terrifying thing of all was the distinct scent of Dior cologne that filled my nostrils, making my heart race even faster with fear.

His voice, with its distinct accent, burned into my memory as he spoke the words that filled me with dread. In the mirror, I saw him - Noah. The cologne, the voice, it had to be him. I knew I should have never gone out with a stranger. How could I have been so foolish?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He said slowly, words filled with worry and caution.

Tears streamed down my face as I shook and cried, his hand still covering my mouth. He followed me home, and now I was paying for my stupidity. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

"I'm going to leave," he said calmly, "and you're going to let me. Understood?"

I nodded against his grasp, my eyes glued to his every move through the tears. He closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath, his body moulding into my back.

Did he know that I knew who he was?

There was no way I was going to let this asshole get away with whatever he had planned for me.

"Please don't scream," he said, loosening his grip slightly. As soon as he let go, I spun around and kicked him with all my might in the groin area.

He fell to his knees, letting out an agonizing groan as he held himself in pain. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I ran into the hallway and grabbed the knife from the bannister.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" I screamed, brandishing the knife at him. "You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah." His name tasted like bile in my mouth as it escaped from between my lips.

While shaking with anger and fear, I pulled out my phone and dialled 911. Noah crouched in front of my bedroom door, pain etched on his face.

"I swear to god, Y/N, I didn't know this was your house," he said, desperation in his voice. "Please, don't call the cops."

"Why shouldn't I?" I yelled back at him, my thumb hovering over the green call button.

"Just...just please don't," he pleaded, pressing himself against the door. But it was too late for him to try and play innocent. I pressed the button and held the phone up to my ear as it rang, arm still holding the knife toward him.

Noah's eyes widened with panic before his hand reached for the gun tucked into his waistband. Time slowed as he pulled it out and pointed it at me, causing me to freeze in fear. The 911 operator's voice was muffled by the sound of my racing heart.

"Hang up," Noah whispered, his hands shaking with the weight of the gun. "Y/N, please hang up."

"Hello? Are you still there?" The voice on the other end of the line asked, repeating the question over and over.

"Y/N, please hang up," Noah repeated, his voice urgent.

“Hello?”

Noah held out his other hand, palm up as if inviting me to take it. It was a stark contrast to the gun he held in his other hand.

The phone fell from my grasp, landing on the carpeted floor with a dampened thud. He quickly reached for it and ended the call.

As he let out a relieved sigh, guilt washed over him. He hung his head and tossed the gun toward the bathroom before removing his mask, revealing the face I had been longing for just hours earlier.

The brunette looked shattered and torn as he watched me crumple before him, my panic attack consuming me.

“I-I didn't mean to scare you. I-I” Noah stammered frantically as he moved closer to me, “I can’t have the police involved- I can’t leave my brothers.”

I collapsed to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest while staring at the gun near the bathroom. Fear overtook me and I began to hyperventilate.

“I swear, I won’t hurt you,” Noah said as he leaned down in front of me and took hold of my wrists.

I struggled to breathe, trying to pull away from him but felt paralyzed, and my breathing became erratic as I felt like I couldn't exhale.

“Breathe,” Noah's hands were now on either side of my face, “please Y/N, just breathe!”

His eyes scanned my face with concern as he held onto me tightly. “Count backwards from 100 by threes with me, okay?”

“100, 97, 94, 91, 88…” Noah started and I followed his lead.

“85, 82, 79…” I managed to choke out and Noah loosened his grip on my face. He placed his hands on top of mine instead.

I wanted to run away in fear but at the same time, I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to breathe again.

Noah continued counting with me, showing me a steady breathing pattern and I followed suit. “58, 55, 52, 49…”

We finally reached zero and my breathing remained in sync with his. I pulled my hands away from him abruptly and hugged myself tightly as I scooted away from him, as if he were the most disgusting thing in the world.

“I don't know whether to tell you to get lost,” I said, glaring at him, “or thank you.”

Noah looked at me with concern before running his gloved hand over his face. Realizing he still had them on, he groaned in frustration and angrily ripped them off, revealing his tattooed hands.

I couldn't help but follow the outlines of the flower with my eyes once again.

“I know you probably won't believe me but I swear I didn't know this was your house,” he began, holding his hands up in surrender, his pleading eyes met mine.

He seemed so genuine and sincere that part of me wanted to believe him, but screw that.

“You’re right, I don’t,” I snapped back, “But why were you even in someone else’s house?” I wiped my mouth, realizing the smudged lipstick from earlier. I must've looked like a total mess.

Noah watched me intently, his gaze studying my lips.

“I- I swear if I could explain, I would,” he rambled again, avoiding eye contact and looking at the carpeted floor, “but-”

Three loud knocks at the door interrupted his sentence, and Noah's eyes widened as he stared at me, the colour draining from his face.

“This is LAPD!” A booming voice called out from the other side of the door. The doorknob jiggled, trying to open.

“Shit,” Noah muttered, frantically scanning the hallway for something. He stood up and looked around before turning to me, a realization dawning on him. Without hesitation, Noah ripped off his sweater and black tank top, leaving him shirtless in front of me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

Chapter three

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[oneforthemunny]

switching it up |dom!brat tamer!eddie x sub!brat!reader|

prompt: "go pick a switch" with mean!dom!brat tamer! eddie. based off a horny hours ask from my old account :)

for those who don't know a "switch" in this is referring to a small, thin branch that's picked and used (typically and in this case) for discipline. sorta like caning.

contains: mean!hard!dom!brat tamer!eddie, sub!bratty!reader, spanking, dom/sub themes, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, minors dni 18+

"Go on, now, baby." Eddie nodded from the steps, leaned up casually against the metal, rusted railing of the trailer. He inhaled deeply, cigarette crackling and ash falling by his feet, eyes trained on you, deep and dark.

You fidgeted in the grass, only a few paces away from the steps. Eyes cutting around you, looking to see if anyone was around, praying they weren't. Hoping that they wouldn't see the slow journey you were making to hickory bush, long and overgrown at the end of the gravel drive, scissors behind your back.

"Don't make me wait, sweet thing." Eddie blew the smoke out, eyeing you carefully. "Or I'll take that switch to ya right out here." He smirked at the threat. How your spine went rigid, cheeks flushed a deep crimson when you looked back at him, but you quickened your pace to the dreaded bush.

The idea had come to him while watching TV a few weeks ago. Some old, western movie from the fifties, he'd been too stoned to change it. Plus, he liked those kind of movies, reminded him of when he first moved in with Wayne as a kid.

The gruff male lead, mean and stern with the female lead, grabbed her arm, threatening to "take a switch to her hind-end" if she didn't obey. The threat made him twitch, cock stirring even in his drug induced haze. He was always looking for new things to try, new ways to get you embarrassed when you bratted, put you back in your place before fucking you relentlessly. You'd been taking the cane so well lately, he figured a little switch would be nothing.

"What's a switch?" You'd asked, nose crinkled in confusion when he presented the idea to you.

Eddie gawked at you. "You never heard about kids having to go pick a switch?" He blinked at you with a small smile. You shook your head. He laughed. "We came from different worlds then, baby." He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and pulled you to the window so you could see the bush, long, thin branches that he explained you cleared the branches and leaves off before it was used on you.

"Kinda like the cane." Eddie grinned, hands rubbing up and down your waist, excitedly. "But you have to go pick it, cut it, clear it. Whole thing before you ever get spanked with it." What he didn't say was the before process added to the embarrassment of it all, a fact that he knew you loved- a sort of embarrassing foreplay that had you dripping before he ever even touched you. You grinned, agreeing to try it, thighs clenched in excitement.

It wasn't until today, nearly a month after the conversation, that Eddie actually used the threat. He always did that, waiting until you thought he forgot or changed his mind to act on it.

You'd been huffy all morning, a little whiny and snappy, like you always got when you wanted him to ruin you. Get you crying and your ass aching until he relented and fucked you stupid. He'd told you before you could just ask, he'd always oblige, but where was the fun in that?

"Hey, you better watch it," Eddie warned, snapping a finger at you after your third eye roll of the day. "Keep it up, and I'll take a switch to you."

Your eyes lit up, cheeks heating and tingling at the threat- the promise. Eddie bit back a grin, staying stern and stoic though he wanted to laugh at how excited you got. You got even more bratty, just like he expected, until he finally turned you over his knee. He took to spanking you with his hand, scolding you about being a naughty brat, until you whined and begged him to stop. A part of you thought he might have backed out of the initial threat, rubbing your ass and pouting. Until he crossed over to the kitchen, scowling at you sternly. He grabbed the scissors, shoving them in your hand and telling you to go pick your switch, that you'd earned it.

You fished through the scratchy branches and leaves of the bush, thankful it was overcast and chilly or the entire park would've been out, kids riding bikes and adults tending gardens- all to witness you cutting a branch, retrieving it and bringing it back to Eddie for his inspection. Fetching and retrieving back to your master like a dog. The humiliation of it all was enough to get your cheeks tinging pink, pussy throbbing and nearly aching.

You looked around when you walked back, tiny, limp branch in your hand, quick paced when you brought it back to Eddie. "Here," You muttered, holding it out with a furious blush.

Eddie scoffed, bumming his cigarette into the ash tray. "Baby," He tutted, taking the small, pitiful excuse for a branch. "You really think this is going to work? Look," Eddie lifted the branch, it was limp and blowing in the small breeze when he pulled his hand back, cutting it through the air with a small, whistling swish! before promptly snapping in half.

Eddie gave you an unimpressed look, arms crossing over his chest. "Go, try again," He nodded towards the bush.

You huffed, stomping down the stairs. "Hey," Eddie snapped, hard and gruff.

You didn't turn, continuing on to the bush, knuckles scratching through the rough branches until you found a better one. Sturdy but not as thick as some, enough for some movement and a nice swish.

"How's this?" You pouted, holding the second branch back up to Eddie.

He took his time, rolling the branch between his hands, inspecting it carefully. He swung it in front of him a few times, relishing the way you jumped, thighs clenching and squirming with excitement.

"Is it good?" You asked, gaze lifting to his, rounded eyes desperate for approval.

Eddie hummed. "I dunno." He sighed, lips twisting. He stepped back, swinging it behind you before he snapped the branch down, suddenly on your sweatpant clad ass.

You yelped, jumping at the sting of the hit, even through the thick cotton. "Ow!" You hissed, glaring at him, hands furiously rubbing the sting. Your head whipped around, scanning to see if there was anyone out who could have saw, cheeks red with embarrassment at the thought, but you were pulsing between your legs.

Eddie grinned. "What do you think? Is it a good one?" He asked, cheekily. The little shit.

"It hurt." You pouted, rubbing your already sore cheeks, still sensitive from the spanking he'd given you only a few minutes prior.

"Hm, seems like a winner then." Eddie smirked, grabbing the scissors from you. "Go inside. In front of the couch. I'll be there in a minute."

You pulled the screen door, watching him click and clean the leaves and spare branched away. Your tummy flipped, squeezing and rolling with excitement, heat shooting from your heart down to your core. You scampered in front of the couch, kneeling in front of the middle cushion that Eddie always favored.

The squeak of the screen door's hinges followed by the clatter of it closing came soon, Eddie's heavy steps coming in, spinning the branch in his hand. His eyes were excited, darkened with his domineering demeanor.

"You ready?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, you nodded eagerly.

Eddie grinned. "I'm gonna have you bend over the back of the couch. That sound alright?" He asked. You stood, hurrying to bend over the couch by him, his hand stopping you. "Pants down, baby."

You shimmied out of your sweatpants, kicking them to the corner. Cotton panties, thin and bikini cut, a little faded with countless cycles in the wash that made them irresistibly soft. Eddie's mouth watered. There was a reason he made you keep them at his trailer, "just in case", he told you, and you pretended you didn't notice them in the dirty hamper from time to time, covered in his release.

"You know, maybe this will teach you to not be such a bad little brat. What do you think?" Eddie hummed from behind you, pinching the hem of your panties and bunching them up, so they rode further into your crack, exposing your cheeks.

You shivered. "I don't think we'll know unless you try." You snipped, looking over your shoulder, thighs rubbing together for some sort of friction.

Eddie smirked, swishing the branch through the air so it whistled, taunting. You squirmed with anticipation, excitement building in the pit of your tummy. "Hm," Eddie hummed. "Eyes forward." He snapped.

You straightened your posture, focusing on the small hall towards Eddie's room. You felt the branch, scratchy and hard rubbing across your cheeks, splotchy and red from the assault of his hand from earlier.

"I think ten to start." Eddie suggested, looking down at you carefully. He lifted a brow, scanning your features. "That good?"

You nodded, legs bouncing and squirming. "Just do it already, Eddie." You huffed.

Eddie scoffed, walloping your ass with his hand so you yelped. "Keep it up, baby," He warned, tapping the switch across your throbbing ass. "I'll take you outside. Make you bend over, grab your ankles, and really take this switch to ya." He grinned when your thighs pressed together.

He tapped the branch to your cheeks, lining up his first hit. He pulled back, sending the branch forward and snapping into the meat of your ass. Not as hard as he would with the cane, he was unsure with this and didn't want to hurt you. You yelped anyways, back recoiling at the hit, fisting the blanket in front of you.

Eddie paused, looking down at you carefully. "How was that?" He asked softly. This was pure play, a fun, adventurous thing for the both of you. Sure, you'd bratted earlier to get your way, but when didn't you.

You groaned, low and throaty. The switch stung, worse than the cane, which was saying a lot. It was surprisingly rougher than you expected, you didn't think you'd be able to tell the difference, but the sting across your cheeks told you otherwise. A sharp, nearly itchy type burn that had you desperate to rub the irritation out, attempt to soothe it.

"I'm good." You sighed heavily, back relaxing back into an arch, toes curling into the mesh carpet. You tried to not focus on how painful the throbbing was between your legs, pulverizing heat that left your head spinning.

Eddie grinned, lifting the branch back up. He aimed lower for the next two, quick snaps against your lower cheeks, hitting close to your core. Your legs shook, crying out at the pain, feet stomping into the carpet. He watched the way you writhed, crossing your legs tight, rolling your hips to try and relieve some of the ache in your pussy.

"I think you'd like that if I took you outside," Eddie brought the switch down on the top of your thighs, right where the meat of your ass curved into them. You howled out at the sting, far more uncomfortable than you expected it to be.

"I think you'd like the idea of someone seeing what a bad girl you are." Eddie purred, barely giving you a chance to register his words before he brought it back down harder this time.

Tears flooded your vision, hands clenched tight, your nails biting and digging into the palm of your hands. Eddie rubbed the ragged bark on your ass, taunting and mean, you squirmed. He brought it down again, unmerciful, relishing in the way you cried out, back arching with the hit.

"You like the idea of someone seeing you get put in your place? Yeah?" Eddie mocked, pulling his arms back, the switch hissing through the air, high pitched almost as a warning of the searing pain that was to come milliseconds later. "Or do you just like it when I'm a little mean with you?"

You sniffled, blubbering through the tears that ran down your throat, down your face and into a damp puddle beneath you. "N-No." You shook your head. "I don't li-like it." Your breath stuttered, thighs clenching at the sizzle of your skin.

"No?" Eddie challenged, mocking. He brought the switch down again, making you wail, before his hand was between your legs, pressing onto the cotton fabric of your panties, your slick arousal wetting them easily.

Eddie hummed. "Well, something's got you all turned on, baby." He snickered, tapping the switch to your red cheeks, furious at the assault. He brought it down again, this time towards your center again, making you jump, whining in protest.

"Do you just like it when I treat you like a bad girl?" Eddie mocked, laughing at your small whimpers. He moved so he was leaning over you, lips near your ear. You could feel his curls on your cheek, your neck, tickling you and making you shiver. "I think you like it when I put you in your place. When I make up new ways to punish you when you've been a brat. Isn't that right?"

You shuddered, stammering breaths that hitched and caught in your throat. He was right, and he knew it. He could tell by the way you were grinding into the arm of the couch, so desperate for any type of release on your aching core, you'd do anything.

Eddie's free hand swatted your bottom, not enough to be punishing, but hard enough to get your attention, reigniting the fire on your cheeks and making you cry out. "Isn't that right?" Eddie repeated, a low growl that had you whimpering.

"Yes," You croaked, eyes cutting over to him. Eddie smirked. "Yes, I like it." You admitted softly, squirming against the couch, hips rotating softly.

Eddie snorted, softly, though his eyes were dark like they always were when you played. "Last one." Eddie warned, switch tapping against your lower cheeks.

You braced yourself, brows pinching while he toyed with you, tapping and rubbing the branch, pulling it back just to watch you flinch and laughing at you when you did. You heard the ominous whistle of the switch catching wind before you felt the final blow, thin lined and scorching, sending you forward on the couch.

Eddie grinned when you heaved, a sob muffled into the cushions of the couch. You were grateful when he set the branch down, hands rubbing down your abused skin, easing some of the burn. You knew you'd be struggling to sit for at least a few days, burning skin that would reignite when touched.

"Good girl, you did so good." Eddie whispered, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands kneaded the flesh, warm and buzzing in his large hands.

You were limp, ass still elevated over the couch, body slumped into the cushions, crying at the sting and release. Eddie grinned, tongue running over his lips when he pulled your panties down slowly, eyes widening at your slick lips, peaking out from between your thighs.

"I think you deserve a reward baby, for being such a good girl." Eddie cooed sweetly, fingers running between your sopping folds.

You sniffled, turning your head to the side. You couldn't see him, knelt and hidden by the couch, but you could feel him. You could feel the small kisses he pressed into your skin, pressing one particularly sloppy, lewd kiss into your aching center.

"What do you say, hm? Want me to lick you, baby? Show you what a good girl you've been? Let you cum on my tongue?" Eddie asked, hands spreading your red cheeks apart, drooling at the sight before him. He was trying to restrain himself from devouring you right away, the sight of your clenching hole when he asked you nearly making him wither.

"Please," You croaked so pitifully and sweet that Eddie was sure his heart would melt.

He didn't waste time, no teasing or mocking. He licked you furiously, lapping at your clit like a man starved, nose buried in your tangy scent, eyes rolling back when you squirmed, pushing your hips towards him.

"Oh! Please, Eddie, 'm so close!" You cried out, toes clenching beneath him. His hands stretched the hot skin, making it burn and sting, only aiding to your rapidly approaching orgasm.

You wiggled, the tip of his nose nuzzling into your sopping hole while you whined, high and desperate. His hands squeezed the fat of your ass, abused and raw after his switching, tongue swirling around your clit, moaning loud into you. The vibrations from his throat made you clench, abdomen tight and eyes pinched, gushing over him, wetting his face. He didn't stop, not until you calmed, no longer thrashing and gasping out his name, hands reaching back to push him away.

Eddie fucked you hard after that, furiously humping into you, hands on your hips as he grunted loudly, slapping skin and sick squelches filling the trailer. You were glassy eyed already, whimpering at the sensation when he pulled out two more orgasms out of you.

Eddie finished his cigarette later, the thick smell of sex still linger in the air and mixing with the smoke. You were still ass up in the couch, glazed eyes and his release leaking down your thigh. Your cheek was squished the the cushion, drool and tears drying beneath you.

Eddie inhaled slowly, picking up the switch he'd thrown across the room. He turned it in his hands, inspecting it like he'd done before. "I think we should put this somewhere," He grinned, smoke clouding out of his nose. You blinked up at him, too fucked out and tired to fully engage. "Keep it somewhere special. A little keepsake, don't you think?"

He placed it on the TV stand, behind the framed photos and trinkets that littered it. A little reminder of your fun you'd had today, and a reminder to you to behave or he'd make you pick another one. Of course, that never deterred you much.

[wroteclassicaly]

can you do fireworks with...well I was going to way Gator but Steve also works if Gator is off the board.

Warnings: Language, friends to lovers, mentions of injury, Gator speaks a little rough towards reader, fluff, mentions masturbation, use of fireworks, alcohol, Gator being a dumb turtle boy, smut, and NSFW.

A/N: I had waaaaay too much fun with this one, so it’s obviously more than two paragraphs!

~*~

His headlights gave a too bright spotlight, causing him to trip over his own big ass feet, his zippo flying somewhere on the grass nearby. You snort at his antics, already flicking your bic to life and setting your sparkler ablaze. There’s an amber bottle of whiskey nearly gone, along with food wrappers and a blanket close by — courtesy of you, having stolen it off the end of Gator’s bed. You wave your stick around, dizzy off Jack Daniel’s and the buzz that being near your best-friend brings. Sharing one brain cell, the only person that can be around Gator Tillman full time (not without occasional headaches) — the town cannot separate you two. He drops to the ground, clearly irritated you got yours lit first.

“Hey,” you can’t help but to break in as he’s huffing between puffs on his vape, rifling through the grass with the other hand. He doesn’t look at you, but you continue. “Remember that time that you lit that fire rocket and accidentally sat on it? I swear I thought you broke your ass, man.”

Gator huffs in annoyance, clearly remembering what occurred just last year. You keep going. “I don’t know how you own a flame thrower and haven’t caught your junk or yourself on fire yet.”

“I am my junk, bitch!” He snaps, exasperated as you glares holes at you through the darkness.

The effects of heat coasting across the night breeze, crickets in the distance, and how the trees catch the rustling winds — it’s actually a nice ending to your day. You put your hands up, a snort leaving your mouth, especially right as you spot his lighter, reflected off his headlights. You motion to it with your sparkler, and he immediately grabs it, rolling his eyes. He paces a slight distance, he’s kneeling, his khaki camp tight across his legs, black shirt stretched over his biceps, tattoo on display. Your mouth waters, every imaginable scenario coming into play.

It’s not unusual to think about him this way. Hell, whenever you with someone else, it’s not their face that you see. Your best-friend has been at the end of every single orgasm you’ve had since meeting the shithead. You’re broken from your Gator-lusting reverie when his hand cracks the zippo to life, igniting the fireworks, crackling noises exploding and a fountain of colors explode into the air. Gator struts in front of them towards you in that way, hair strands blown into a disarray, hues of bright blues, golds, reds, pinks, and deep crimson lighting up the night sky behind him.

It’s a sight straight from a movie, and you don’t realize your sparkler has gone out. But it doesn’t matter, not as Gator clings to your energy and finds you chest to chest, tossing the stick from your hand. Your back is colliding with his truck in a vertigo-washed movement. He cradles your face, his breath soaked in jack, chew, and vape juice. It’s a big deal, but it’s also just two people meeting in ways that were always going to happen.

His nose bridge drags along your own as he pants the words across your mouth. “I’ve got rubbers in my glove box, babydoll. You gonna let me fuck you tonight? Teasing my cock so much, n’ you know it, too.”

“On the blanket…” you’re pawing at his shirt collar and he just shakes his head.

“Turn around and put your hands on my hood. You want me, you’re gonna take it the way that I give it to you.”

You’re immediately obeying, sky above faded out with streams of vibrant colors, smoke cloud wafting in this direction. He’s back after retrieving the items. It doesn’t take long…

~*~

He’d watched you touch yourself from behind, your jeans and thong on the ground below, as he slowly jerked himself off, enough until he’d achingly slid into the condom and spun you around. As much as he craved you in this position, he needed to see your face this first time, more than anything. He laid you upon the blanket, lifting your legs around his hips, and slid into you in one deep thrust, one you’d be feeling for days. You held tightly, groaning, whimpering pathetically into one another’s mouths. Your hands held a new, possessive purchase by digging into the plush of his bare ass, pushing him deeper.

He didn’t go home that night, and he didn’t take you home. But he did attempt to light another firework and you had driven him to the hospital to get his hand wrapped. Dumbass.

[wrightingdungeon]

Just a apple

I decided to write for my comfort ship, cus I'm depressed and fighting writer's block/imposter syndrome, this is essentially me making chicken noodle soup for my soul

Penny x Shane, fight me

Looking down at the apple in his hand, Shane let out a low groan. The fruit stared back at him, dull and unpolished—nothing like the shiny, wax-coated ones from Joja Mart. Some dirt still clung stubbornly to its skin as it had been plucked straight from the branch just yesterday, not washed yet. He turned it over, noticing a few scuff marks where it looked like Jas had dropped it a few times.

He recalled how Farmer had let Jas pick a few from their orchard the other day for her to feed the animals. But this apple wasn’t meant for them. Jas had cradled it in her small hands, determined to give it to her teacher, Penny. "So I won’t forget!" she’d declared proudly, placing it on the kitchen counter with a smile that made Shane’s heart ache a little less, knowing she would be a positive force on the world as she grew up.

Now, that same apple sat where she’d left it, a silent reminder of Jas’s disappointment. She had woken up with a fever, her cheeks flushed and forehead hot to the touch. Disappointment had flooded her eyes when she realized she wouldn’t be going to school. "But… but I wanted to… to give it to Miss Penny," she had murmured, her bottom lip trembling, her resolve crumbling in the face of illness.

Tossing the apple up once, then catching it in his calloused hand, Shane’s eyes narrowed. He could just leave it there, let Jas deliver it when she felt better. But something in him resisted that idea. Perhaps it was the gratitude he’d been nursing for a while, seeing how Penny took care of Jas—patient and kind—always ensuring she got the care and education he feared he couldn’t provide her.

“Fuck it…” Shane muttered under his breath, his resolve hardening as he gripped the apple tighter. He’d drop it off on his way to work; her house was on the route, after all. Just a simple gesture—a little thank you from an uncle who didn’t know how to say the words out loud.

Stepping outside, the cool morning air nipped at his skin. He set off down the familiar path, boots crunching softly against gravel. One of the few perks of being up early was the solitude—just Shane, the road, and the endless stretch of sky warming with the first hints of dawn. For a moment, he could almost convince himself the world was just his, silent and still, untouched.

Morning doves cooed from their perches, joined by the rhythmic buzz of cicadas hidden in the grass, their song rising and falling like the tide. Each step felt instinctive, every dip and curve of the road familiar. He could probably walk it blindfolded if he had to, honestly having walked home from the bar without releasing it a few times.

The apple grew warmer in his hand, grounding him, reminding him of the task ahead. What would he even say to Penny? ‘Hey, this is from Jas,’ and then just walk away? Or maybe try to say something more meaningful, and end up making a ass of himself.

He let out a heavy sigh, breath misting in the chilly air. It wasn’t like he was doing anything special—just delivering an apple. But it felt bigger, like it carried more weight than he understood. Maybe because Jas had put so much thought into this gesture, or because he felt he had so little to give in return.

As he approached the old trailer, Shane slowed his steps, taking in the sight of the once-vibrant home now dulled by years of wear, the shiny exterior was now rusting over. Empty beer bottles cluttered the ground around Pam's white plastic smoking chair, their glass glinting dully in the light. Shane let out a soft sigh, half-tempted to turn around and shove the apple in his locker at work, but he was already here. He’d even left earlier than usual, meaning he’d be standing outside Joja waiting for Morris to open the doors if he bailed now.

He leaned his head back, groaning softly, shaking it to summon the courage that always slipped through his fingers. Finally, he climbed the creaky steps, each one protesting under his weight. Lifting his free hand, he rapped quickly against the metal door and waited, telling himself he'd give it a minute—just sixty seconds—and then he’d be out of there.

As he began to step back, relieved by the lack of response, the door creaked open as if on cue to stop him. Shane paused, heart jolting as he saw Penny’s green eyes and bright red hair peek out, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Shane?” she whispered, her voice barely cutting through the morning air as she stepped outside. He caught a glimpse of Pam passed out and snoring on the couch behind her before the door clicked shut, leaving the two of them outside on the small porch. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, he stood there, awkward and unsure, the apple now feeling like a rock in his palm. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Jas picked this for you. Said you were a good teacher or somethin’.” He held out the apple, trying to sound casual, as if it didn’t matter.

Penny’s expression softened as she reached out, her fingers brushing against his. “Oh,” she said, eyes brightening in a way that made Shane’s chest tighten with unexpected warmth. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to tell her how much I love it.”

Silence fell between them, and Shane shuffled his feet, searching for something else to say. “She, uh, wasn’t feelin’ great this morning,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “But she wanted you to have it.”

Penny nodded, her gaze warm and understanding. “I hope she feels better soon,” she said softly. “I know how much she looks forward to coming to school.”

“Yeah,” Shane replied, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He didn’t know how to articulate the mix of guilt and gratitude swirling inside him. “She really cares about you, you know? It’s nice to see someone look out for her.”

Penny’s smile deepened, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world around them had faded away. “Thank you, Shane. That means a lot,” she said, her voice steady but laced with sincerity. “It’s easy to forget how much these little things matter.”

Shane shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I don’t do much, but… I try to be there for her.” He could hear the slight tremor in his voice, an unfamiliar vulnerability surfacing as he spoke.

“You do more than you realize,” Penny replied, her tone gentle, as if she could sense the struggle behind his words. “Jas sees you as a role model, you know?”

The warmth of her words surprised him, a soft ember igniting in his chest. Shane shifted, feeling an unexpected swell of appreciation. “Yeah, well… don’t go spreadin’ that around… Got a reputation to maintain,” he shot back, attempting to mask the fluttering sensation in his chest.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she replied, her playful tone laced with sincerity. For the first time in a long while, something inside Shane eased. He felt his mouth twitch, an involuntary smile threatening to break through, but he fought it back, maintaining his gruff exterior. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, though there was no bite to his words.

“You’re not as scary as you think,” Penny teased, tilting her head, her hair catching the light. It wasn’t fair how easily she got under his skin. “Deep down, you’re just… kind.”

“Alright, now you’re just talkin’ nonsense,” he muttered, heat creeping up his neck. He shifted, feeling like a teenager caught in an awkward encounter. “It’s just an apple, Penny. Don’t make a big deal outta it.”

“But it is a big deal,” she insisted, her voice gentle but firm. “You didn’t have to, but you did. And that means something…”

For a moment, Shane didn’t know how to respond. The sincerity in her eyes made it impossible to brush off her words. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta thank you. You work real hard,” he said quietly, the admission slipping past his defenses.

Penny’s expression softened further, her eyes shining with something deeper. “You’re the first to say that,” she murmured, fingers brushing anxiously against the apple’s smooth skin. “Sometimes, it feels like no one even notices.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not doin’ a damn good job,” Shane replied quickly, surprising himself with his certainty. “Jas, Vincent—they look up to you. And I… I’m grateful for that. Don’t think I say it enough.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words. Penny’s cheeks flushed a faint pink as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not as bad as you think you are, Shane,” she said, a teasing lilt underscored with belief.

He let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “If you say so.”

Penny smiled, lighting up her face. “I do say so,” she replied, winking as she reached back toward the door. “But you should really give yourself more credit. It’s okay to be kind, you know?”

He felt heat rise in his cheeks again, rubbing the back of his neck harder, as if to erase it. “Yeah, well… maybe I’ll think about it,” he replied, voice gruff but lacking real bite.

“Good,” she said, voice softening again. “I’ll see you around, Shane. And tell Jas I hope she feels better soon.”

“Will do,” he nodded, feeling strangely buoyed as he turned to leave, the weight of the morning feeling lighter.

As he walked down the steps, he glanced back one last time, catching Penny still standing there, watching him with that soft smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

He waved goodbye, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him, grounding him. With each step away from her porch, he realized that for the first time in a long while, he felt seen—not just the drunk who stumbled through life—but as someone worthy and capable of kindness and connection.

The world around him felt different, alive with possibilities he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it was true; maybe he was more than just a shadow in the background. He could be a part of something meaningful, all because of something as simple as an apple.

[yourmomxx]

[ glory and gore ]

jj maybank x male!reader

summary: jj guides you through your first smoking session

warnings: smoking, drugs, suggestive but no smut, light dom/sub undertones, light switch undertones, author has never smoked weed, kissing

word count: 3k

a/n: anon, I’m really sorry that this request took so long. If you stayed here the entire time and waited for me to write this, then I am utterly grateful and will kiss the ground that you walk upon. If not, I would totally understand and apologize again for the long delay. I just hope it was worth it!

requested

A mix of flaming orange and golden hues colored the evening sky, reflecting on the soft crashing waves of the sea, an indicator of the already low-setting sun. The hushed breeze of the wind tangled through the high blades of grass, and carried the salty smell of seawater through the air.

With your eyes closed, the sounds of the leaves brushing against each other was distinct, a rushing sound much sharper than the gliding of the waves, but calming all the same.

You felt your boyfriend’s hand carding carefully through your hair, absentmindedly twirling loose strands between his pointer finger and thumb ever so often.

You opened your eyes just a tiny bit, to squint up at him. JJ wasn’t looking at you, he was listening to something his friends said, and you had a good view at the underside of his jaw.

You watched as his lips closed around the filter. You were laying on his lap, he was sitting cross legged on the couch outside John B’s chateau. One could argue that this was a poor position, but to you, JJ had never looked more beautiful.

The stuffy summer air around you had painted his skin with a glistening layer of sweat. The dark grey tank top hung loosely around his shoulders, exposing the golden skin of his piercing collarbones.

Sunlight caught in the blond locks on his head, made them glow and look like a halo over him.

He was beautiful, sunkissed and precious, and the way his jaw worked when he bit the insides of his cheeks made you desire to reach out and kiss him, feel the inside of his mouth with your tongue, touch the soft skin of his neck.

But there was still Kiara and Pope sitting opposite the both of you, and you knew that if you started properly touching JJ now, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself. And where even was John B?

“I made a spear!”

Ah, there he was.

You opened your eyes now fully, shielding them with your hand from the low but still blinding rays of sun, and turned your head in JJ’s lap to get a good look on the brunet boy.

John B was a lightweight with nothing, except when it came to the consumption of weed. That was a cracking point for him. Might be the reason he rarely did it, or maybe the fact that he rarely did it was the exact reason why he reacted so easily.

Nevertheless, but this “slight vulnerability” of his, was the reason why he was standing right now in front of the four of you, holding a massive, and I mean massive stick – wherever he got that from -, with one end shaped to what only could be (should be) a peak, and from the sloppy notches you were easy to assume that John B had carved it into the stick with his pocket knife.

Said John B, whose smile was so beaming as his expectant eyes twitched between you, JJ, Pope and Kiara, like a child that wanted its drawing to be pinned to the fridge.

“No way, man!” Pope shouted out, amazed. He stood up from where he sat before the couch, legs only a bit wobbly.

Were you really the only person not high off your ass?

Pope made his way over to John B, successfully not tripping over any of the empty beer cans or takeout containers sprawled over the grass.

He reached for John B’s sti- spear. “Let me see.”

John B placed the spear in Pope’s hands, even if reluctantly.

Pope twirled the wood around in his hands, fingertips caressing over the bark. One moment he was mumbling something about different kinds of trees, and the next he suddenly raised the spear in the air and started chasing after John B with a yodeling battlecry.

John B was shrieking, running away from his friend and hitting hooks like a hunted rabbit.

Kiara rolled her eyes and let her head fall on the couch cushions. “Boys,” she groaned, but they didn’t pay attention to her.

JJ just watched, merely a grumbling laugh slipping out of his throat.

You looked back up at him.

JJ got calm whenever he smoked weed. It’s why you assumed he did it so often. The drugs calmed his thoughts, turned the rushing current into a smoothly rippling river, licking at his insides like shaping pebbles in the water.

You knew it was easier like this for JJ. You knew how the amount of thoughts running through his head everyday, overlapping with each other, screaming at his insides, and tearing through his skull, was easy to drive him insane. That he made a compensation of talking so much, so he could let some of those thoughts out of his mind verbally, before they got too loud and turned into something negative.

Something ugly, that told him what to hate about himself, and minimalize his worth. You knew that drugs weren’t the best option there was, but until you couldn’t find a better solution, until you couldn’t get out of this godforsaken town and away from everything that haunted him here, you had to be content with it.

The sunlight has almost vanished. You were still staring up at your boyfriend, captured in awe by his unwavering beauty.

If you had a camera, you would take a picture. Paint him like this, to keep it forever by your side.

The glooming light of the joint as he took a drag, a burning contrast to the now dark nightsky above him. How his jaw flexed as his lips loosely closed around the filter, and you couldn’t think of anything else than latching your mouth onto the edge of his bones, feeling the muscles work under your lips when his jaw fell slack and-

“You wanna try?”

JJ’s warm voice ripped you out of your thoughts, and put your feet back on the ground. He had a loose smile on his face, and held the joint between his ringed fingers, stretched a bit closer to you as an invitation. He must have noticed your longing gaze and complete misinterpreted it. He was oblivious like that.

The spicy scent of the smoke fully reached your nostrils as you eyed the joint carefully. And, actually – “Fuck it,” you shrugged, and held your hand out for him to put the joint in it.

JJ couldn’t help the confused look that crossed his face, and made his eyebrows shoot up. Then, the smile was quickly replaced by a knowing smirk.

Because here’s the thing: JJ had often asked you to smoke with him. Multiple times, actually. But until now, you had always denied him. Still, JJ had kept asking you, checking. Not in a pressuring way, more in a whenever – if ever – you are ready, I will be here to give it to you.

Turns out that whenever was today.

JJ put a hand on your back and maneuvered you off his lap.

“Come on, sit up,” he instructed and you did as you were told. JJ handed you the joint, and you mimicked the way you had always seen him hold it.

Cautiously, you lifted it to touch your lips.

“That’s it,” JJ said, “Now just pull. Breathe in.” You took a deep breath in, the taste of smoke and weed burning on your tongue.

“And now out.” A grey cloud of smoke came out of your mouth. JJ smiled at you. It was proud. “Attaboy.”

There was a tingling in your stomach, that rushed down right to the lower part of your body at his words. And it was not just you feeling this way.

JJ’s cheeks were flushed as he looked at you licking your lips to wipe away the aftertaste.

Usually, you were the one handling him and commanding him around, but this was JJ’s terrain, and he would be lying to say he didn’t enjoy taking care of you just a little bit.

There was a rasp in your throat but you managed to swallow it down.

“Look at you,” JJ praised, “Not even coughing.” JJ looked at you with a mix of adoration and surprise. Fuck that was hot. His lips were parted slightly. The tingling came back. You scrunched your eyebrows.

“I don’t feel anything. Should I take another one?”

Your boyfriend’s face broke out in a grin, as he took the joint from your fingertips in a swift motion. “Just give it a bit,” he said. “’t takes a bit to kick in.” You nodded. He would know.

“Can I lay on your lap again?”, you asked. JJ leaned back and planted his arms on the couch rest. “Be my guest,” he said, and god, his body was a sight to behold. Like a Greek god sculpted out of marble by Pablo Picasso himself.

You couldn’t help your eyes trailing along the exposed skin of his arms, his shoulders where the tank top ended, the curve of his biceps illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. Veins standing under the skin on his forearms, trailing down to his hands, where he had planted a ring on almost each finger.

Your mouth was watering, it was biblical. You knew how those fingers felt, feathery ghosting over your skin, and tugging on your hair, how they felt inside of you. You knew the sweat drippling from every pore of his body, caused by something else than the humid summer air, you knew it all.

And right now, it seemed to be the only thing you could think about, all-consuming eating up your mind, nagging at your brain, and tugging hauntingly at your insides.

You let your forehead fall onto JJ’s sprawled arm and buried your face in his skin. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could hear him chuckle and say, “Or that.”

You turned your head a bit to look at him. At the sight of your boyfriend’s face, you felt your heart speed up. You bit your lower lip, God, JJ was so pretty. Had his hair always been this fluffy? You reached up your hand and ruffled it through his blond locks.

“Fluffy,” you said, and then giggled. Fucking giggled. JJ felt like he was in second heaven, and he was pretty sure that wasn’t all the weed.

He leaned over to peck a small kiss on your lips, a short sign of the affection he felt towards you.

But you chased after his mouth when he leaned back again, and who had he ever been to deny you? JJ was a weak man.

Your lips moved against his, a sinful dance of skin against skin. He lightly bit your lower lip, and the soft moan that slipped out of you made his closed eyes roll back in his head.

He used the small gap to slide his tongue into your mouth, savoring the feeling of hot skin and the still lingering aftertaste of weed, his weed, his joint, his boyfriend, his everything.

All of it was his, the kisses, the lingering touches, the cries of pleasure in the night.

A loud shattering sound from inside the chateau made the two of you rip apart.

“Pope, that was a vase!”

“Oh, shit!”

JJ let out a soft laugh. “That’s gonna take ‘em a while to fix that.”

Near you, Kiara sighed exasperatedly. You almost flinched. In-between the drugs and the intoxicating force that was JJ, you felt kind of ashamed to have forgotten she was there.

“I better go check in on them,” she muttered. She rubbed her eyes and slowly stood up.

JJ waved her good-bye. “Have fun!” She threw him a look, corner of her mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“You too.” Then she disappeared inside the chateau.

Like he said, JJ Maybank was a weak man. So it was no surprise that the second Kiara was out of sight, his mouth was latched onto yours again, hungrily pressing against you.

There was no space or time, there was just JJ, smelling like deodorant and the salty beach air JJ.

JJ’s hands slid on your cheeks, and you felt him shift his weight to lean back into the cushions. Without breaking the kiss, you followed after him, supporting your weight with an arm on the couch, as the other one travelled down the shape of your boyfriend’s body.

You only felt JJ’s warm flesh under yours, and his soft skin on your fingertips as you slid your hands under his shirt. His chest heaved with every breath he took in, and you pressed your lips between the pecks the second they were exposed to the warm air.

JJ’s breath hitched above you, and you didn’t stop.

You were too caught up in the intoxicating motion, the feeling of electricity that shot through you at every sound, every touch.

His tank top was now pushed all above his nipples, and you let your mouth travel all over your boyfriend’s torso, sucking on his skin and planting featherlight kisses where you were sure there would leave a mark.

You could feel his heart racing in his chest, and you were sure yours did the same, as you looked up at JJ, head tilted back, eyes closed and lips flushed red and bruised from the violating kisses earlier.

“Jayj,” you sighed. Another kiss between his pecks. “I really wanna blow you.”

A heavy sigh slipped past JJ’s lip, a sound that made your blood sing golden tunes.

“We-we can’t,” he managed to get out. But even to him, it sounded weak.

“Besides, this is your first time getting high,” He rationalized. “I’m not gonna risk you throwing up or passing out while having my dick in your mouth.”

You pressed another warm kiss, closer to the hem of his jeans. You looked up at him through your lashes.

“Please JJ; I promise I’ll do it good.”

JJ’s eyes went wide at your words, but you also felt the skip of his heartbeat under your palm. He wasn’t used to this.

Usually, you were the one to tell him No, JJ, we can’t fuck in a McDonald’s bathroom and Yes, JJ, jerking me off under the dinner table would be inappropriate.

The roles were normally reversed.

Normally it was you who entered his bedroom with a dark glint in your eyes, and commanded him to drop to his knees.

Normally, he was the one begging and squirming, offering up all his ways so he could make you feel good, being rewarded with everything possible you could give to him.

And while this reversal was new to him and also kind of intimidating, JJ felt a feeling blossom inside of his stomach that told him he liked it that way, too.

Maybe he should get you high more often.

Clumsily, JJ leaned in your direction and clashed your lips together with his. The kiss was all teeth, and it was sloppy and hurt just in the best way, but it was what JJ needed right now. If he couldn’t fill the inside of your mouth with his cock then he would do it with his tongue at least.

Your fingers danced close to the waistband of his cargo pants, and fuck, every muscle of JJ’s rational thinking body had to restrain him from throwing his head back in pleasure and just letting you do your work. But he knew that he couldn’t.

“Pogues,” he panted in your mouth, before you captured him again.

You hummed. Your fingers were still working his pants. JJ made no move to stop your hands.

Suddenly, you broke the kiss and leaned down again, peppering his chest with kisses. JJ’s pulse stuttered when he felt your teeth nip at his collarbone, and you started sucking where your teeth had grazed just seconds before.

Another sigh. “Jayj.”

Moments later, that could have been seconds, that could have been hours, you leaned away and started the same procedure under his right nipple.

Biting, kissing, sucking.

JJ knew you would leave blue and purple marks over his tanned skin, but did he care, fuck no. It was all the more reason for him to ask the pogues to go surfing with him tomorrow, throwing off his shirt and displaying the marks of your lust to the crashing waves and the stinging sun, pride washing into him like the flood after a tide, because he was yours yours yours.

JJ knew now what people meant when they talked about out of body experiences. He felt like he was floating, no longer held down with anything, on his own assigned cloud of heaven.

And if he never got there after death, then at least he knew what it felt like while he was still alive.

The cooling air of North Carolina around him, he felt it on his every pore, cicadas chirping, the only witnesses to this magical moment of his life, existing.

The soft feeling of your lips against his again was what made JJ come back down. He kissed you with everything he had, everything he felt, because it’s what you deserved, nothing less.

If he could, he would lay the world at your feet. The whole merchant gold, it shall be yours if you asked for it.

But he knew you never would.

“I love you, JJ,” you murmured as you nuzzled into his neck. JJ smiled. His skin was still flushed and his heart was still pumping blood through his veins at an enormous speed, but God, he could fall asleep like this.

“I love you too, baby.”

Absentmindedly, his thumb stroked the exposed skin just under your shoulder, and he felt your hands glide over his collarbones.

“I really fucking need a pizza,” you suddenly grumbled into his neck. You could feel JJ’s chest vibrating, as he let out a soft laugh.

He couldn’t believe how, a few minutes ago, you were begging him to be allowed to suck his dick, and now you were lying on top of him, all curled up and adorable, with your nose buried in the crook of his neck, holding him close to you as if he could disappear at any second.

“We will order one when you wake up, sweetheart,” he promised.

“Hm,” you hummed, but it didn’t really matter, honestly, nothing mattered right now. In the back of your mind, your ears registered the lapping of the waves, and the rushing of the leaves in the trees, and JJ’s hand on your scalp, and the rising and falling of his chest underneath your arm.

The domestic feeling you fell asleep with could not be beaten by any blowjobs in the world.

[beanghostprincess]

Fem Sanuso is on my mind again... And I can't stop thinking about them.

Usopp and her long hair falling over her shoulders like a chocolate fountain (she has a very strict hair routine although it doesn't look like it), dressed in loose sweaters or tight tops under her baggy overalls or long wavy skirts. Usopp wears a lot of jewelry she handmade with stones and shells she has found during their trip, and silly hats that are animal-shaped that Nami has helped her knit. She doesn't wear much make-up because she finds it rather stupid, but when she does it's always earth tones matching her outfits and she has sooo so many badges and keychains on her clothes and bags. Her hands are always stained with paint and oil and she still manages to smell like wood and wet grass only. She's toned, and strong, with a wide waist, and since she always wears boots, she looks taller than she is. Her hands and arms have some scars and she's constantly showing them off so so proudly, just like her stretch marks for losing so much weight so quickly in the time-skip. She always has some bug and insect around to talk to or take care of and she's so feminine and mother-like to them that Sanji understands why every little thing wants to be their friend. She's extremely chaotic too, of course, and she's always ready to play with Luffy and Chopper no matter the game or shamelessly go annoy the shit out of Zoro.

Sanji and her long blonde hair in a bun and some strands all over the place, with her bangs still covering her right eye (looking a bit too much like her mom). She dresses in her usual suits but sometimes she chooses to wear tight or short skirts instead, or just long dresses that most of the time shares with Robin. Sanji doesn't wear a lot of jewelry, only a necklace Usopp made for her with a shell but that's pretty much it (she never takes it off), and perhaps a bracelet or two (... Also made by Usopp, of course). Unlike Usopp, whose beauty is purely natural, Sanji is a bit too concerned about her looks to not have a make-up routine. She doesn't wear too much, though, only enough to cover her eyebags and give herself a bit of a softer touch. The aprons she wears always look so good on her and despite having smaller boobs than the other girls, the curve around her chest when she wears tight clothes makes her girlfriend go insane. She's skinnier than Usopp but her thighs are wider and trained, with some stretch marks and scars she doesn't want to talk about but Usopp teaches her to worship them and look at them with pride. She looks sweet, and she is, but she could easily beat your ass and she's always complaining about men everywhere and ready to burn to a crisp/kick everybody that crosses her or her girls.

They're so sweet!!! So clingy!!! Usopp will make necklaces for Sanji and Sanji will cook all the vegetables she plants. They exchange clothes sometimes, Sanji wearing Usopp's big, brown sweaters and Usopp using Sanji's shirts. Sanji is constantly sitting on top of Usopp and Usopp is always hugging her tight while they sleep. Sanji is always kissing her forehead and Usopp never misses a chance to kiss Sanji's hands. Sanji stains her cigarettes with lipstick? Usopp will take it from her and kiss it before throwing it off because "really, babe, you should stop smoking" / "Oh, but you find it so hot" / "... Kind of? No! Not- Not the point". Sanji helps Usopp with her hair routine and Usopp helps her with breakfast. They're. Always. Together. Unless Luffy is asking for Usopp's attention or Robin wants to have a chat with Sanji.