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wroteclassicaly · 5 months

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Pick You Up At 7

(Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader)

Summary: When your date goes bad, Gator reacts in unexpected ways.

Warnings: Language, implied smut/smut, low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, food insecurity, fat phobia, fat shaming, Gator and reader roast one another, have nicknames, mentions periods, Gator being a tad misogynistic, anxiety, and depression.

Word count: 2,913

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader

A/N: This one isn’t for the faint of heart, folks! It’s straight up self-indulgent, it’s intense. So… yeah. Read the warnings and read at your own risk! Wanted to provide a little release/comfort for myself, and I’m proud of this one!

You knew they were laughing as soon as you got into the office the next morning. Not so subtle hushed whispers and baiting for remarks that you’d normally snap back with. But you keep your head down, lunch forgotten in the car. You’d never let someone tell you what he had last night, not usually, but you’re sure that it’s what you expect from the guy you hate yourself for really wanting - will do, that’s got you worked up the most.

No, that’s a lie. It’s an added situation, but what happened on your date last night, you’ve never felt so disgusted or panicked.

The men continue to talk before they go back to paperwork and shit talking, leaving you to shed your winter attire carelessly by your rolling desk chair. You sit down as if it’ll break, pulling your long gray buttoned down cardigan over your form. It’s not what you usually wear, either. Proud to show off your figure, knowing the guys here aren’t into your extra pounds, it never bothered you that much to put your cleavage on display while working in the police station as their only secretary. If they have any inkling towards you, then it’s ‘do me a favor’ or ‘get a beer for me, maybe join the rest of the boys as we hit on every other female but you’ kinda thing.

The air in the place changes before the sound of his thick leader combats approaches your desk. You keep your head down and plead, pretending to organize old files that are ready for the shredder.

Please don’t. Please don’t come over here. Please. Please.

“Hey, twerp.” He leans over the counter, vape in one hand, his newly freed arm propped across his other.

You raise a brow as your simple acknowledgement, trying to hold your breath as his cedarwood cologne and mint hair gel soak into your nostrils when he bends down to sort through the little decorative holographic candy dish you keep. Annoyingly, seconds later he’s whining. “Where’s the goods at? The fuck? Shit’s practically empty.”

Go away.

You manage to speak, cringing at how cracked your voice is, dangling over the precipice of breaking down. Here. In front of everyone. In front of him.

“I’m working right now. Go to the Dollar Tree if you want candy so fuckin’ bad.” You don’t even address him with a nickname or his last name. And it unnerves him. With a shove of your small crystal bowl, you watch the leftover mints slosh onto the counter and over your papers, and only then your reaction is what he wants. He needs you to look at him.

He’s smirking and chewing on the filter of his vape, blowing a smoke cloud into the air and making you grit your teeth. That clock in the distance sounds louder, cheaper. And Gator Tillman takes your distracted gaze and creeps around and starts looking at your desk. It’s your space here, regardless. And up until now, he used to know that too. You sigh, asking him what he’s doing,

“Where’s your purse, kid? You must be hiding it all in there. You on the rag, that it? Would explain why you’re being a bitch and the stuff isn’t here.”

“Gator…”

He kicks your coat aside, but pauses his searching when you say his name. Like a damned addiction he can’t yet admit to

“Calm your granny panties down. Where is it at?”

“It’s not here.” You’re losing control of yourself. He keeps pushing.

“Why? You know nobody gives a shit if you bring your red tide plugs in here. Can’t have you bleedin’ all over shit. It’s mighty unprofessional, you know?”

“Take your shriveled little ballsack elsewhere, I’m bored with you.” He’s grateful you’re engaging, hands sliding over his cargo pockets and patting.

“Or —“

Your heart rate accelerates, knowing exactly where this is going. It’s why he originally came to your desk, you’re not stupid.

“ — You didn’t get laid last night. Would also explain this crap.”

“Stop it.” It's pathetic, a weak demand, even to your ears, but it’s all you got, that anxiety clawing your esophagus and winding up around your lungs like a cobweb, squeezing like a vice.

“I told you he was a loser, darlin’. You never listen. So what happened?”

“I asked you to quit.”

“And I asked you what happened. What? He’s too much of a pussy to put it in when there’s a little blood? Did it make him queasy —“

You’re out of your chair and facing him, hands on his leather jacket. And he’s down in your chair, the wheels moving so fast that he flies back and hits the filing cabinet, scattering things everywhere, his legs coming up and then his heels slamming down rather comically. The guys howl in the background, making Gator having to inhale sharply to get it together. You’re walking away from him and down the hall to the restroom where he follows, walking right in behind you and slamming his hand on top of the metal stall door to prevent it from closing.

You try but it’s no use. Your fight is gone, the burn blurs your vision, scorching your throat, making everything hazy.

“You don’t fuckin’ do that to me in front of them, you hear me? You don’t disrespect —“

A sniffle that would’ve been quieter, it echoes in the expanse of the cold, gray walls. You pass him and find yourself clutching the sink, pleading. It’s like you’ve lost all ability to walk, to think, to process how to guard your tightly kept emotions.

And it scares Gator Tillman to death.

“Gator, please just go away?”

His boots creak and squish on the floor as he pivots and finds a space beside you, folding knuckles resting beside your hand, nearly touching, a warmth that threatens you both within its encasement.

“Is this about your outfit? The baggy sweater thing? You know the guys all stare at your big tits when you wear those other tops, right?”

You’d laugh, even be prideful, but you don’t believe a damned thing right now. Because in spite of what he says, you know Gator has a soft spot in his heart that isn’t touched by his namesake’s cruelty. You shake your head and watch him take the vape out, your eyes glistening with tears when you take in his form. He blows a line of smoke and damn near chokes when he sees the actual tears drip down your cheeks.

“Can I have a hit of that?” It’s a bold move. In part because you always roast him for it, and two, because his mouth has just been on it and he’ll get to taste you. You’ll be tasting each other.

He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours. He wants nothing more than to touch you, and he has to fight himself where he stands, feeling an electricity at the nape of his neck that shocks his flesh full of goosebumps, as you wrap your lips around the mouthpiece and puff a few times, coughing. He smiles softly, in spite of the situation.

You, you’re trying to mull over how you can taste his minty saliva beneath the nasty ass acidic fruit cloud that’s misting over your lungs. “Jesus Christ, what flavor is that?”

Taking it back, he’s all too eager to sample you, clicking his lips together and pocketing the vape. “Think it’s banana kiwi.”

There’s a comfortable beat before you both remember why you’re here. It dawns on Gator then, and you both know it. There’s this dark look that pools in the mossy oak of his gaze, drowning out all rationality. His voice cracks sharp, a tone that you’ve never heard before. “Did he hurt you? What happened last night?”

“Just drop it, okay?” You find your voice again, but Gator is already seeing red, a tunnel vision of fire and brimstone with your date from the night prior.

You aren’t ready for it, not in the slightest. Your skin prickles to life, body drenched in elation, relief, and struggling to catch up with your racing heartbeat. His pointer and middle fingers find your chin in the gentlest press, tilting. “Kiddo…”

“Doesn’t matter what he did.”

“You know it fuckin’ does.” Gator’s thumb twitches as it catches a teardrop. It tracks across your jaw and back.

You’re a little angry now, finally snapping at him like an animal that’s cornered. “Fine. You wanna know what he did, Mr. Prom King?” Gator winces at how you use his former title, clearly not impressed. You didn’t run in the same circles and he knows where this is going.

“Twerp, c’mon —“

“Just shut your mouth and listen for once, since you want to know so badly.” Your hands leave the speckled counter and you step away, swiping at your damp eyes. “He took me to dinner and waited until the waiter came to take our orders, to tell them that he wasn’t paying for mine. And you know, I just thought he was a douche. But I guess he had the smarts to wait until the waiter left again before he told me that what I ordered wasn’t appropriate, so he didn’t feel comfortable paying for it.”

Gator, still a little confused, speechless, questions, “Well, what did you get?”

“Steak and fries.” You want to scream at what Gator is not seeing.

“But most people like that kinda shit? I eat that every weekend —“

You blow out a breath that causes you to choke on a small whimper. This causes Gator to change his tune. “Wait…”

“He thought I should have the side salad for ‘someone my size.’ And after dinner was over, he made it a point to inform me that no one would go out with someone dressed in a dress that tight. How embarrassing it is.”

Gator is positively seething now, teeth clenching. And the fact that you wore this for the dickbag and he wasn’t all over you?

“I pointed out that at least half a dozen women in the restaurant were wearing more revealing outfits, that it’s not up to him or anyone else to judge. And he couldn’t wait to cut me off to let me know that he didn’t care about that. He cared about…” Your voice breaks and you laugh in wet disbelief.

“He cared about what?” Gator’s tone is at toxic levels now, nearing a whisper.

There’s no way to hide how you're openly sobbing now, snotting, lower lip quivering. “He cared about girls like me thinking guys like him wanna see someone who weighs this much, wearing something like that.”

“He needs his ass strung up on a barn door and used as target practice —“

“Don’t act like you give a shit, Tillman. I’ve seen the posters in your room, the girls you flirt with at the bars, the ones you talked to in school. Don’t be a fucking marauder with me.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even know me in highschool!” He’s offended and it pisses you off. Another fib. In this small town everyone knows everyone, or at least hears of them - that is a given.

“Oh, I knew you. I knew your crowd. And you all made it abundantly clear I was to stay out of the way. You’re just like all of the other assholes around here when it comes to how you treat women, nothing changes. Weight defines everything, even when it shouldn’t, no matter what body type a person has. It always does to people.”

“Then why the fuck did he ask you out if he was going to act like a bitch?” Gator goes straight for it with a sigh of confusion.

You laugh this time, a sound that levels Gator with diabolical unease. “He was bored and wanted someone to get him off, so he thought I’d be an easy enough, sure thing. Entitled fucking prick.”

It’s a somber silence after, your dying sniffles ceasing as you swipe your nose and attempt to collect yourself, stomach hollow and nauseated. You can’t stay here anymore, not after this. You manage to look at Gator and step with one hand on the bathroom door. “I’m going back to work. If you can not tell the other guys, I’d appreciate it.”

And as Gator is left alone in the cool, dim light bathroom, he’s already formulating an idea, going straight out the back entrance and into his squad car.

The next hour went by quicker than you thought, giving you time to push away all thoughts of your confrontation and reveals with Gator. You’ve given him more ammo to tease you with, but you’re also wondering why he’s not here? You’re in the midst of stacking new department funding files when you hear it. Your date’s voice.

“I didn’t do nothin’! You know I didn’t!”

And another, one that has your mouth going dry.

“Get your ass movin’, pencil dick.”

Your jaw is close to dropping, becoming unhinged seconds later as Gator rounds the corner in his gear, your date’s collar clutched in his fist, the vape in the other, and a very noticeable split across your date’s lip, complete with a bloodied nose. Gator stops short in front of the desk, shoving your date into its edge. He’s panting heavily, raising a brow at you, Gator amused from behind.

“Hey, twerp.” Gator grins like the Cheshire Cat. “Got a booking for ya to process!”

“I… what?” You come up with.

“You gonna tell her what you did, shitbird?”

“What’s going on?” You and Gator are going back and forth, your former date nearly ignored. This is not a coincidence. And you’re practically glued to your chair at the notion that Gator went after him in your honor.

Does this mean…?

“Caught this fucker side swiping candy at the damned Dollar Tree. What kind of prick does that when it’s a dollar?”

“I was not!” Your date is shouting.

The Dollar Tree? Wait…

You feel as if you’ve been hit with a pillow and swallowed the feathers, enjoying their light tickles that scratch at your throat. You want to laugh. By golly, you almost do. Gator whistles for another officer that takes your date down the hall. Seconds later he’s leaning on bended elbows, jacket crunching, his voice a whispered hum for you to hear, and you alone.

“Didn’t wanna forget this.” He unravels his arms and slides one into his pocket, his massive palm full of the candy you both like. He lets it spill into your dish, waiting a few beats before speaking again. “All good now.” With a snatching of his favorite piece of chocolate, he knocks his knuckles on your countertop.

“Get him processed in, yeah?”

You nod dumbly, watching him walk away. He turns around and waves with one finger, however, before he meets the other policeman and your ex-date.

“By the way, be ready at seven. I’m gonna pick you up and we’ll get supper.” He elgonates a leather clad arm, fingertips drumming on the doorway. His voice is raspy when he focuses back on you, eyes dark in a completely different way. “Wear that dress too.”

Your legs tighten together and you pinch at your cardigan, fanning yourself.

“You get your ass movin’ down that hallway, short stack!” Gator finishes, turning to you one last time and flashing a cheeky little wink.

Gator did indeed pick you up in his truck. Seven on the dot. He wore nice dark jeans and a crisp white button up, loosened to let a silver chain peek out, nestled amongst the thick chest hair, his leather jacket over him, hair slicked back, and his watch and normal boots. You wore that tight dress with a little unease, and slightly heeled boots over your sheer black tights, a few rings adorning your hands. When Gator walked you to your side of the car after walking you out of your house, you weren’t regretting anything about the purchase of the form fitting dress any longer.

When you got to dinner, Gator waited as you ordered, encouraging you to get the steak and fries that he knew you wanted. And after drinks, you shared the biggest piece of chocolate cake in the joint. Conversation flowed easy, felt good. Your old date wasn’t mentioned, but you both knew. Gator had taken you back to his place (per your request), where he’d laid you down in his bed and held your legs open until you were begging him to fuck you. And that he did.

His hand splayed atop yours, your dress around your waist, he’d taken you from behind, plaster escaping his paneled wall as a result. When that had ended, he’d stripped you free of everything, and walked you to his mirror, chin on your shoulder, fingers in your cunt. Showing you what he liked about your body, but telling you that it doesn’t matter what anyone but you thinks. And if anyone thinks differently, he’d put them all away. Impractical, but enough to cause you to cream his thick digits and soak his floor.

The next day, you’d worn your most low cut top with pride, settling at your desk to another empty candy dish. When you look up, Gator is smiling in your direction, that damned vape in one hand, candy wrapper in the other.

We all need someone to help us feel good about ourselves sometimes.

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crowbasils · 3 months

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Seeing people call BASIL out of all OMORI characters “cowardly” is… pretty funny, when all things considered, SUNNY is more of a coward than BASIL is. In fact, his cowardice is what drives OMORI in the first place.

SUNNY being a coward is… pretty much a big part of his character. He runs away from anything he finds scary. He runs away from anything he finds uncomfortable. He runs away from the truth, and even created an entire world in his mind to shield him from it. While yes, when it comes to HEADSPACE, i know he’s grieving, but as for everything else, it shoes that he has displayed cowardly tendencies even before. We also see that in the phobia fights, the button for the running option is changed to “Run!” instead of “Run…”. He is the embodiment of a coward. and while he may have been brave in facing the truth, he was only able to do it after the encouragement his friends (and BASIL especially) gave. He was only able to lessen his intense fear of things after thinking about MARI encouraging him.

He is such a coward, and it’s okay! Cowardice isn’t inherently bad, and SUNNY is a display of that.

#SUNNY OMORI #OMORI SUNNY #OMORI

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mockerycrow · 4 months

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CHIROPTOPHOBIA (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist

summary; you meet kyle’s team for the first time and bond over his suffering. 2.9k words! note; the flashback is implied to be past "the day we met"!

[WARNINGS; alcohol consumption, pre-relationship, phobias of bats and rabies, near panic attack from gaz, fluff, humorous overall.]

The pub Kyle dragged you to—the tables have turned it seems, as you’re usually the one dragging him when he’s on leave—is fairly loud and smells like peanuts and alcohol, but has such a comforting vibe to it. It’s familiar. Messy, but honestly for a meeting like this, there’s no other pub he would have chosen. Of course Kyle is the one driving with you in the passenger seat. You’re controlling the music this time, the radio turned to a comfortable volume where you can still hear each other if one were to speak.

Tonight is the night. You’re meeting his team for the first time and for some reason, you have this nervous itch under your skin. You’re bouncing your leg in the car, chewing your lower lip and looking out of the car window. Kyle nudges you after taking his eyes off of the road for a moment to check on you, considering how silent you’ve been. “Hm?” You hum, your head snapping to look at him. Kyle’s leaned back comfortably in his seat, one hand on the wheel and the other leaning on the center console like an arm rest. He’s wearing a delicious dark red button up, his facial hair minimal like always.

Fuck.

“I asked if you were alright.” Kyle murmurs in response, his eyes glued to the road. You catch a glimpse of a necklace dangling in the neckline of the button up—you avert your eyes to the road ahead of you, the car slowing to a stop at a red light. “Yeah, just..�� You let out a slow breath in an attempt to calm yourself, but of course, it only makes the flighty feeling underneath your skin worse. Your eyes read the license plate of the car in front of you absentmindedly. “Nervous, I guess.”

Kyle’s thumb taps against the steering wheel at your response. “Nervous?” Kyle echoes with a questioning tone. “No need to be nervous, sweets. They’ve heard a lot about you, they’re excited.” He assures you, smile evident in his tone as he speaks. You roll your shoulders for a moment before groaning as all attempts to chill out have failed thus far. “Okay, but what do we even talk about?? Like, I’m horrible at talking about myself. Ask me my favorite color and I’ll tell a lie out of panic.” You complain, glancing over at him as the car starts moving once more.

Kyle lets out a chuckle, the sound heard clearly over the music playing in the background. It warms your stomach for just a moment before the beat passes. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out, yeah? There’s going to be five of us there.” Kyle hums, your eyes hovering on his charming soft smile. He says your name before continuing. “I promise you won’t have to carry the conversation. You’ll be fine; now, cheer up, we’re nearly there.”

Right. Everything will be fine.. Everything will be fine.

Kyle only regrets introducing you to them slightly. The ever so slightest, littlest bit. He should’ve known the conversation would go like this. Go to.. That.

“So,” Price had uttered, his voice hoarse and low before he took a small sip of his glass of alcohol. “How long have you known about Kyle’s problem?”

Kyle’s head snaps to his Captain, his eyebrows pushed up the farthest they can go. “My problem?” Kyle gawks, shock evident in his tone. You can’t help the laugh that leaves you, the laugh that causes Johnny—Soap, who you learned him to be after Kyle’s stories—to lean forward with a grin. Ghost seems reserved, but you’re certain you see his crows feet. “His problem?” You echo with a smirk, side eyeing Kyle as you sip on your own drink. You set it down, your eyes landing back on Price, his Captain. “You mean his bat problem?”

Kyle groans, rubbing his face. “For the love of God.” He hisses, holding no venom in his tone. It causes everyone’s amusement, to his disappointment. Ghost shifts in his seat as Price lets out an amused huff, his fingers twitching around his glass. “Ye mean he’s always had a fear of—” Johnny begins to speak, but is interrupted by Gaz shoving at his arm playfully. “Oi! It’s not a fuckin’ secret noo’, is it?” Johnny says, his accent thick and accompanied by a winning smile. “No, it isn’t.” You agree, sending Kyle a grin who is sending back a “please don’t” look. Of course, you don’t listen.

“So, it all started at this summer camp Kyle and I attended together..” You begin with a smug tone, which makes Kyle sigh in defeat. You glance at him and he motions for you to go on. You stifle a laugh before taking a sip, glancing between the men. “We were young, I don’t remember how young but we were over the age of thirteen.” You begin, gears turning in your skull to attempt to recall the story. Your fingers tap against the table for a moment; mindless fidgeting. “We were partnered up since the camp had a buddy system for anything exploratory. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m sure it didn’t start here, but anyway…”

“Do you even know how to navigate the map?” You question Kyle, who is standing on a large rock that sits in the middle of a split path, holding out a giant piece of paper that had worn down fold marks; the map. He huffs, glancing down at you, where you’re standing in the midst of the split path with a worried expression. “Of course I do! I did pay attention to the navigation classes, you know. Did you?” Kyle asks you with an accusatory tone, but you know he’s just jabbing at you due to worrying so much. Always the person to try to calm you, hm?

“Yes,” You utter, telling a half truth. It’s not that you didn’t pay attention, but at the moment you were running on maybe three hours of sleep minimum and barely processed anything that was being taught to you. You have half a mind to blame Kyle directly for this, as you stayed up nearly all night, secretly playing games with him. “Just.. didn’t grasp the concept as well as you.” You pout, making Kyle roll his eyes and turn his eyes back to the map. You look around the forested area; the only sign of humans being the man made gravel paths beneath your worn down hiking footwear.

You take a deep breath, the lukewarm air entering your nose and filling your lungs. It smells like.. Well, outside. You can smell the scent of the pungent soil, the woodsy smell of partially rotted wood from the century old trees that surround you. You can smell some sort of animal excrement that makes your nose wrinkle—you also focus on that sweet, sweet, annoying cicada zing that constantly rings through the air. The sun is high in the sky, right in the middle of the blue. The air smells clean and when you Kyle, a little voice in your head says that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Alright!” Kyle exclaims, the sound of his voice and the map crinkling between his fingers back into an imperfect square snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance at him where he’s stuffing the map into the water bottle holder, between the bag and his water bottle. Probably a bad place for it, but you don’t get the chance to correct him. Kyle hops off of the rock, his feet landing onto the gravel below, making you back up half a step. “It’s the left path that’ll lead to the hill.” Kyle continues, looking at you as he loops his thumbs between the straps of his backpack and himself.

You blink for a moment, raising a brow. “Are you sure?” You ask, some residual worry remaining. Kyle’s eyes dart for a moment before they meet yours once more. “Yes, I’m sure. Bloody hell, makin’ me doubt myself.” He laughs for a moment, reaching for the handle of your backpack and pulling you closer. You huff and shove him gently, but you fall into a nice pace next to him, walking the left trail together. You glance around the trail, your eyes scanning the trees and the assortment of plants, poking out just enough into the path to brush by your exposed femurs. You hope none of it is poison ivy or anything of that sort.

The walk is nice, but it is long. You find yourself drinking much more water than you anticipated, which when the opportunity presented itself, you paused Kyle by putting a hand in front of him. He stops when his chest presses against your palm and he looks down at you with a questioning look, his brown eyes scanning your face. You throw a thumb over your shoulder at a little area of fluffy, concealing plants. “Gotta piss.” You utter, making Kyle groan. “We only have a little ways t’go. You sure you can’t hold it?” Kyle attempts to negotiate, which causes you to look at him. “I’d prefer to not piss myself.” You respond.

Kyle groans and looks around, finding himself a rock to sit on while you do your business. You roll your eyes playfully as you make your way across the trail and behind the plants you spotted before. You set your pack down and took out a travel sized pack of tissues from the front pocket. In the middle of you doing your business, you hear a sound you never wanted to hear—Kyle’s scream. Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat hearing it and your mind races a million miles an hour.

“Kyle??” You shout, swearing under your breath as your fingers struggle to button your pants back together. Your hands are trembling because you’re quite literally out in the wilderness with only pocket knives and walkie talkies as defense and communication. You nearly trip over the backpack that rests on the ground, but you catch yourself and stumble out to the path, your chest feeling tight. You look around, your eyes wildly moving to spot your friend. You find him on the ground, scrambling backwards, dirtying up his backpack in the process. “Kyle!” You shout, exasperated. You run towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder when he screams again, his arms coming up and flying around his head like something is attacking him.

“Jesus—Kyle, what’s going on??” You grab his wrists to stop him from hitting you. He looks up at you with pure fucking unadulterated fear. Fucking hell, he’s already broken out into a worse sweat than the heat previously gave him. You look around, ready to rip out the knife sticking out from the other side of his backpack, but you don’t see any active threat. You let out a harsh breath, putting a hand on your beating heart. “Kyle, what in the hell made you scream like you were bein’ chased by a damn bear??” You curse him, lightly kicking his backpack. Admittedly, you feel a bit frustrated at his.. Joke.

“Bats,” Kyle gasps out, scrambling to his feet, so fast he almost topples back over onto the gravel below. Which, by the way, is all over his backside now. “Fucking bats—Oh my God, I didn’t get bit, did I? They were fuckin’ everywhere t.. the second you were gone, please check my head, they didn’t, right? No bites??” Kyle rambles, grabbing onto your upper arms. He quickly shoves his backpack off, thumping against the gravel path. He hurriedly contorts his neck in different ways, presenting his skin to you, even pulling at the collar of his shirt to show you more skin. You blink, standing there for a moment before he says your name desperately.

“Bats.” You repeat, your eyes roaming his neck for bites. Kyle pulls back and you hold eye contact with him for a moment. A beat passes. “Do not laugh at me,” He hisses, seeing the way your shoulders are moving up and down, the way your eyebrows quirk and the way you press your lips together in an attempt to hold down a smile. “Oi!” Kyle shouts as you aren’t able to contain your laughter. It’s not a joke! Even better.. It’s a fear. “You’re such an arse!” Kyle snarls for a second, going to pick up his bag. You reach and grab his wrist, pulling him to prevent him from stomping off like you know he would have.

“Wait! Wait, wait—” You choke out another giggle before waving your free hand in the air. “I’m sorry, Ky. I am.” You murmur his name, feeling his wrist flex underneath your fingers. “Let me check your neck, yeah?”

Kyle huffs. His face is burning from embarrassment. He knows it’s stupid, but he genuinely isn’t able to help it. He relents, turning around. You pull at his shirt a bit, your fingertips brushing over his skin. You let out a soft sigh. “No bites, right? They’ve got rabies. Can’t be bit.” Kyle pushes out, showing how panic is still running through his veins. You let go of his shirt and pat his back. “No bites, Kyle. You’re fine.” You assure him, more serious this time but the humor running through your words is not lost on him.

He turns back around and lets out a relieved sigh, his eyes nervously looking in the sky, in the trees. “So..” You begin, picking up his bag for him, grunting as you hand it to him. Kyle slides his backpack on with a huff. “What happened?”

Kyle rubs the back of his neck as you fetch your own backpack, using the remaining water in your first water bottle to rinse your hands, then using a small travel pack of hand sanitiser to clean your hands thoroughly. “Bats happened,” Kyle says your name afterwards, grumbling in his tone. “They surrounded me, they did.” You let out an amused noise, your lips curling into a grin despite his look of warning. “Uh huh. Let’s get a move on, bat boy.”

“Oi!!”

Johnny lets out a whistle, interrupted by a loud, boisterous laugh of his own. His hand comes slamming down on the table a couple of times, jostling the drinks and wallets sitting on it. Price has such an amused smirk, his eyes glued to Kyle who is sipping on his non-alcoholic drink, hiding behind it. “That’s also how I found out he has like, a chronic fear of rabies, too,” You add, glancing at Ghost who is leaning forward a bit, showing his interest in your story. “Yer pullin’ my fuckin’ leg!” Johnny exclaims, causing you to smile and shake your head. “Honest.” You utter, putting your hands up for a moment.

“I appreciate the origin story.” Price breathes, his smug and amused smirk remaining. Which reminds you, something has had to happen for Kyle’s phobia.. Phobias? to be triggered. You make a noise in the middle of a long sip of your drink—the drink being alcoholic, and you can feel a light buzz behind your face. “That being said.. What happened, Captain?” You say, emphasizing his rank. Price huffs out a noise, wrapping both of his hands around his glass.

“This was maybe..” Price pauses for a moment, his eyebrow quirking as his brain takes a moment to think. “..Maybe two years ago by this point. We were in the middle of nowhere, to be frank. Just me and Kyle, an’ it was getting dark.” Price pauses for a moment to take a sip of his drink. “Found a cave.” You let out a snort, immediately picturing Kyle’s face contorting with paranoia. “It began to sprinkle a bit and we didn’t want to sit in soaked knickers. Despite being his CO, Kyle nearly decked me for tryin’ t’pull him into shelter.”

Your jaw drops and your head snaps to look at Kyle, who looks more relaxed under the influence of everyone getting looser—for the exception of him—from alcohol. “I apologized, I promise.” Kyle chuckles, seeing the look on your face. “Mm, that he did. Nearly took back his apologies when I had to include his fear in the reports.” Price retorts, his smirk widening when Kyle lets out a sigh, obviously embarrassed about his behavior. “It’s irrational, I swear. I genuinely don't have the foggiest idea why they petrify me,” Kyle admits, making eye contact with Ghost for a moment. “Well, I think it’s the threat of rabies, but wouldn’t I be scared of every animal, then?”

You space out as the boys quietly debate the route cause of Kyle’s phobia of bats and rabies, your finger circling the rim of your glass as your eyes are just lingering on Kyle. You’re not really paying attention to what anyone is saying, but Kyle’s face sure is interesting due to the alcohol in your blood right now. Your eyes slowly move down to the necklace dangling between the open folds of his button up. You quietly curse yourself when you realize you’re practically staring right at his chest, downing the rest of your drink. You put the glass down onto the table and you look directly at Johnny. “Guess what I dressed up as for Halloween the following October?”

“Wha’?”

“Batman.”

Johnny howls, slapping the table once more, knocking his knees against Ghost’s, causing an elbow to fly into his ribs and a lazy smile to appear on your lips.

🏷️; @kivino @mlmxreader @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @ornateorchid @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @lieutenantlashfaz @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride

this is from my overall taglist which you can find here. if you would like there to be a roommate!gaz taglist, comment below! mistakenly tagged/wrongly tagged? let me know, no hard feelings.

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vmures · 9 months

Text

How to get rid of the creepy pirate clown-instructions without the image of said clown

So because I'm not the only one with a clown phobia, I figured it might be helpful for one of the tutorials on how to get rid of Tumblr's forced advertising elements like the very creepy pirate clown dude from One Piece without using an image of said obnoxious thing.

First step: If you do not already have uBlock Origin, click the link above and download the version of the extension for the browser you are using.

Second step: right click on the clown (or any pop-up element that you want to make go away)

Third step: Click "block element" in the drop-down menu. A new window will pop up with a bit of script and some buttons you can click.

Fourth step: Select the "create" button.

This should make the clown/pop-up element go away.

#ublock origin #how to get rid of pop up elements #like the creepy clown thing currently haunting Tumblr dashboards in the name of Netflix advertising #fuck tumblr staff for okaying that

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 8 months

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Trapped

Kinktober Day One Prompt: Getting Caught

A Jack Harlow x Reader Fic

Warnings: Smut, Language, Mentions of Phobias

"I feel like you're not taking it seriously." You roll your eyes as you step onto the elevator car, taking your spot on the far end, pressing your back against the cool metal panel. There's a tiny bit of alcohol still coursing through your veins from dinner; you nursed a single glass of wine the entire night, only feeling a bit of the residual tipsiness an hour later. Jack follows behind you, turning on his heels to face forward before leaning over to press the button that leads to his penthouse apartment.

"You're right, I'm not taking it seriously." He lets out a quiet chuckle, glancing back at you while he strokes his beard.

"But it won't make sense if we don't do it together." You snuck up behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as your hands wrapped around his waist, patting his lower stomach. "No ones gonna know I'm a happy tree if you don't show up as Bob Ross."

Jack pressed the button a couple more times before the elevator began to move, shaking beneath your feet. He turned in your hold, cupping your face in his hands. "Not gonna happen." He gave you a quick peck before you could object, your mouth hanging open in disbelief as you parted. You felt your stomach drop to your feet as the elevator climbed one floor after another.

"I thought you wanted to go as Batman and Catwoman?" You scoffed at his question, having nixed that idea immediately when you heard there was going to be a costume contest at the Halloween party you were attending. "Sexy doesn't win costume contests, babe. Creative does. You already have the hair and everything." Jack smiled as he leaned in to kiss you again, his nose brushing against yours as your lips pressed against his forcefully, causing you to moan into his mouth.

"I don't know. If you show up as a pussy...cat", he lingered with his words, "I think you're taking home all the prizes." You playfully hit his chest, your cheeks turning red. Your gaze dropped to his lips, Jack pulling you in tighter at your invitation. "That costume is strictly for the bed-", you were startled by the elevator coming to a screeching halt. Jack barely caught you by the arm as you stumbled over your heels.

"You okay?" Jack helped you up, receiving a nod from you as you got your barings. "Yes, what happened?"

"I'm not sure." Jack searched the control panel, frantically pressing the penthouse button, which was still illuminated. He listened for any movement, but it was silent, aside for a few creaks above them.

"Jack...", you let out a shaky breath, white knuckling the metal railing.

"Its fine, baby." Jack pulled out his phone, groaning when he realized he didn't have a signal. "We're fine. I'm sure its just a quick problem that they can fix with the press of a button." He was trying to keep you calm, well aware of your claustrophobia.

"How are we supposed to get out of here?" Your voice came out squeaky, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. You pushed past him, aggressively pressing every button on the board, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. "One of these buttons has to make this thing start up again!"

"Babe, I don't think that's going to help." Jack pulled you back, holding you behind him while he pushed the "Call to Help" button. It buzzed for a few seconds before someone picked up the line.

"Building Services."

"Hi, this is Jack Harlow, I live in 13A. We were riding the elevator when it suddenly stopped on the 8th floor."

"Mr. Harlow, so sorry for the inconvenience. Please stay on the line while I contact our maintenance team."

"See?", Jack lifted his eyebrows as he turned to you, seeing that your face had gone pale. He pulled you in close, cradling the back of your head. "They'll send someone to fix the elevator, and then you can put that Catwoman costume on for me tonight." Jack bit on his bottom lip, trying to distract you, but you could barely hear him, your ears ringing.

"Mr. Harlow?" Jack rushed back over to the panel, bending over toward the speaker. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Sir, I'm sorry. Our maintenance team has gone home for the night. We've reached out to emergency services, and they'll be here as soon as they can."

You felt your knees go weak at the thought of having to spend another minute in this enclosed box. “Jack…” you whispered out, this time more like a warning, before you felt yourself collapse to the ground.

“Hey, Hey! Alright.” Jack easily lifted you up, gently pinning you against the wall with his leg. “You’re okay. Hey, babe, look at me.”

You made eye contact with him through labored breaths, trying your best to focus on his face. “I-I can’t be in here anymore. I-I can’t breathe.”

“Listen, let’s just think about something else okay?” He placed his hands on your hips, his digits digging into your flesh. “Like what?” You stiffened in his hold, fear still controlling your body.

“I dunno, tell me more about this Bob Ross costume idea.” You felt Jack’s large hands move to palm your ass, the tips of his fingers grazing the underside of your skirt.

“Jack.” You felt like a broken record at this point, but your call fell on deaf ears again, as Jack latched onto your neck, placing wet kisses below your ear. “Keep talking.” He mumbled against your skin, hiking your skirt to bunch around your waist.

“Well, we just need to tease your hair a little bit, maybe darken your beard with some dye, fuck”, your eyes rolled back as you felt him slip his hand down the front of your panties, pressing against your clit before dragging his index finger through your wet folds.

“Keep going.” His words felt like an invitation for more than just costume discussion, but you were having trouble focusing on anything but they way his hand felt inside of you, as he pressed two fingers into your weeping hole. You lifted your thigh up, pressing your knee between his legs to give him better access, feeling his bulging erection through his jeans.

“I don’t know. I was gonna glue some leaves on myself or something, just don’t stop”, you grunted out, using one hand to grab the back of his neck and steady yourself, your other hand fumbling with his belt buckle, desperately trying to expose his cock.

“Fuck, faster” you moaned out before crashing mouths with Jack, your chest heaving as he pumped in and out of you furiously, his thumb circling your sensitive bud.

“That’s it baby girl, it’s just you and me.” He praised you, feeling you already racing to your peak, your muscles clenching down around his hand. You chest heaved with each thrust, your mind already forgotten about your situation.

Feeling yourself close to orgasm, you made quick work of undoing his zipper, Jack doing the rest as he pulled his length out, precum dripping from the tip.

“Fuck, baby, careful”, Jack groaned as he watched you grab at him, your fingers barely reaching around his girth. He pushed your panties to the side, exposing your glistening pussy to the air. You stroked the head of his cock, grinning as he fell into your hold, before he pressed himself inside of you, your back arching at the stretch.

His first strokes were a mixture of pleasure and pain, the tip of his cock hitting your g spot just right, but your tailbone hitting the railing with each thrust. “Shit, shit, shit.” You gritted out between clenched teeth, lifting yourself up in tandem with his movements. Jack noticed immediately how you pulled away from him, so he spun you around, grabbing your hips and rutting into you with no break, your back arching so more of you was exposed to him.

“Is it wrong that I’m picturing Bob Ross fucking me right now?” You uttered out in jest, your cheek pressed to the metal paneling. Jack let out a deep chuckle before ramming into you again, all of the air leaving your chest.

“Can you not ruin a childhood icon for me right now?”

“Sorry”, you giggled, feeling Jack’s movements begin to stagger as he pushed deeper and slower into you, teetering over the edge of his orgasm. You met each of his thrusts with a push of your hips, slapping your ass against his pelvis, knowing the sound drove him wild.

You were close to your own orgasm, slipping your hand down the front to frantically rub your clit, the coil in your stomach tightening with each passing second.

“Shit, I’m coming, babe.” A shiver traveled down Jack’s spine as he came, his release filling you up as he continued to fuck you, your orgasm traveling through your body, fatigue immediately starting to set in, as you muscles pulsed. You didn't even hear the elevator door begin to open, the firefighter standing on the other side not really sure to make of the situation.

“Uh, excuse me, sir, ma'am. Louisville Fire Department. Everyone okay in here?” The officer cleared his throat, waiving the flashlight around the elevator. Jack quickly pulled away, adjusting himself, pulling his zipper up. He turned away from you, blinking into the light while he shielded you from the firemen so you could collect yourself. You fixed your panties, feeling his warm cum pooling in the cotton. You pulled down your skirt and tucked your hair behind your ears, trying to erase any evidence of your illicit activities. “Yeah, we’re good. Would really love to get out of here, man.”

"We heard some distressing sounds, wanted to make sure we didn't need to call the EMTs." You pinched Jack's side, making him cry out before he could let out the laugh he was working so hard to stifle. "Ow! M-my girlfriend is claustrophobic, she was starting to panic." You wished you had the ability to burn a whole through his head right at that moment.

You stood back as the firefighters worked to open the door, letting you off on the eighth floor. You made a quick glance at the corner of the elevator car, growing wide eyed when you spotted a camera, a camera that probably caught every second of the nasty sex you just had with your boyfriend.

“Thanks so much” you quietly stepped past the men, hurrying to the stairwell out of embarrassment. Jack took his time thanking everyone individually, most of them recognizing him and asking for an autograph or handshake. You were pretty sure they were also congratulating him for all of those "panic" noises they heard.

You stood out of view in the stairwell waiting for Jack. He had an annoying post coital glow about him when he caught up with you, a cocky grin on his face.

“Did you see the fucking camera?” You edged out. “Yes, every elevator has a camera.” He shrugged, nonchalantly.

“You knew?! First we get caught by the firefighters, now the building has us on camera?!” You slapped him on the arm, considerably less playful than earlier in the evening. “You didn’t? What does it matter? It got your mind off your fears, didn’t it?” He furrowed his brow at you, genuinely confused.

You scowled at him, prepared to cuss him out, but held your tongue, too embarrassed to go at it with him tonight. You stomped up the stairs, the first of five flights you’d have to take up to his place.

“Do you think they’ll let me have a copy of that tape?”, Jack called up to you, just smitten with himself. “I think it’s probably some of my best work.”

Tag-List:

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#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fic #jack harlow x you #jack harlow fanfiction

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