#it's just red john is NOT like any other suspect he's not even like the worst suspects she's dealt with he's just on a different level | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doeidawn · 18 days

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☁︎ — having a lot of thoughts about Price's thighs; f!reader, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

John Price was a man of simple pleasures. It came with the lifestyle of a soldier—he had to learn to appreciate the small victories. And he knew how to wait until reward found its way to him.

He was a man with the patience of a saint and the resolve of a warrior. Never was it more apparent to you than moments like these: sat in his lap squirming and whining while he leaned back against the headboard, puffing on a cigar and just watching you.

"Please," you whine, almost unsure of what exactly you wanted by this point. Your hands brace against his chest, fingers splayed against the coarse hair and calloused skin that covers firm muscle. Your hips drag your cunt up and down the length of his thigh in a pattern so sporadic neither of you can sense a rhythm to it.

You weren't sure how long you'd spent rutting against him. Your thighs burned and your knees were sore but the throbbing need in your cunt was too strong to stop now.

The heat and wetness that pooled between your legs ached, beyond desperate for any other type of friction. But John couldn't seem to care less; couldn't bother to interrupt the show you were putting on for him. His lips wrap around the end of his cigar as his eyes rake over every detail of your body for the hundredth time tonight. Seeing the way his eyes devoured you only made you wish that much more that he'd actually do it. One thing was certain—he reveled in this.

He was kind enough to remove his clothes, although you suspect it was more for his sake—he couldn't have you staining a pair of his trousers, after all. It still wasn't enough to see the outline of his thick cock throbbing against his briefs, but every attempt you made to remove them was met with a scold and a small thwack of his palm meeting your ass.

He'd turn his head before billowing a small cloud of grey smoke from his lips. "Not yet, darling." His voice was such a soft rumble that it was almost easy to forget how aggravating his denial was.

You know he can feel how worked up you are. It'd be impossible not to when your slick painted his thigh, matting fine hair to his skin. But John got a kick out of this. He liked to watch you beg and whine and show him how much you needed him.

"Please just fuck me." All of your mounting impatience bubbled to the surface as you begged—pleaded—with him. "Please, John, I jus' wanna cum. Need you to fuck me."

His free hand would snake up your thigh, grabbing the pillowy flesh on your hip. "I know you do, baby." A reassuring squeeze followed his faux-compassion. "But you can cum for me like this, yeah?"

Of course you could, and he knew it. When he spoke to you like that—encouragement and expectation all wrapped into one—it was almost impossible not to. Even if you wanted more than just pathetic ruts against his thigh, the heat that gnawed at your core was growing increasingly harder to fight back against. You offer him a small nod and hum a quiet "mm-hmm" in reply, almost reluctant to admit to your desperation and give in to his game. Not that he couldn't tell.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that's my girl."

He flexes his thigh, the muscles underneath going taut and firm as he shifts his leg just enough to press against your cunt. You can't stifle the moan that escapes your lips. The newfound pressure feels amazing; such a small difference yet so monumental when you were this sensitive.

He kneads the skin on your hip, fingers leaving small red imprints as they dig into you. "There you go. You like that?" The smoke curling around his lips as he takes another puff of his cigar makes him look as devilish as he sounds.

A roll of your hips takes your breath away, the air catching in your throat in a choked moan. Your eyes flutter as you meet his darkened gaze. "Mm-hmm," the affirmative sound rumbles in your throat.

Thwack. His palm meets the swell of your ass in a much sharper spank than before. The sudden sting makes you whine and buck against his thigh, hips jerking at the feel of the sudden stimulation. Your cunt throbs as heat blooms over your skin.

As comforting as he is domineering, he runs his hand gently over your flushed skin. "Use your words, darling." Your mind already felt like mush—too tired and desperate to cum—that the warm baritone of his voice was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, I like it." You finally manage to sputter. Nails rake over the hair dusting his chest when your hands search him out for support. "Feels so good."

He groans at that. "Yeah? Y'gonna cum for me?"

"Yeah," you mewl, burying your face in his neck. The combination of his musk and cigars hits you even harder, the scent filling your nostrils and making your head spin further into delirium. "I need it, John, I need it so fucking bad."

The pressure on your body only increases after that. His hand slides to your lower back for support to guide your rolling hips up and down his thigh. He keeps your pace steady, taking some of the work for himself as he watches you squirm.

"I know you do baby." He takes another drag from his cigar, planting a kiss on your shoulder after blowing the smoke away. "Christ, you're makin' a mess, leakin' all over me."

You whine into his stubbled skin, feeling his beard brush against your cheek as you nuzzle closer. You didn't have to feel his cock throbbing against your leg to know he was enjoying seeing you like this (and he probably couldn't stand to just watch for much longer).

"Cum for me like this and I promise I'll make it up to you." His hand gently tangles in the hair at the back of your head. Fingers interlace with the strands as he tugs just enough to pull your head back and meet your heavy-lidded gaze. "Give me a nice li'l show and I'll fuck you proper, fill you up good. But you need t' cum for me first, love."

A strained curse leaves your mouth as your hips buck wildly against his thigh. The friction of firm muscle and soft skin makes your cunt throb against him. Your lips find his in a messy fit of kisses. The taste of old tobacco coats your tongue and adds to the haze of sensations.

His grip loosens in your hair before his hand slides down the bare expanse of your back, resting at your waist as fingers curl to hold you firmly. His teeth tease and pull at your bottom lip, drawing a whine out from you between your heavy breaths.

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your mouth. "That's it," he groans, leaving your panting mouth behind. "There you go, love, cum all over me. Show me how good it feels."

His encouragement is what sends you over the edge. The heat that had been building in your core spills over, making your body tense as waves of pleasure flow through you. His hand digs into your waist as you pant and moan against him, the sensation grounding you amidst the overwhelming feeling of relief.

A strong tobacco scent hits your nose. Fluttering your eyes open, your sweaty body goes lax against him. Lifting your hips, you can feel your slick string between his thigh and your cunt. You smile down at him, cupping his jaw in one of your hands.

Your fingers thread through his beard. Leaning in, your nose brushes over his before you plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "Gonna keep your promise?"

"Always do."

#clown writes #me when i want to write about other characters but the old man infests my brain #john price #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain price smut #price smut #cod price #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #cod

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clockwayswrites · 8 months

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Both Ways at Once Part 5

WC: 1766, Masterpost CW: discussions of death, vague mentions of child trafficking and rape

Danny leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly through his nose, counting. He couldn’t let loose. They didn’t know. John said they didn’t know and Danny trusted John. Not with everything, he knew too much to trust John with everything, but he trusted John with this. The other wouldn’t have done this if he had known.

The gloved hand on his shoulder shifted, sliding to wrap around the back of Danny’s neck and give a little squeeze. It should have felt suffocating. It was grounding. Danny could already feel himself settling and responding to resonate back with Red Hood.

That was dangerous to have that resonance.

“Pomp,” John said. His shoes squeaked as he leaned forward. “Talk to me, Pomp, what did I miss?”

That right there was one of the reasons Danny trusted John, he would step up when he fucked up.

Danny sighed and opened his eyes. “He’s— he was a halfa, John.”

John paled. The color drained out of his face and left him a splotchy grey. His voice was strangled as he insisted, “Halfas are just a myth.”

“Rare, very rare, but not a myth. Think about it John. You said that the Red Hood from before was alive, but you know I’m right, the one here is a protector spirit. He died, John.”

“Red Hood is still alive, he has a heart beat,” Superman insisted.

“I’m still not talking to you,” Danny hissed, not taking his eyes off John. “Constantine. He was a halfa. I don’t know what they are anymore. This one is more ghost than human. I assume that the other one is more human than ghost. But put them back together and they would be perfectly balanced and you’ve been keeping them apart.”

John slumped back, rubbing at his face. “Bloody fucking hell…”

“The other half has been unwell, hasn’t he? Maybe just fatigued, but I bet he’s in pain too. His focus keeps wandering maybe. He’s listless.” Danny finally glanced away from John and over to the trio. Batman was, as always, almost impossible to read, but Danny felt sure Batman was tense. He might even be worried.

He wasn’t even looking at Danny but instead at Red Hood, who Danny was sure was avoiding Batman’s gaze. Even still, Red Hood’s fingers were trembling against the back Danny’s neck.

Danny reached up and took the gloved hand, hooking their fingers together.

“Constantine,” Batman growled, but the word sounded broken, under the bite.

John glanced from Batman to Danny and back again. “If Nightingale says that Red Hood is, was, a halfa, then he was. Nightingale’s the psychopomp, the dead is his realm more than any living I’ve ever met and, hell, more than most people who are dead.”

“And what is a halfa?” Wonder Woman asked, still the calm voice of reason.

“Rare,” Danny bit back, showing his teeth. He made himself take a breath and regulate his tone. “Someone who is half living, half ghost. They are a balance between life and death. If no one knew that Red Hood was part ghost, there’s a chance he wasn’t fully formed before, but I can assure you he’s a protector spirit now, no matter if he’s still alive. It’s also likely why the spell did this. There were already two halves to split. The human who was the living and the ghost who was the death.”

Wonder leaned forward in her seat. “You seem certain that the other half is sick.”

“They have to be— it’s a part of themselves that was ripped out and that leaves a wound. I suspect that because the other one must have more of the human side, he’s suffering more of the human affects of the separation while Red Hood is suffering more of the ghostly affects.”

“And your recommendation?” Wonder Woman asked.

“They need to be together. They need to be together and the place where they’re together needs to be Red Hood’s haunt.”

“His haunt?”

“Likely where he resided before. Or it would be where he patrolled if those are different areas. It would be somewhere emotionally important to him no mater what. As I’ve said, he’s a protector spirit so it should be obvious where his haunt is considering his role as a vigilante.”

“Crime Alley,” Red Hood rasped from behind Danny. his fingers squeezed tighter around Danny’s for a moment.

Danny’s arm was getting sore holding itself up like that, but he wasn’t going to take the comfort away from Red Hood or even deprive himself of that grounding point. It would be too easy for him to lose his temper here and really give the Justice League something to be afraid of.

“Crime Alley then,” he said. He had no reason to doubt what Red Hood was said. A ghost knew their own haunt. “We have to get him back to Crime Alley and they need to be together. I assume you have a place there?”

“No,” Batman said, though he didn’t shift. Wonder Woman placed her hand on his arm again.

“We’re concerned about there being a reaction of some sort should they meet,” she explained. “Constantine said that it might be possible.”

Constantine grumbled under his breath and ducked his head with a little shrug.

“If we didn’t know what was going on, sure, that’s a fair enough worry, but we do and I’m telling you that they need to be together until either they’re back together as one or until they fully settle into two separate people.”

“No.” It was Superman who protested this time.

“You don’t have a choice if you don’t want to torture and kill one or both of them,” Danny said, resisting the urge to bare his fangs at the boy scout again. “They need to go to Crime Alley.”

“He’s dangerous. If he is just the Red Hood half of the personality, which you’ve basically confirmed—“

“I have not. I’ve explained how they were physically split. It has affected how their split in motivation only because motivation is what a ghost is, but I would have to speak with both of them to learn how they are mentally and emotionally split.”

Superman just frowned in a disappointed uncle sort of way, as Danny talked and then continued on like Danny hadn’t even said anything. “Then he’s even more dangerous. We cannot simply let someone like Red Hood go. We have to think about everyone’s safety in this matter, especially civilians.”

“I thought you weren’t killers?” Danny threw back at them, saccharine sweet in his delivery.

It made Superman’s frown deepen, though Wonder Woman actually looked a bit amused.

“We aren’t,” the Big Blue said.

“If you try and keep him here you are. I’m telling you right here and right now that if you do not let him go back to Crime Alley then you are signing his death warrant. You might try to claim that he died in jail, but you’ll still be the cause of it. But that’s how you kill, isn’t it?”

“Nightingale,” John warned under his breath, twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Danny, maybe to hold him back.

“No, really, it is, isn’t it? You want to to pretend that you don’t kill, that you’re better than whatever Red Hood has done, but are you really? At least he’s Honest about it. Red,” Danny said, tugging at the other’s hand so that he had to move up to stand more beside him. Danny looked up at the mask, looked through it. “You’ve killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop. They never stopped. Now that they’re dead, they’ve stopped.”

“Who?”

“Poisoning drug dealers. Rapists. Abusers. Child traffickers. People who threatened my….” Red Hood reared back slightly as if surprised by what his cut off words were going to be.

“Your haunt. Your people. Those under your watch and protection,” Danny said. “See, he’s honest about it. Were all of those deaths in the right? I don’t know. But I’m not sad a rapist is dead. I’m not sad children didn’t get trafficked. Those are the sort of people we’re supposed to be against, isn’t it? Well, us small heroes. You fight bigger names these days, don’t you, Superman?”

“Alright then,” John said, standing suddenly. Red Hood twisted to put himself further between the occult detective and Danny.

Danny patted Red Hood’s arm gently. “It’s okay, John’s trying to protect me. He thinks I’m putting my foot in my mouth and making enemies. And maybe I am. But I’m not going to sit by and watch this hypocrisy. You don’t kill. That’s a damn lie.”

“We don’t.”

“You’ve checked up on ever criminal then?”

“What?” Superman asked, thrown by the sudden question.

“Every criminal you’ve fought, every mugger and back robber and goon, you’ve followed up to see how they’re doing the next day, month, year?”

Superman had that lemon sucking twist to his face again. “No?”

“So you don’t really know, do you, how many criminals walked away from you only to die of brain hemorrhaging later because you punched them into a wall. Or how many died from a complication to their lungs or spine or heart because Black Canary ruptured something with her wail or Flash fucked from contact with the Speedforce. It’s not that you haven’t killed, it’s just that you don’t know how many you’ve killed. It’s impossible to act on the scale that you do and not have killed,” Danny said with certainty.

“Nightingale, I believe you’ve made your point,” Wonder Woman said, still calm, still patient. She was different from the others. She has killed, Danny knew that; she was an Amazon. He remembered his stories from Pandora.

“Have I?” Danny asked. He let go of Red Hood as he stood to lean over onto the table. Danny could feel that snarl building up in his throat again now. The other reached out to touch him again right away. The snarl calmed a little, only a little. “Because what about when Superman has used a building as a barrier to smack an enemy into? No one was ever hurt there? No grannie ever slipped and fell as the building shook and never got up again? At least that would be an accident then, unlike punching someone to death, but don’t pretend your hands aren’t red. Don’t pretend—”

The hiss of the door opening cut Danny off.

The room feel silent.

Danny could see all the heroes tense.

From behind him a voice spoke up, “Well, aren’t you all dramatic.”

--- AN: The mysterious stranger is right! They are all dramatic. Danny was about ready to go for Superman's throat-- literally and just not figuratively. Hope you enjoyed how this all played out! I know people were waiting for Danny to let loose some. Fatigue is hitting me hard right now, so glad to have gotten this out!

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #dead on main street #both ways at once

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting.

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!”

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going.

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant.

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance.

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?”

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse.

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.”

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died.

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to.

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.”

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips.

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.”

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh.

“Lovely.”

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind.

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination.

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.”

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums.

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.”

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you.

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you.

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless.

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath.

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift.

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed.

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.”

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal.

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee.

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that.

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.”

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.”

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out.

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.”

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?”

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face.

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others.

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you.

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?”

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging.

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his.

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow.

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining.

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it.

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence.

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod.

“Sure. Same seats?”

The fireman smirks. “Always.”

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it.

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John.

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff.

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

“So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.”

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.”

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion.

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you.

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew.

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call.

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire?

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?”

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop.

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people.

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision.

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot.

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant.

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh.

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!”

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest.

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation.

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

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venus-haze · 1 year

Text

My Destruction Is an Hour Late (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: As a nameless, faceless administrative assistant, you never expected any members of The Seven to give you the time of day. In your year or so of working at Vought, Homelander’s taken a particular liking to you, always seeking you out to help him with whatever tasks or projects he can conjure up to take up as much of your time as possible. When you’re not available to help him after hours since you have a date planned, his interest in you proves to be far more than professional.

Note: Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used. First time writing for Homelander so I hope it’s at least okay! Y/N naming convention isn’t used in this, Homelander only refers to you by pet names. This takes place between seasons 1 and 2. On the shorter side of what I usually write, but a lot happens in this. Title comes from one of my favorite lines from Buddy’s Rendezvous by Father John Misty. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Homelander is a warning. Suspected murder, age gap (Homelander is in his 40s while the reader is 20s/30s), emotional manipulation, some dubcon which involves explicit depictions of food play and mommy kink. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Being part of the corporate machine wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of when you were a little girl, but working for Vought softened the blow. You could see the look in people’s eyes when you told them who your employer was, one of the first things strangers learned about you. Interest and envy punctuated every question, but what everyone wanted to know was ‘Have you ever met any of The Seven?’

You had, and you weren’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that in your drive to keep the best paying job you’d ever had in an overpriced city like New York, you earned a reputation of reliability, which meant extra assignments but the overtime pay to go with it. One supe in particular was the source of most of your after hours work. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased about the singular occasion when you were unavailable.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you said. “I can’t tonight. I blocked off my time this evening on my calendar.”

“Yes, I saw that, but what could you possibly be doing that you can’t help me with this? You’re my go-to! I thought you were reliable, but this is—“

“I have a date,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of red in his eyes for a brief moment as he glared at you. He couldn’t have been that angry that you wouldn’t stay late to help him, not when there were dozens of other low-level Vought employees around. You couldn’t accept jealousy as a possible motivation, perhaps possessiveness, you’d heard of his odd relationship with Madelyn Stilwell, who was killed a little over a month after Vought hired you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you repeated weakly. “I can help tomorrow.”

He scoffed, clearly expecting you to offer to cancel your date to help him instead. Vought was one of the highest paying employers in the city, and you’d heard from your acquaintances in the HR department that the average job posting got well over 2,000 applicants on the low end. It wasn't uncommon for employees to work late nights here and there, but it seemed like so much of your time was consumed by Homelander. You’d foolishly volunteered to help him with something not long after you’d been hired, and as he said, you’d become his go-to. He intimidated you, but at times you found he could be almost sweet when it was just the two of you.

In all honesty, your social life had suffered immensely since you began working at Vought, and some of your friends had stopped the pretense of asking if you were free when they were planning to hang out, and you’d only become aware of the plans when you saw the Instagram stories after the fact. Restaurants, concerts, weekend trips—that used to be you. In a fit of loneliness and desperation one of the few nights you didn’t arrive back at your apartment and practically collapse asleep, you’d opened all of the dating apps you hadn’t touched in months, and quickly arranged a dinner date at your place with a nice enough guy named Jesse.

You sunk into your desk chair, an expensive ergonomic one he specifically had Ashley order for you because you’d complained of back pain once. Returning to your assignment at hand, you tried to ignore the eyes on you for declining Homelander’s request. At least five o’clock came sooner rather than later, and you rushed to gather your things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid any further confrontations.

It was odd leaving Vought Tower when it was still light out. You’d almost gotten used to leaving for work and coming home in the dark. The train back to your apartment was unusually crowded, a consequence of actually leaving at rush hour. Jesse would be over at seven, leaving you just an hour and a half when you got back home to cook and get ready. You’d decided on lasagna, a dish easy to make but equally easy to impress with.

Multitasking dinner and fixing up your hair and makeup probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had, but before working at Vought, you loved to entertain. It’d been so long, though, you’d forgotten how involved it was. Despite nearly spilling pasta sauce on your simple yet classic black dress, you were a bit relieved when Jesse seemed to be running a few minutes late–until a few minutes turned into far more.

7:14 ‘If you need directions, let me know!’

7:36 ‘Hey, is everything okay?’

7:53 ‘Are you seriously ghosting me?’

At a few minutes past eight, you angrily typed a simple ‘Fuck you’ when a knock at the door startled you, and you nearly pressed send when you flinched. You had half a mind not to answer. Who the hell did he think he was showing up an hour late? Another impatient, more forceful knock echoed through your apartment and you rose to your feet, throwing your phone aside on the couch and storming over to the front door.

Opening it, you expected to see your less than punctual date in your doorway. Instead, the man at your door looked extremely out of place in your modest apartment building.

“Homelander?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is that lasagna I smell? Yummy.”

“I—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—“

A drop of blood rolled from one of his gloved hands and onto the floor in the hallway. Your mind immediately raced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d just apprehended some violent criminal. Although, in that case, he’d return to the tower right away and report the incident for the crime analytics team.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, as if he regularly came over to your place unannounced.

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter. “Of course, um, is everything okay?”

Vought kept all employee information in a database, and you were sure he had access to it and found your address that way. Still, it didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important on the Vought totem pole, and you didn’t feel like you and Homelander were all that close. Though, it seemed he knew far more about you than you could have anticipated.

The more you considered it, though, the timing, the convenience of his arrival in the absence of your date, not to mention the literal blood on his hands—you looked at him, wide-eyed at the man who just stepped foot in your home, not wanting to believe the worst but knowing it’d be dishonest otherwise.

Homelander grinned, his pearly white canines glistening like fangs beneath the soft lighting you’d carefully set up in your living room. “Now, why are you looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf?”

Your lip trembled. “It’s nothing.”

“Perfect! Then let’s eat,” he announced jovially. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” you said.

You went into the kitchen to retrieve the lasagna from the oven, which you’d kept at a low temperature to keep the dish warm but not overcook. Grabbing fresh basil from the fridge, you garnished the pasta with a few leaves. Suddenly lasagna seemed like a stupid choice. Jesse probably would have appreciated it, but Homelander was used to food cooked by Vought’s staff of professional chefs. It was too simple, even if you had made the sauce yourself.

He glanced around at the decor in your apartment while you busied yourself in the kitchen. A framed print of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart on your wall, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice among the books stacked on your coffee table, assorted candles glowing softly in your dim apartment, “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

You could feel your face heat up at his correct observation, nodding bashfully as you set the tray of lasagna on the table. It didn’t help that in your excitement for the evening, you’d made a ‘first date playlist’ consisting of Elvis, Sinatra, Simone, and some other older artists that played softly from the speaker you had set on the counter. It wasn’t like you had expected Jesse to be the one, but you wanted to indulge yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I am too, really,” he said, his voice oddly assuring, as if he weren’t saying it just to humor you. “Not many of us hopeless romantics around anymore.”

He had taken off his gloves since you’d gone into the kitchen, laying them neatly next to his plate. You ignored the small droplets of blood that had pooled on the table, focusing on making sure the serving of lasagna didn’t collapse into an unsightly mess on his plate. At least luck was on your side in that respect, as you nearly sighed in relief at the nice presentation. You were a bit less careful with your own serving before sitting down across from him.

Having Homelander eat your food felt more nerve-wracking than if Gordon Ramsay were over, it wasn’t like the latter could laser your kitchen table in half if he thought it was horrible.

“Goddamn, this is delicious. What’s that I taste in here?” He sounded genuine, not patronizing as you almost expected. Maybe he just didn’t eat lasagna very often.

“I seasoned the ricotta,” you said.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I didn’t know you cook like this.”

“I love to cook, I just haven’t had much time recently.”

“Interesting what you learn about people outside of work.” He grimaced a bit when he took a sip of wine. That was on you and your tendency to buy cheap alcohol. You could stomach the subpar taste for the sake of the buzz, but as far as you knew, Homelander couldn’t get drunk, so there wasn’t even that benefit.

“I can get you something else to drink. I’m so sorry,” you said. “I have water, iced tea, I think some soda, too.”

He looked at your fridge and huffed, displeased. “You have half a bottle of flat Coke. I’ll take the tea.”

You could’ve given A-Train a run for his money with how fast you raced into the kitchen to pour Homelander a glass of iced tea and bring it back to him.

“Did you find someone to help you with that thing you mentioned earlier?” you asked as you handed him the drink.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, like you said, it can wait until tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, biting back a comment about how it didn’t seem like it just a few hours ago. Instead, you sat back down and focused on finishing the lasagna on your plate. Suddenly it seemed like far too much, but you powered through the rest of the meal you’d worked so hard to make as Homelander led most of the conversation, while you gave short responses, hoping he’d get the hint at how uncomfortable you were. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“So, what’s for dessert?” he asked when you collected the dirty plates from the table.

“Ice cream,” you answered. “I’ll get yours first.”

“Nonsense, we can share,” he said.

You merely nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to pull the small carton of vanilla ice cream from your freezer. The bowls in your cupboard seemed too pedestrian to serve Homelander in, until you remembered the plastic, diner-style ice cream cups you’d bought not long after you moved into your apartment. Carefully scooping the dessert into the cup, you were pleased with how professional it looked.

Ice cream and spoon in hand, you set both in front of Homelander, who looked from the treat to you. “Ooh, vanilla, such an under-appreciated flavor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you answered, unwilling to admit you’d only bought it because it was on sale, and you had left over chocolate syrup from when you were on your brief home cafe kick.

You yelped when he pulled you onto his lap, bracing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He seemed pleased at your reaction, smiling as he took a spoonful of ice cream and held it in front of your mouth.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said.

You leaned in, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed the dessert to you. His smile widened when you swallowed.

“Okay, my turn,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way your hand shook as you scooped up a generous amount of ice cream and put the spoon in his mouth.

The moan he let out as he sucked the ice cream off of the spoon was nothing short of sinful, and you felt ashamed that it stirred something in you. Sure, you found Homelander attractive and had a brief crush on him before coming to terms with the fact that it’d never happen, but this was just bizarre.

The odd ritual continued for another few agonizing minutes, and it was almost like he was going out of his way to see how much you would put up with before you’d protest or challenge him. You told yourself it was because you wanted to keep your job, and you were definitely afraid of him, but a small part of you that you tried to push deep into the recesses of your mind was starting to enjoy it.

“You know, I’m having a great time. We should do this more often,” he said, finally setting aside the half-empty cup.

You gulped. “Yeah, if you want to.”

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that, I just–I was expecting someone else tonight.”

“Right. Jesse,” he said, spitting the name like venom.

You’d never told Homelander your date’s name in the brief conversation you’d had with him about it back at the tower. There was no way he couldn’t hear your heart racing. If you didn’t calm down, you were sure your dinner was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

“So, what was the plan after the romantic candle lit dinner? Just a kiss goodnight, or were you going to let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice flat as he pinned you in place with nothing more than a cold stare.

You balked at his wording. Not that you hadn’t heard him curse before, it was a shock in and of itself the first time he dropped the f-bomb in front of you. He’d never been so directly crass toward you, though. “I-I don’t—“

“You don’t put out on the first date?” he finished. “Really make ‘em work for it, huh?”

“I just don’t want to be that intimate with someone I don’t know well,” you answered, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Good thing you know me like the back of your hand, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed one of the slinky spaghetti straps of your black dress, the caress reminding you of how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You'd seen him lift cars with his bare hands and not even break a sweat. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the crook of your neck, then your cheek, until finally he captured your lips in a kiss that left you dizzy. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he forced your mouth open with his tongue.

Tangling your fingers in his hair in an attempt to steady yourself only encouraged him.

He pulled you closer so you were fully straddling him, and you knew despite the force with which he held your hips in place, he was holding back. You nearly choked on your own spit, or perhaps it was a mix of yours and his at this point. He was already pushing it with how much force you could handle, and he was holding back.

When he finally pulled away, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and lips surely in the process of bruising. You could feel his hardening cock through his suit as it pressed against your thighs. He stared at you, intense and uncomfortable for a few moments before his gaze wandered right next to your ass. He picked up the cup of melted ice cream with one hand, and tore open the front of your dress with the other, as if it were nothing more than tissue paper.

“You dress like such a little prude at work, but this–fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he poured some of the melted ice cream over your chest, and you gasped at the sensation of the cool liquid making contact with your skin. He watched, mesmerized as it rolled down your breasts, a droplet of vanilla hanging from one of your exposed nipples. He dipped his head, licking it gently before taking your breast in his mouth.

You whimpered as his teeth harshly grazed your nipple, needy and insatiable as he lapped up the sticky ice cream that’d begun to dry on your chest.

“Fuck, mommy,” he whined against your skin, throwing you for one hell of a loop.

He poured the rest of the vanilla ice cream on your chest, some of it landing on your already ruined dress. Throwing the cup aside without a second thought, he brought his attention to your other breast which he’d simply been groping until then. You nearly jumped when he grabbed your hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Oh god, he wanted you to pull him closer.

Hesitantly, you pushed his face against your breast, his moan practically vibrating through you. You kept your hand in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he relentlessly sucked and licked your breasts. The stimulation was almost too intense to be pleasurable, but the wetness between your legs said otherwise. You couldn’t hide that from a man like Homelander, your gut twisting at the realization he could probably smell your arousal.

He was fully hard now, and with how rough he was getting, you could tell he was close. Biting your sensitive lip, you slipped your hand between your bodies, rubbing his hard on through his suit.

“Oh fuck, mommy, don’t stop,” he moaned.

It felt almost wrong, seeing the most powerful superhero in the world so vulnerable, but you knew better. Despite the facade of submissiveness, he was in control.

“Are-are you close, baby?” you asked, hoping if you played the part, the less time you’d be subject to his troubling fetish.

“Yes,” he whined. “God, I’m–”

He squeezed your breast when he came, and if you weren’t sure it’d be bruised in the morning before, that had made you certain. You gasped in pain, tears rolling down your cheeks which he wiped away in his post-orgasm haze.

“You did so good. You did so fucking good, just like I knew you would,” he praised.

He picked you up like you were nothing, and in a way, you were nothing. Your body was already pushed to limits you’d never experienced before, and the night was far from over, as you’d find three hours and a broken box spring later. You weren’t sure at what point you’d fallen asleep–or maybe passed out was more like it–but when you awoke the next morning well past nine o’clock, your body was almost too sore to move as quickly as you needed it to.

“Good morning, babe,” Homelander greeted as you shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place.

“Homelander, I’m going to be late—“

“No you’re not. I already called in for you, let ‘em know you’re taking a sick day. We can keep the little white lie between us,” he said, with a mischievous smile and a wink.

“Oh,” was all you managed as you sat at the table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee from the bagel shop you stopped in every morning was sitting neatly at your place. “You picked up breakfast?”

“It’s the least I can do after you made dinner last night. By the way, the people over there wanted me to tell you congrats when I let them know the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Your promotion,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ll be reporting directly to me from now on, take out all of the bureaucratic bullshit between us.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky and uncertain.

He pursed his lips. “I’d expect a little more fucking enthusiasm, but we can work on that.”

“You’re right, I’m just still a little groggy is all,” you said, forcing a smile on your tired face. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

“There we go,” he said, his quick mood shift almost startling you as he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right, babe?”

You glanced at the dried blood on the other side of the table, where he’d been sitting the previous night. Before you could think too much about it, you widened the fake smile you were giving him. “Of course I do.”

#homelander x reader #the boys #homelander #the boys x reader #homelander imagine

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97keanu · 3 months

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Valentine’s Day with the Keanuverse <3

John Wick: John would def start your day with breakfast in bed, and he is a wonderful cook, making everything you like and presenting it perfectly. He may take this time to give you a back massage while you enjoy your morning coffee, anything he can do to make you feel relaxed. Depending on the vibes of the day, he may have a lot planned out, like a surprise trip to your favorite destination, a spa day, dinner reservations, buying out a movie theatre just for the two of you(he loves if he can have you all to himself!). He may also opt for staying in, making you lunch, dinner, anything he can do to make your life perfect today(my boy’s love language is acts of service!). He will likely end the night with you in a bubble bath, enjoying each other’s company over an expensive glass of champagne, he’s not even afraid to do a face mask with you and really find some time to relax after everything. He is not letting ANYTHING come between you and him enjoying yourselves today. You end the night in bed with John lavishing your body with his hands, mouth, and whatever else he can to completely please you.

Types of presents include: Trips, cars, anything you want that he could ‘know a guy’ and make happen(remember that concert you really wanted that sold out?), spa day packages, handcrafted(but John is like, really good at it. Perhaps he tracks down one of your favorite childhood stories and restores the book for you!), shopping trips, homemade meals, anything you ask him for!

John Constantine: Let’s be honest, he probably forgot about Valentine’s Day, and is trying to work something out last minute. He’s running to the store to try to get flowers, but they’re already out, so he’s out doing something crazy like stealing from some poor soul’s grave. He’s trying to remember any hints you gave for what you wanted and barely remembering what your favorite candy is, which he luckily obtains. He calls up every restaurant in the city but all he gets is laughs when he tries. To make a reservation. Constantine is sooo disorganized for this, but the pressure hits him last minute because as much as he can be a callous asshole, he can’t have you thinking he thought you don’t deserve anything for Valentine’s Day. He finally finds somewhere that will let him buy takeout, and he takes home a bounty of last minute gifts and decor to his apartment where he quickly tries to plate the food and pass it off as his own.

In the end, after he picks you up and takes you back to his place, you enter to find his apartment set a glow with candles, soft music playing on his old busted CD player, and the smell of your favorite takeout. You are certain when you see the scene that he scrounged all this together, but at the same time, he looks at you with those dark puppy eyes, and you can’t help but be glad he remembered at all and tried. He gives you his slightly wilting bouquet of yellow and white flowers (claiming they were all out of red, but you suspect differently.) and you two have a lovely meal and a night in with some of your favorite feel good movies that Constantine would typically never sit down to watch with you. Even if it all seems small, you enjoy having some genuine time with him, and even getting to see him laugh and claim not to be teary eyed at some of the sappy scenes of the movie.

Types of presents include: Handmade, experience style gifts (perhaps taking you to his favorite secret spots!), flowers, all your favorite candies(that he could remember), maybe a chance to finally get to see his softer side.

Kevin Lomax: He’s going all out, he’s starting your day by sending breakfast to your door (all of your favorites of course!), sending dozens of flowers to your office just to make all the other girls jealous, sending a private car to pick you up too and from work, and leaving designer dress options and shoes in our bedroom for when you come home from work. You choose the dress you want to wear for the occasion, and your driver is taking you across town now to the fanciest restaurant in town. You meet him there, and Kevin looks absolutely dashing in his black suit and tie. He greets you with your first real gift for the night, a stunning piece of jewelry he knows you’ve been eyeing, then you two have a lovely dinner before going back to his apartment where you walk in to find the largest teddy bear you’ve ever seen holding more presents. He totally love bombs you for Valentine’s Day because giving gifts is on the top of his love languages, and you aren’t complaining. You two end the day in bed trying out some of the new toys he bought for the occasion.

Types of presents include: Perfumes, high end makeup, designer lingerie (for later of course), bondage gear (he loves making you his rope bunny <3), and anything you desire that money can buy. He may even surprise you with some heartfelt pillow talk when all is said and done.

Neo: Like Constantine, he is a bit forgetful of Valentine’s Day, but more in the sense of he has no idea what to get you and is absolutely horrible at deciding on a gift. He keeps trying to figure it out until it’s a week or two out and he’s found out he’s too late for reservations at all your favorite spots and on top of it there’s no way what he wanted to get you will ship in time, so he improvises. He sends flowers to your door and a note on where to meet him tonight. He doesn’t have much money so he hacks into wine and paint class via their online booking and you two end up having a great time trying to draw each other, despite his looking quite crude in form. He then takes you to a hotel reservation (that he also hacked his way into…) in the presidential suite, enjoying champagne and room service that is being charged to a card that doesn’t exist. You wonder how he got all this done, but you also know he has his ways, and don’t want to ruin the moment. You enjoy the room’s hot tub together while getting a little dirty trying to get clean. You have no idea how down to the wire he really was for making Valentine’s Day happen. He ends the night by gifting you a computer program that he made for you, and it’s awesome because it helps you with a daily task you’ve been irritated with. You two end up spending lovely quality time together, enjoying your time together and each other’s bodies no doubt!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts, handcrafted technology (think: my boyfriend built me a computer!), hacked tech that would help in your everyday life, and he may even surprise you with something that you mentioned a long time ago(that he totally didn’t hack your search history to know about.)

Ted Logan: Ted is super sweet and caring for Valentine’s Day, surprisingly not forgetting that it exists in the first place. He ends up making you a handcrafted card and leaving it at your place of work with some hand picked daisies, all while saying it’s from a ‘secret admirer’ but Ted is the only person you know who would misspell ‘admirer’ in the first place. He doesn’t have a lot of money to get you anything fancy, but everything he does get you is heartfelt and well thought out. He picks you up after work and takes you to your favorite diner, then he finds the best spot in San Dimas to watch the stars together, tell jokes, and maybe even have a smoke sesh. You two end the night with munches being fulfilled by the nearby Circle K and a movie night at his apartment where he serenades you on his guitar between films. He buys all your favorite snacks for you and tries his best to make you feel really special. He is a words of affirmation guy so expect lots of sweet talk in your ear! He ends the night with his surprise gift, a locket with a picture of you two in it that he spent the last of his money on. He also gives you a handmade little notebook with all his favorite moments written in it with Polaroids of you two since you started dating!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts(extremely arts and crafts, pink glitter glue ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’ Styled cards), your favorite candies, a small plush of some sort, picking wildflowers because he can’t afford the outrageous store prices, a song he wrote for you (performed alongside bill as his back up player), anything music related like making you a mixtape of your favorite tunes.

#john wick x reader #john Constantine x reader #neo x reader #Kevin lomax x reader #ted Logan x reader #my writing #my imagines

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rafecameronsslutt · 5 months

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Toxic Possessive! Rafe x Carrera Fem! Reader

↳⇁ You Can't Seem To Escape Toxic a Relationship, With Rafe.

Warnings! Rafe being Aggressive and Possessive Reader wanting to Leave.

You Were Finally able to do good for yourself. Without Rafe knowing You Only Wanted a peaceful life without the constant Thought of Rafe arguing with you over some stupid shit. You hated when he took control of your own life, as in: what you could wear, Where you could go. or who you could talk to you.

Rafe Even hated your friends which were. Pouge's Except for one and that was your sister Kiara Carrera she tried numerus times to help you leave Rafe but what ever you tried to do always failed miserable being caught and trapped in his arms once again for the last time.

You Loved Rafe, But his ways made you want to hide and run away forever but the consequences of that sudden action would cost you maybe even your life if you weren't careful enough the constant bickering of Rafe telling you if you ever try to leave him he would hunt you down if he has to caused you to be slightly afraid and began to overthink a little bit.

but he could be just saying that to make you stay Right? or so you thought. You were hanging out with Kie and Sarah at your place your parents were home they wouldn't be back until summer break was over they left a spear key just in case you and Kie needed anything or for Emergencies.

''were are they boys?' you asked Kie You haven't seen JJ, Pope or John B since earlier today they were out getting snacks and drinks to celebrate summer break with each other while waiting you and the girls decided to take some funny pictures with each other.

'' omg you should def post that!'' Sarah said in an excited Tone. Even when You were dating her brother you didn't really mind Hanging with Sarah she was anything like her brother Rafe it was like you could tell her any and everything.

''I'll be right back guys I'm going to go use the bathroom'' they nodded understanding You took your phone with you just in case mom and dad had called you. You soon felt the vibration of your phone. it was Rafe calling you. with slight hesitation you answered putting the phone on speaker.

"hey baby what's Up?'' you asked as you pretended to fix your hair in the mirror Rafe only started at you with a smirk attached to his face.

''Nothing much, What are you doing?'' You shrugged mentioning how you were hanging out with Sarah and your sister. right along with the others would swing by.

you would see the way you mentioned. Pope, JJ and john B coming over Rafe Didn't like that you would always hang around them he came quite Possessive when you were around them not caring if they were your friends or not.

''Y/n you know I don't like when their around you I want you to come stay with me tonight'' You rolled your eyes this was the night you had free time away from Rafe and you of course wasn't going to let him spoil it nor ruin it for you.

''Rafe no tonight is special and I can't just up and leave them'' Hoping he would at least give in you had pleaded.

''Y/n Don't start with your fucking stubbornness okay do as I asked you to'' his voice stern and deep with command.

"No Rafe I'll Call You when I'm done and then come over right now I wanna enjoy my time with my friends'' With that you didn't give him enough time to respond once you clicked the red button hanging up in his face which you wouldn't suspect would be a problem later on.

once you made it back to the living room you saw that they had started without you.

''there she is our favorite kook'' JJ yelled you gave him a unsatisfactory look of unprovable.

"eww Shut up JJ I rather be with the Pouge's because I Love you guys so much'' Sarah awed as she laid her head on your shoulder.

"says the one dating a kook aka being Sarah's brother'' Pope says smartly causing you to roll your eyes at him directly.

''shut up at least I'm still not a fucking virgin'' JJ and John B snickered trying to hold back a laugh which they failed at.

"okay that's fair'' pope pouted feeling defeated which he was.

A couple of hours had passed, and you couldn't fight the feeling of Rafe Being angry at you You had goosebumps maybe he wouldn't be too made right?

You Knew Rafe hated when you would also disobey him but you couldn't help but wanting to be with your friends and enjoying the laughter of each other it made you feel good inside.

''you guys we should play truth or dare'' Sarah mentioned and suggested you nodded in agreement and amusement. JJ lifted his eyebrows In a questioning manner.

"I'll play only if it's spicy'' John B added Kie simply rolled her eyes but agreed to play anyways because she was only bored.

''I'll go first truth or dare JJ?'' Sarah asked JJ thought for a moment before going a simple Truth.

''alright is it true that you and Kie got down and dirty in Y/n's room'' JJ and Kie both Looked at each other before turning there gaze towards you you looked at both of them disgusted.

"WHAT THE FUCK THAT'S DISGUSTING'' you yelled.

" i promise it was just on the floor and plus my room was flooded and mom and dad were in the house and your room is soundproof'' Kie says.

"says the kook who fucked her boyfriend in the back yard of John B's house'' you flicked JJ off.

"okay Pope Truth or dare'' Pope right away chose dare in his own Amusement because he wasn't a pussy like anyone else or so he would say.

''I dare you to make out with Y/n'' you and pope gasped you were really close friends but you never imagined kissing him before and the same with pope to you. but it was only a dare no feelings attached what so ever.

''are you sure you want to?'' Pope asked wanting your full consent before caring on with the stupid dare. you nodded only wanting to get this over with, Pope scoots closer towards you before grabbing the side of your face attaching his lips with yours.

''THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!'' the sudden sound of your boyfriends deep booming voice echoed causing you to jump and pull away from pope with a harsh shove. you felt the harsh tug of rafe yanking you up dragging you outside to his truck.

"ow Rafe the hell Let me Go!'' you yelled he slams your back against his truck causing you to wince out in pain.

''YOUR SUCH A FUCKING SLUT YOU KNOW THAT, FIRST YOU WANNA HANG UP ON ME TWO DISOBEY ME AND THREE KISS THAT LOW DOWN FUCKING POUGE YOUR THAT FUCKING DICK HUNGRY HUH? Rafe grabs your face squeezing tightly you clawed at his hand as tears peaked from your eyes.

"Rafe Let me Go Your Hurting me!'' You Yelled Out. Rafe didn't even think twice as he continued to yell in your face.

''WHEN WE GET HOME YOUR FUCKING OVER DO YOU UNDERSTANND ME THIS WILL BE THE FINALE TIME YOU FUCKING FUCK ME OVER!' Rafe then opens the truck door roughly shoving you inside. without even saying anything to your sister or your friends guess you would have to text kie later. because Rafe wasn't gonna let you out of his sight.

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starfxkr · 4 months

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Mackin’

All the times Pope Heyward suspected his best friend was mackin on his little sister.

A/N: this is my first time writing anything fandom related since I was 14 to say I’m rusty is an understatement

The first time there wasn’t much weight behind it. She newly 15 and JJ was 16 and it was the day after her birthday.

He gave her his “Birthday Girl Special” aka some extra potent weed rolled by yours truly. He snuck up behind her and tapped her on the lips with it with a smug Surprise!

She just rolled her eyes, mumbled thanks and skated off to her friends. So Pope ignored it because JJ flirts with anybody with a pulse and he’s not surprised his unamused sister isn’t an exception.

The second time is 2 summers later at his house.

. JJ helped him with some orders and Heyward decided to reward the two with some cold Cokes. Only Big Heyward was gone and now Little Heyward was put in charge which Pope hated because she was mean, and petty and liked to spit in drinks.

Except this time shes luckily in a good mood and decides to make floats with the ice cream she stole borrowed from the store and shes extra generous with the chocolate syrup she pours over JJs.

So much so its spills over the corner and she licks the side of his glass.

He calls her gross but she just snorts and says “Be glad I didn’t spit in it this time.” before flicking him with the water she used to clean her hands and walking out of the room.

Pope ignores the way JJ shifts uncomfortably once she’s gone.

The third time both siblings are out on the boat with JJ getting fish for the store.

Normally she’s very practical and sticks to wearing Pope’s old shirts (it’s not like she has many of her own) and quadruple lacing a rope around her dad’s shorts (she likes to joke she’s the son their father never had) but this time she’s wearing gym shorts from middle school and a bikini because its laundry day and she’s 18 and nobody call her what to do not even her daddy so Pope needs to shut the fuck up.

“JJs not gonna die if he sees my tits Pope he remembers when I didn’t have any.”

Of course JJ chimes in that the last time he saw them they couldn’t have been bigger than the palm of his hand, she’s filled out quite a lot since then. She just tells him to shut up so she can fix the trap.

Pope ignores how JJs eyes linger on her ass since it happened so quick it was probably an accident.

The fourth time is when Little Heyward is 19 and its Kildare County Fair time and Pope’s kicked her outta the house while he and Cleo get ready because she was making him anxious with her fluttering around. John B pulls up with the rest of the pouges in the Twinkie and this time JJs not as slick about the way his eyes trail down her body.

Because now Little Heyward isn’t all that little and he’d be lying if he said the way her tits looked in that shirt didn’t make his jaw clench.

So maybe he chose to stay with her in exile on the front porch while everyone else went inside just to keep her company.

Pope only looks out the window when Kie makes a comment about “putting a leash on his sister”. Sure Little Heyward can be kinda crude and a bit of a troll but she’s really harmless and he would appreciate if people would stop saying shit like that about her.

But he looks out and there she is with her popsicle halfway out JJs mouth and his hand is on her knee and they’re both laughing like its a joke but this time something about it makes his face hot.

He still ignores it because those two always get into a dick measuring contest of who can make the other more uncomfortable.

Then once they reach thefair the two disappear. For hours.

Pope thinks he sees the red of JJs cap on her head except every time his eyes seemingly land on them they disappear.

At the end of the night they reappear with the giant bear she’s been eyeing for years now.

She says JJ won it for her bc Archie’s been “fucking her for years” (her words not his).

Pope can’t ignore it this time.

Because even though this is probably the most innocent interaction they’ve had in years there’s grass stains on JJs knees and her skirt is twisted ever so slightly and theres a ring of lip gloss around his lips, dewy and faint.

JJs been mackin on his sister and he doesn’t know how long it’s been going on.

#jj maybank #jj maybank headcanon #obx fic #obx fanfiction #jj maybank x reader #heyward!reader #jj maybank x heyward!reader #jj maybank prompt #✨.txt

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faghubby · 5 months

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Christmas Miracle

"Paulie come here" Morgan called from the bedroom. I stopped what I was doing and rush to her.

"I have decided to give you the best Christmas present ever" Morgan told me. "But first I want you to make yourself all girlie" she teased stepping close to me. She kissed my neck. I wasted no time first jumping in the shower to touch up any loose hairs I might have.

Morgan had helped me explore my submissive nature over the past two years. It had started as a game, but grew. I now exclusively wore not only panties but often a bra and stockings as well under my clothes. Morgan had tought me how to do my makeup and hair. Having me dress fully as a woman most weekends. Morgan and I had not had traditional sex in almost a year. Instead often lesbian sex. Using toys on each other and me orally pleasing her. On rare occasions she would stroke my dick. Morgan also cuckold me. But we didn't talk about it. As she put it, "it is none of your business what I do with men"

As I got out if the shower I found a red Christmas dress waiting for me. Along with sexy red lingerie. I got dressed. And did my makeup. I looked very sexy in my Christmas outfit I thought. Morgan was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt when I found her. I towered over her in my 3 inch heels.

"You look perfect" Morgan smiled.

"Now, I decided for Christmas I am giving you freedom" she smiled. "No more hiding, I am going to help you introduce Paulina to the world." She told me. I was a bit worried.

"So we have an appointment to have our Christmas pictures taken. She grabbed her keys and led me to the car. I had been out dressed before but she drove to a local shop and made me go in. The photographer knew all about what she wanted posing us with me in the submissive role. Sitting with Morgan above me. Or playful where Morgan lifted me up. Morgan was happy with the pics. Not even letting me look. She chose one for a mass online card to everyone we knew.

"Paulina, come hit send" she told me. I hesitated.

"You know you want everyone to know, I think the family already suspects" Morgan told me. As I stood there the photographer reached under my dress. Startled I hit send.

"Do you want him" Morgan whispered in my ear. She didn't wait for an answer she pushed me to my knees. I had never sucked a real cock. Only Morgan's toys. I reached up and unzipped his pants. And pulled out his cock. Morgan stepped away as I took his cock in my mouth.

Meanwhile I heard my phone start digging like crazy. Morgan laughed

"OH everyone loves the pic baby. Even your mom" she told me.

"You seem to be enjoying Brad's cock baby" she said as I gagged on it. Just then he grabbed my head and pumped his load down my throat. I couldn't swallow fast enough gagging and coughing spitting his cum all over myself.

"Paulina you need to learn to swallow" Morgan said. She pushed me back to his cock. "Clean him up at least" I licked his softening cock and balls clean. I felt ashamed of what I had done as I stood up.

"Don't worry baby, I will find you lots of cocks to suck" Morgan told me. I was rock hard in my panties it showed thru the tight dress.

"Someone really liked sucking cock" Morgan giggled as Brad zipped up his pants and unlocked the door. I had not even realized he had locked it. Morgan led me out with cum still on my dress and my dick rock hard bulging my dress. Morgan read me my messages as I drove home.

"Your boss said you look pretty" she laughed. "Maybe you could work out a way to get a raise"

"John, says he can't wait to fuck me again" Morgan commented about my cousin

"Your mom said she loves the dress, wants to know if you will be wearing it to Christmas dinner" Morgan kept answering the messages but didn't tell me what she replied.

"Wow, Joe (my best friend) has a big cock" she said showing me a dick pic he sent me. When we got home we saw our neighbor staring at us with disgust.

"Go get the mail" Morgan told me. I walked to the end of the driveway. When I came inside. Morgan was stripped down to just her plain white panties.

"You where so naughty. Sucking Brad's cock" she told me. She picked up a leather strap.

'What is that for?" I said my voice shaking.

"Call Joe, ask him to come over and fuck you" she told me. She wrapped the leather strap gently around my neck.

"call Joe, if you don't want to let him fuck you, ask him to come fuck me" she told me. I picked up my phone.

"Hey sissy" Joe said as he answered.

"Joe, um you have a nice cock" I stuttered. Why did I say that?

"well thank you" he laughed.

"Would you like to come over?" I asked softly

"Be there soon" he said and hung up.

"You didn't ask him" Morgan said taking the leather strap.

"Bend over the couch with you panties pulled down" she ordered me. We had never even spoken about this. But I did as she said.

SMACK the strap stung my ass. I jumped.

"Don't move" Morgan said as a second blow hit.

"Want another or are you ready to admit what you are to the world" she asked. I didn't want another that was for sure. She squirted lube in my ass.

"when Joe gets here tell him what you did with Brad and ask him to help you do better" she told me. She shoved a large plug in my ass. She had me kneel by the front door and wait. Joe knocked a few minutes later I just said come in.

"Don't you look hot" Joe said.

"I tried to suck a cock today, but couldn't swallow. Will you help me?" I said. He dropped his pants he wore no underwear. I took him in my mouth.

"OH yes, suck my cock, you can suck it everyday if you want to" he told me.

"Hello, Morgan" Joe said I went to turn my head but Joe help my head on his cock.

"Your wife is so hot" Joe told me. As I continued to suck his cock. Morgan came up behind me and pushed on the plug in my ass. I moaned around Joe's cock.

"Like this Morgan said taking Joe's cock and sucking on it then put it back in my mouth. And his balls sweety. Lick and suck his balls. I did as she instructed. She then whispered in my ear.

"Joe will you please Fuck Morgan for me, she needs a man to fuck her" I pleaded. Morgan kissed my cheek and stood. joe carried her to our room and locked the door. I sat and listened to then fuck. Morgan moaned and cried out several times. As I heard Joe grunting.

The door opened suddenly and Joe appeared. His cock hanging soft. He waited a moment. Without a word I licked him clean tasting both his and Morgan's juices.

"You are a bitch now" Joe told me. As he went to gather his clothes from the front hall. I found Morgan in bed.naked her pussy red and swollen with Joe's seed leaking from it.

"Do you want to clean me? She asked. I just buried my head between her thighs without a word.

"You can never go back, everyone knows" Morgan reminded me. As she had me clean out all my male clothes from my closet.

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mllemaenad · 3 months

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The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

Huh. It sounds rather as though Chester has some opinions about barging into other people's space in the workplace.

I must admit, I don't go in for a lot of worrying about whether a piece of information is somehow a red herring and doesn't really mean what I think it means. Mostly because I don't think The Magnus Archives really worked like that.

It had a lot of complex world building that it revealed in pieces, and its central conceit was that its protagonist was a man who had an urgent need to understand the mechanics of the world but, as the villain of the piece was actively denying him access to that information, he had to drag it out of horror stories one weird fact at a time.

I don't mean to say that there was never a misdirect: in season 3 the characters really needed to believe in the threat of the Unknowing, and so for the duration of that story arc it was a threat. It had a reasonably plausible explanation for why the rituals had always failed – that if it wasn't Gertrude Robinson blowing them up it was the servant of some other rival power – and you could just go along with it. But when the story wanted you to think about the rituals, it immediately and clearly started saying that actually, they collapse on their own all the damn time.

By and large, if something seemed weird it probably was. If you heard the same name twice, you'd probably keep on hearing it. The lady infested with bugs you learned about in episode six, and who definitely freaked John out, was in fact going to be a problem. And so on. I don't mean this as a criticism: stories with endless impossible-to-guess twists are often just annoying. Solid world building that makes more and more sense as you go on is a positive.

It's possible that The Magnus Protocol is a different kind of story, and is actively trying to mislead its listeners. But that feels like a problem for a later me, should evidence of that arise.

It does deal quite differently with the way information is distributed across its cast, though. I mean – Jonah Magnus/Elias Bouchard absolutely hoarded information, but otherwise it was fairly well distributed. If another character found out something important, John heard it on the tapes. Martin also listened to the tapes. And honestly, John was reasonably forthcoming if he knew a useful fact the others didn't. I'm not disputing the time everybody forgot to tell Tim about an impending apocalypse for a couple of weeks ... but even that got resolved by Martin realising and telling him about the impending apocalypse.

Here, though ... everyone is following a different thread, and nobody is sharing what they know. That creates a very different atmosphere.

And the story ... I mean, it's mostly about a workplace getting wildly out of control.

It's interesting that Alice seems to like Chester, but dislike Norris. I suspect that there's mostly just a meta joke there, as the episode was penned by Norris's voice actor. But still: it's hard to imagine the sense in which Norris could be a "whiny little toad" when his personality fluctuates with the cases he reads. And Chester's case, here, was definitely someone having a whine. Don't get me wrong: Dianne had a horrible experience. But she is very much here to complain about it.

You could argue, as a starting point, that the whole case reads like a broad summary of how things went in The Magnus Archives:

Got dropped into a managerial role following the long absence and eventual death of my predecessor

Did not receive any reasonable training or oversight during the transition period

Found the place completely empty of staff and had to just deal with that

Completely winged it on actually running the place

Direct line manager was unhelpful and almost gleefully unresponsive to requests for assistance

Several people just ... signed up to work there, with no process whatsoever and nothing that even had a whiff of a related skill set

Then there were monsters everywhere, which was just great

The situation was very much out of control

Was very much in peril of being actually be crushed to both despair and actual death by the sheer number of monsters and other weird crap that had taken over my world

Everything was on fire

Sitting on the floor and screaming does feel like a reasonable response to all of the above

Even Dianne's mild officiousness (she keeps ... listing her bachelor's degree. Why on earth?) is reminiscent of how John could sound when he wanted people to think he knew what he was doing.

That said, it is a relief to encounter a character who had a supernatural experience and reacted by noting that this was some horrible bullshit and leaving.

Of course the primary difference between this and The Magnus Archives is where the threat came from. The archival staff could be a cantankerous bunch, but they were never in themselves the problem.

Dianne's weird volunteers remind me most of the eerie students in Anatomy Class. Which isn't to say that they're the same – just that it has the same kind of feel to it, where the point is that their behaviour is almost recognisably human. And as the working situation spirals out of control in the story, you feel it also deteriorate in the OIAR.

It's all about intruders. Celia is the least obvious intruder – the new hire, who has a much reason to be here as anybody else. But there's the sense that she may have come here from very far away indeed, and like the volunteers in the story, she brings odd things with her:

Celia Is there any way to look up specific files? Alice Like what? Celia Oh I don’t know. Every case about being buried alive or meat or… whatever. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

Celia seems to be very much referencing the entity categorisations from The Magnus Archives. So you have to wonder – is that relevant here? She might operate as an audience insert here, with preconceptions about how the world works that ultimately won't help her.

I don't think it is necessary to throw out everything you know from The Magnus Archives to enjoy this story. It's hardly unusual for a sequel to be accessible to a newcomer but provide a richer experience to anyone familiar with the original. Gwen Bouchard likely has some interesting connection to Elias Bouchard that will come up eventually. If you listened to The Magnus Archives you know the name and can anticipate and be curious about what that means. If you didn't – well, they'll tell you when they get there.

But this is more about the nature of reality. Robert Smirke's fourteen was one man's attempt to categorise, explain and control a nebulous collection of supernatural experiences and beings. It continued to be relevant in The Magnus Archives because many of Smirke's associates were still around. They set up cults and organisations around their own personal obsessions, and taught younger people to think as they did. The broken world was largely the fault of an assortment of privileged men from the heyday of the British Empire literally defining the rules of existence.

Here – well, the existence of The Magnus Institute implies the existence of a Somebody Magnus, if not necessarily a Jonah. But the fact that it's located in Manchester makes it quite clear that the early events from The Magnus Archives could not have occurred in the same way. So are there different people involved? Different obsessions? Different rules?

None of the items were fit for sale. I specifically recall two large, soiled Crinoline dresses, a Chaise Longue with cushions filled with some sort of coarse sand, a taxidermied vulture, a rusty antique printing press and a collection of old medical equipment that had seemingly been recently used. There were many, many additional items but I was unable to take a full inventory as the shop floor was overfull. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

There's a lot going on, and it's all creepy and wrong. But how do you sort and make sense of it all?

And then there's Sam, who finally pushes his way into Colin's private space. There's the question there about relevance again. Sam has come to ask about a weird email (and as an aside, I am going to amuse myself imagining that Alice has a filter on her inbox to send anything from that address to spam, and every one of the hundreds of affected emails says "stop calling me Chester"). Colin does not care about the weird email, although he cares about being recorded enough to assault Sam and break his phone.

Sam brought something weird and unwanted – the phone with is internal microphone, and the audience can be certain Colin is right: it's listening.

While I have no doubt there are weirder things in the world than internal emails from people who don't work at the OIAR, it does seem like a strange thing to dismiss out of hand. Sam has received mysterious forms from a supposedly "automated" process, and a peculiar email from a "John" who does not exist. Alice has received a security notification regarding Sam's search activities. Gwen has received a recording of Lena attempting a murder, and apparently information from a "source" indicating that Lena hid that information from her superiors.

Someone or something is listening, and someone or something is communicating. It could even be multiple someones – but nobody at the OIAR is comparing notes to find that out. If Colin knew about the other instances, would he care more about the email?

There even seems to be disinformation being spread, as Alice explicitly told Celia the search does not work:

Alice Well, there’s a search bar, but it doesn’t actually do anything. You’d have to dig through them all manually. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

But we already know that it does from Sam's research into The Magnus Institute:

Alice Apparently you tried searching for files with the terms… (checking printout) "Magnus” and “Protocol"? Sam That’s what this is about? I mean, yeah, okay, I got a case referencing the Magnus Institute and then I looked it up and found a few files on the system that mentioned using “The Protocol”. Why would that be restricted? – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

I don't know why she did that, aside from her general aversion to digging into the cases she assesses, but it does make it harder to keep everybody on the same page.

And then Gwen, who both unceremoniously bursts into Lena's office, and apparently blackmails her way "in" to the true business of the OIAR. She too brings something unwanted: evidence of Lena's attack on Klaus-the-presumably-former-IT-guy-whose-fault-it-is-the-damn-code-is-in-German.

But what does "in" mean, and what does an "external liaison" do? The most reasonable assumption seems to be dealing with these Starkwall people, who were also likely the people who charged in to the Hilltop Centre and dealt with a messy situation by a) shooting everybody and b) setting things on fire. I see now why the first word Sam associated with those people was "massacre".

It's interesting to consider what Gwen might be trying to get out of this. Lena keeps referring to her as ambitious, but a managerial role on the night shift at a creepy data warehouse isn't exactly reaching for the stars. Obviously there is more than that going on here – but how and what does Gwen know about it? And if Starkwall deals with everything the way they dealt with the situation at Hilltop Centre, what could standing next to that mess gain a person?

Finally there is Hilltop Centre itself. It's interesting that in both universes the place seems to have latched on to charity as a cover: Hill Top Road's most notable incarnation was as a halfway house, and Hilltop Centre is a charity shop. The former gave the owners access to discarded people; the latter to discarded objects. It also suggests, though does not prove, that this is not the same reality from which Anya Villette hailed. Of course, the house could have been repurposed since her cleaning job in 2009, but it does seem a stretch since at that point in time it had been newly constructed as a private residence. It is also interesting that it was once again destroyed by fire.

So what was this "good cause" the volunteers were so diligently serving? And – if it was Starkwall and the OIAR that dealt with the situation there – who called it in? Dianne's report is clearly after the events, so this is not the case that summoned them.

I'd be interested to hear what did, and what they thought was going on.

#the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus archives

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deepperplexity · 4 months

Text

Prompt 24: Christmas Party

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Sir Penn’s Estate, Christmas Party 1850

A/N: So, it’s the last day of 2023 and I’m finally able to sit down for a little while to write and post this. We are having a calm New Year Celebration, just us three here at home with homemade sushi and some (neighbours will be shooting a lot though) fireworks so no dressing up, no extra cleaning, no extra cooking or prepping or anything (yes, I’m loving it after the super busy holiday 😅). This is a nice little thing to wrap up the year with I think, we get to look back a bit and then enjoy the present time as well with a stoic and sweet Turpin 🥰👏

A/N+: I thought I’d have some fun and use some real people this time around, sprinkling in a bit of accurate history among the fiction is always a good deal of fun (do keep in mind I have used the real people to enhance this story and my portrayal of them aren’t accurate to any more degree than names, ages, time stamps and professions - have no idea how they were in real life so I’ve just sprinkled in some history I’ve found through the past few years while I’ve written Turpin stories. Just thought I ought to use some of it, you know? 😂) so you’ll meet a man called Johan Penn and his wife Ellen Penn (neé English) as they match the time frame and they too have a huge age gap (21 years) between them which I thought would be great fun to use 🥰 1850 they had two children and one on the way as well so figured I'd use that too ^^

Tags/TW’s: Confessions, Memories, Societal Differences, Fluff, Affection, Growth, Age Gap, Dancing, Friendship

Word Count: 2.5k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

The grand hall of Sir Penn’s estate was dressed in all things Christmas — garlands, tinsel, hundreds of candles, and sparkling decorations, each pillar wrapped in red and green, each surface covered in all things wonderfully Christmas-themed. You were in heaven, except for one thing — your husband was nowhere to be found after the first dance of the evening which he’d spent in a stiff sort of grace while twirling you about the room among all the pretty and chatty couples.

“Oh, Y/n, how good to see you!” came the sweet voice of Mrs Ellen Penn, you had first known her as Ellen English though as both you and Richard had been at their wedding three years ago. You felt a kinship with the sweet woman, both of you marrying men far beyond your age, but she had kept within her societal standing as she was the daughter of another well-known engineer, William English of Enfield, much like her husband was John Penn of Johan Penn and Sons . Your husband was of a different societal standing, of course, but both ranked high in their respective fields and often mingled in the same circles so you and Ellen had become great friends over the past years.

“Ellen, good evening, how are you?” you asked, smiling brightly while glancing toward her rounded belly where their third child grew. She laughed and patted her stomach affectionately.

“Oh, this is a wild one, I assure you, he’ll be the brawny one, I can feel it.”

“Sure it’s a he?” you asked and she nodded. “Well, three sons, what a blessing you are to your husband,” you continued and she laughed once more.

“I think he’s quite happy with his lot in life, lord knows I am. I do wish I could have a little daughter too though, you know?” You nodded, but you weren’t overly fond of children and still had none of your own. You were neither happy nor sad about it, your husband was not the fathering type either, you did suspect he wished for a son to carry on his legacy but you also knew he was not fond of the idea of children beyond that. As he always said, he was perfectly happy to simply have you as you were all that mattered to him.

“Where is the great judge?” Ellen asked while glancing around the room, being one of few who knew how you two loved each other and how well he treated you there was none of the usual fear or the like in her voice or expression.

“I confess, he’s managed to slip away. I don’t know where he walked off to but I’m sure he’ll find his way back, as he always does,” you said with a smile and Ellen smiled back at you. Both of you had been blessed with husbands who adored you, were fools in love, and were beyond possessive of all things regarding you — it was nice to have a friend who understood, who was in the same position in some ways. The gossip about you had been hard to deal with at first, seeing as you were of lower standing than your husband and with such an age difference the talks had been quite loud about town — with Ellen by your side, as a true friend in kind, things had become much easier.

You stood off to the side, watching the room while hunting for the man of your dreams who nearly none else seemed able to see as anything other than the ruthless judge who dolled out harsher sentences than any other in the country. He was more to you, different to you, something else to you entirely. It hadn’t always been like that, of course. You smiled to yourself as memories of the very first Christmas party you had celebrated together flooded your mind and you drifted off to the past while sipping a ridiculously expensive champagne…

“Will you come visit next week?” you asked and Ellen beamed at you.

“I would love to, I can leave John and William with my mother for an evening,” she said and you nodded, knowing full well it was for the benefit of both of you if she did not bring her children — they were two and one years old so they were a handful of needing constant attention and supervision.

“Ellen, my sunshine,” came the voice of Sir Penn and you both turned towards the man with his full beard and slightly upturned moustache. “Come dance with me,” he continued and you said your goodbyes before the two walked off. You felt blessed in life at that moment, surrounded by splendour and grandeur you were now used to. Richard had made sure of that, spoiling you endlessly in a manner only he ever could.

Four years earlier…

He was such a harsh, stoic man. Not a smile to be seen, not a softness to him in any manner. It had been a mere month since your November wedding, not enough time to get to know the man who had taken you off your family’s poor hands to be dressed in finery and held at a strange distance of close but not too close, far away but not too far away — as if your husband had a shield around him none could penetrate yet physically he had you close.

Your arms were wrapped around his, your hands gently resting atop his wrist, and it felt as if you had been standing there for an eternity, barely speaking a word or even being acknowledged at all. It was nearly as if you did not exist. Is it because of you, or because of my background? You wondered while you glanced up at the man whose arm you graced. The fact you got tingly all over at his appearance was something you barely could admit to yourself. He was so much older, his greying hair and the slight wrinkles to his face only made him more handsome in your eyes though. But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You still were not sure why the man had wed you.

“Judge Turpin,” said yet another round-bellied man as he bowed his head to your husband while passing by in the grand Hall of a man called Sir John Penn. You knew nothing of the world you had entered, nor any of the people inhabiting it. It was a terrifying place to be, yet you were not truly afraid as your husband always kept you close (just never close enough).

“Lord Burlington,” your husband said in that drawling dark voice of his but there was no bow of his head, a mere tilt of his chin was enough apparently.

“Tired?” he suddenly asked while you shifted your weight from foot to foot to ease the discomfort of standing still for so long.

You glanced up at him. “No, simply stiff,” you admitted while a slight blush warmed your cheeks from his stormy gaze solely focused on you.

“A dance, perhaps?” he continued and you thought his voice would be your undoing. You found no words so simply nodded and he led you out on the dance floor in that stiff yet gracefully respect commanding manner.

You danced around the room in a waltz, he led you with expertise and there was no hardship in following his lead. He really is a good dancer, if only he would soften a tad… He tugged you a little closer as you thought of that and your breath hitched.

“You look confused,” he murmured for only you to hear, “am I not leading well?”

“Oh, no, no you are an excellent dancer,” you hurriedly said in as low a tone as you could while he would still be able to hear you.

“Then why, do tell, the confusion?” You blushed even deeper at that, averting your gaze to the golden pin in his ascot to gather yourself as you had been wondering how you could be so attracted to a man like him all evening.

“Love?” he urged and your heart leapt in your chest, as it always did when he used any sweet terms while speaking to you.

“I— You are very handsome, sir,” you whispered and his fingers flexed by your waist.

“Is that so?”

“Yes…”

“And you are confused by this?”

“N-no,” you stuttered in admittance. “I am confused as to why I find you to be the most handsome man…”

“The most handsome?”

“Yes…” Not that I’ve found many men handsome before… Perhaps I have a very singular taste? Strange taste? Wrong taste? That last part made you nibble your lip and Richard spun you around.

As he caught you back up, holding you far too close, he leaned in and whispered by your ear. “I shall only ever need you to find me handsome, to hear I am the most handsome one in your beautiful eyes matters greatly.” His baritone voice had you shivering, goosebumps travelling down your spine in waves with the sensation of his breath against your skin.

“Richard, you are so confusing,” you confessed, your voice a meek noise you had little control over as it hitched.

“How come?”

“You are so cold, yet you say such sweet things at times.”

“I have been cold toward you?” A sound close to alarm in his voice.

“No, well, yes, well, no,” you stuttered as you thought of it. He hadn’t really been cold toward you, he was gentle and somewhat kind, a bit stiff and stoic, rough around the edges and somewhat harsh at times but no, he had not really been cold — in your presence towards others, yes, but not towards you now that you thought about it.

Had you really done so so many times? Had you missed his efforts? Been blind to his trials of getting closer to you while you had done all you could to be the good wife of a man in high society — in a world you did not belong, and did not know how to live within?

“Perhaps I ought to be the one confused,” he said with something you couldn’t possibly believe to be mirth in his voice. “You watch me with the most longing in your eyes, yet you do not take kindly to any of my advances, hiding away in the study or refusing to speak to me altogether when I endeavour to start a conversation with you.”

“What?”

“Oh, sweet wife, you have not once engaged fully in a conversation with me, no matter my efforts to start one. You always turn your eyes away, fidgeting with those delicate fingers of yours or offer me one of those tight-lipped smiles. Yes, exactly like that,” he said as you smiled up at him tightly, endeavouring to stop yourself from breaking out in a flurry of words that you wished to speak but were afraid to as they were wholly improper given the differences between you and your husband.

“I don’t know how to act in your world,” you confessed, feeling guilt and shame overwhelm your heart and mind.

“Act?”

“Yes, act, be,” you said.

“Love,” Richard said and stopped dancing. “You do not act with me, never with me. You live and you are you. There is no acting involved, what ever put that notion in your pretty head?” he asked with scrunched brows as he nearly glared down at you with disappointment.

You gulped down a breath, feeling your shoulders tense under those intimidating eyes you adored. “I am not from your world, I am—”

“You are everything and all the things I could hope for, just as you are. Do you not think I am well aware of who you are? Where you come from? Do you think me a man of little resources and forethought?” You shook your head and he held on tightly to your waist.

Current time…

Richard leaned in closer, the world fell away and the beautiful music seemed to die out.

“I am well aware of who you are, from your favourite colour to your preferred foods, your manner of acting with people you care for and how you behave toward strangers. How you fidget when you are worried, how your shoulders tense and how you bite your lip when holding back words, I am beyond aware of your meagre upbringing and the lack of education within high society,” he said in a rough sort of way you couldn’t make heads or tales of.

“What are you saying?”

“I know you, love, and there is no need to be anything or anyone except for yourself with me.”

You chuckled to yourself, feeling a tinge of a blush creep up your neck while you thought of that day when everything between the two of you had changed. How you had dared to open up to the harsh man who craved your true self while he had softened toward you and become an encouraging, doting husband who made you blossom into the assured and strong woman you were now. The journey had not been easy, or smooth, but you had both grown together.

Richard had changed little to the outside world, while you had become a different person with him by your side. He was an affectionate, if somewhat depraved and simultaneously doting lover and caring husband even if he was somewhat possessive and harsh. He was perfect for you, as you were perfect for him. You challenged him nowadays, you dared speak your mind unhindered and he actually listened to your words like none other ever had — like he listened to none other, and no matter what it said about you it honestly made you feel too good to be heard by him.

“Love, there you are,” Richard said, jolting you out of your thoughts, while he walked up to you in two long strides.

“Richard, darling, where have you been?” you asked while slipping onto his arm after he gave your temple a swift kiss.

“Sir Penn wished for a moment, some legal matters for the Institution.”

“The Mechanical Engineers? Everything alright?”

“Oh, more than alright, love. Do not worry that pretty head of yours, I know you care deeply for Mrs Penn, and given her current state I dare say it’s at its height for you, but there are no worries, only paperwork,” Richard said with a hint of a smile.

“Truly, Richard? Paperwork during the Christmas party?”

“My apologies, sweet wife,” he said with softness and kissed the top of your head.

“You are forgiven, if you dance a waltz with me,” you challenged and the deep but low chuckle he graced you with was like music to your soul.

“I shall gladly parade you about, my most beautiful wife,” he said and began leading you onto the dance floor while your fingers squeezed his and he looked at you with that stormy gaze of his that promised endless love and adoration…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: THAT WAS IT FOR THIS YEAR DARLINGS! 71k of words and it's all finished! 😱❤

The last fic of Rickmas2023 and even if I'm a few days late I finished this year and I wrote a fic for every single prompt and it's been quite the journey. I have really enjoyed this year's event, and doing so many serials was a real challenge tbh but I feel it was the right way to go this year. Also, sidenote, the Penn family does have a daughter a few years after this as well so Ellen's wish does get fulfilled!

I hope you've had lots of fun and feel happy about how this year turned out. This last fic is a little extra dedicated to my Blossom ( @snowblossomreads ), who chose Turpin as the final character for this year's round and I am ever so grateful for her and each one of you darlings ❤❤❤ I will be getting to the comments, reblogs and tags steadily during the upcoming days as well - I am so so so thankful and grateful for all your loving words and all the time you've spent with me and my writing this December. THANK YOU!

I wish you a super happy 2024 - filled with loved, joy and all the good things! ❤❤❤

Q: Which of my fics were your favourite of RICKMAS2023? 🥰

A: For me, I'd have to say continuing Hans and Anna-Louise's story was my favourite to re-visit and write, but my favourite in general would probably have to be Prompt 9. Missing Star - I have no exact reason, I just absolutely loved it 🥰

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas 2023 #rickmas #alan rickman #rickmaniac #judge turpin #turpin fic #turpin x reader #turpin x you #sweeney todd

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the-obnoxious-sibling · 5 months

Note

I don’t care about his haters I want to hear about buggy’s qualities 😭😭😭

i let this one sit in my inbox for a while because your phrasing kept making me laugh. i hope you don’t mind the delayed response.

buggy’s qualities! (note i did not specify good qualities or bad qualities.) let’s get into them.

already established in that post:

greedy (obviously)

selfish (obviously)

two-faced (very obviously)

loyal (limited applications)

self-preserving (a strong instinct)

untrustworthy (almost comically obviously so)

trusting (to the point of naïveté)

an interesting, contradictory lineup. what else is there to buggy?

he has very romantic notions of piracy.

despite saying the only thing that matters to him is treasure & the acquisition thereof, the way he acts says otherwise. he parties at the drop of a hat (improving crew morale). when his crew, thinking he’s dead, has moved on, even going so far as to adopt a new captain and flag (after… how long have they been apart, exactly? weeks? days?), he rescues them, no questions asked. he weeps to hear how badly he was missed after his arrest, how proud his crew was to hear of his involvement at the paramount war, and he returns both sentiments instantly. the captain-crew bond means something to him. (small wonder why.)

he turns up his nose at crocodile’s deeply unromantic “piracy is a business” mindset—buggy doesn’t care about building capital, he wants to find the one piece! who needs a five-year plan when you can just find the biggest, best treasure that ever existed right now?!

oh, hey, related to that:

he’s impulsive.

why make a plan when you can just do things?! who needs to learn anything from these soft-hearted pirates—buggy’s got a treasure map and a devil fruit worth more money than he’s ever seen in his life! he’s gonna head out on his own ASAP! that should be no problem at all… for this pre-teen… on the grand line. mm hm.

he wants to get back on the grand line and find the one piece—or captain john’s treasure—or any other treasure he finds a map for, really. how? well, he’ll follow the map, obviously! …and when that leads him into danger?

he can be inattentive.

more specifically, he gets fixated on his goal—treasure, killing luffy, silently panicking, yelling at shanks, whatever—to the point that he somehow misses everything else going on around him. does not notice shanks walking up behind him—twice. does not notice smoker or his officers surrounding his men until it’s too late. walks into a cave that’s actively being mined because he thinks treasure might be there. walks into a well-appointed navy garrison because he thinks treasure might be there!

he doesn’t notice he’s standing next to whitebeard—you know, the nearly twenty-two foot tall man—until he hears the guy call him by an insulting name.

buggy makes rash decisions and has a short temper—a dangerous combination.

he hears insults where none are intended, and lashes out violently—maybe lethally?—and sometimes when insults are intended, he doesn’t bother to wonder who’s offered the insult until after he’s fired one back. at which point he may wilt like a daisy, if the person he’s insulted turns out to be, say, whitebeard.

(why yes, i do think that moment is hysterical. not least because i suspect whitebeard cannot remember buggy’s name, and calls him red-nose because that’s all he does remember about him.)

but even at his most weak-kneed, fawn response, pathetic little guy, we have to keep in mind:

he’s charismatic and inspirational.

and i’m not just talking about the impel down guys! his original crew were just as impressed by him—though maybe impressed and terrified in equal measure?—at the start of the orange town arc. they were confident in his victory over these three weirdos to the point of cockiness, just laughing when zoro cut buggy down. they’re really shaken when luffy, after a few minutes of devil fruit v devil fruit combat, totally curb-stomps buggy. they prefer to believe he’s just not taking the fight seriously yet.

they’re fully convinced of his strength, cleverness, and power!

…now i’m not saying their impression of him is based in reality.

buggy’s an excellent bullshitter.

but it’s not enough to just tell a good lie, you also have to be convincing about it. (usopp, early on, is more entertaining than convincing—a good liar of a different flavor. storyteller, not self-promoter.) and while there are plenty of characters who can see through buggy’s act (to name a few: alvida, galdino, luffy (sometimes), most of luffy’s crew, most of the named characters who broke out of impel down…), there are plenty who can’t.

buggy’s “who am i?!”/“captain buggy!” chanting with his crew is not super original, maybe, but it sure gets his men pumped up. his “let’s go after the one piece!” rant in ch 1082 doesn’t impress crocodile or mihawk, but when he airs it to cross guild as a whole it sets things in motion such that the two of them can’t do shit to stop it.

…and that’s buggy as i see him, more or less! let me know if you think i’ve forgotten something! i certainly may have, or i may have lumped the trait you’re thinking of in under one of these other headings, but you won’t know unless you ask.

#asked and answered #one piece #buggy #*buggy’s insecurities

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221beloved · 7 months

Text

Beyond Recognition

Sally had been there when it happened. She'd seen it with her own eyes, and she still couldn't believe it. They were in the flat of the suspect, who wasn't even a suspect before the Freak somehow deduced that he was the only one with motive and means. He had texted Lestrade the outcome of his investigation, oh wonder, and the location to meet. Lestrade had taken Sally and some police officers and now they were standing here. Well, Sally was standing here. The other officers were searching the flat for evidence and Greg was talking with John and Sherlock. Sally stood there and wondered, how Sherlock was able to solve a case in three days, that a whole team from the yard could not.

Suddenly, the front door opened and a man stood in the living room. He was tall, fit, and dressed in trainers and a plain shirt, and he was definitely surprised by what he found in his flat. And he definitely didn't like it. He turned to run but Dr Watson, who was closest to the door, threw himself on the man to prevent his escape. It all happened in mere seconds. First, the former army doctor was pinning the suspect down, the next moment he gave a pained cry and the other man struggled back to his feet. Sally saw the jolt that went through Sherlocks body and she expected him to lunge on the suspect, to put on a chase how he was so fond of doing. But instead he went pale and rushed towards John, threw himself to his knees next to him. “John!” His voice was urgent and worried, nearly anxious, and he grabbed Johns body and helped him to lean against the wall. He knelt before him and grabbed his shoulders. “John, deep breath, take a deep breath, can you look at me?” Than Sally saw it. There was a knife, stabbed into the Doctor's thigh. She gasped. Out of the corners of her eyes she could see some officers running behind the suspect, but she couldn't turn her gaze from the scene in front of her. The slower the Doctor blinked, the more frantic the voice of the detective became. Sally couldn't help but stare, frozen in shock and disbelief. He was out of his bloody mind. Sherlock was out of his mind with worry. With worry for John Watson. Sally couldn't see the man who was standing there only moments before. This wasn't Sherlock Holmes, the cold and rude freak, who didn't care for anyone but himself and barely said a pleasant word to anyone. He was beyond recognition, shaking with worry for his friend, whispering to him not to fall asleep, to stay with him, to be brave. He held the man, held him steady, stroked him reassuringly and told him how good he was doing, that help was on the way, how strong he was. “John, stay awake, please. Look at me, just look at me. What should I ever do without you? Do you realise that I'm nothing without you? You do know that, do you? Silly question, of course you know. Look what you do to me, I'm asking silly questions. We have to talk about this later I presume. John, John!” Sally saw the Doctor's eyes close and his head rolling slightly to the side. “John? No... no, no, no, no, no.... Come on John, don't give up!” He lowered the limp body to the floor, pressed a finger to his pulse and checked his breathing. He seemed a bit relieved, but it wasn't doing too much to calm him down. He turned his head over his shoulder and shouted: “Where is the ambulance? What's taking them so long?!” Greg, who seemed as shocked as Sally, answered in a distant tone: “They're on their way. Won't take long.” Sherlock scoffed and turned to John again. He crouched down beside him and stroked his chest. Sally could see his eyes, blown wide and red as if he would start to cry any second. He was pale, even more than usual, and his hands were trembling. His entire body was actually shaking. He continued to speak to John, directly into his ear, so Sally couldn't hear any of it, but she could hear the gentle tone the rapid flow of words was spoken in. Eventually the medics arrived and surrounded the man lying unconscious on the floor. Another man in a neon jacked entered the room and gestured them all to leave, to ensure an undisturbed initial care of John Watson.

Sally obeyed, slowly leaving the room on slightly unsteady limbs. The last thing Sally could see, was Sherlock, holding John's left hand in both of his, holding him gently, not allowing anything to come between them.

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#angstober 2023 #day 11 #sherlock fic #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sally donovan #greg lestrade

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whowantslovergirl · 1 year

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can i request a pope Heyward x jj’s sister reader who (tw) k!11s her and Jj’s dad (while jj isn’t home) and she goes to John b’s house just sobbing in shock .

You can make up the rest !

An: i was walking home when I read this and I was SHOCKED FLABBERGASTED IF YOU WILL THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA this is most likely after the Fred Weasley story i posted sooo HOPE YALL LIKED THAT writing smut is such an ick and i tried BUT HOPE YALL ENJOY THIS

Shock

Pope Heyward x Maybank! reader (reader is female with she/her pronouns) JJ Maybank x sister! reader

warnings: killing (obviously), oitnb reference, established relationship, cursing, blood is described, the killing is described, different povs (ur gonna know whose pov), JJ is so sweet in this oh my

outer banks masterlist

Summary: Y/N did something really bad

posted: April 29,2023

There is blood all over your hands, body, and splattered on your face.

You killed him. Oh my god.

You killed Luke.

_____

You rushed to the chateau still in shock that you killed somebody. Then left the crime scene.

You started to cry, sob even. You’re going to jail for life. Oh my god. What if it’s like orange is the new black? You don’t want to be the next Piper Chapman.

You finally get to the chateau, blood coating the door as you knock. John B opens the door.

John B’s POV

Who the fuck is knocking this late? I looked at the time.

“1 am. The fuck” There was another knock. I rubbed my eyes tiredly. I opened the door and it’s Y/N. “Hey Y/N- oh my god.” She’s covered in blood and it doesn’t look like hers.

“Is JJ and Pope here?” She said trembling.

“Yea they’re all here hol- hold on I’m gonna get them. JJ! Pope! Wake up!” I said running to the other room.

JJ’s POV

JJ! Pope! Wake up!” I heard John B yelling interrupting my wonderful dream. Pope jolted awake which cause me to jolt awake. “What the hell man? We were sleeping.” I exclaimed. “There’s no time for that JJ and sorry for waking you up but Y/N’s is in the front and she has blood all over her

and I don’t think it’s hers.”

What the hell.

Pope and I ran to the front at the thing said about my sister and his girlfriend.

And we both were shocked. She had blood all over her hands.

“Y/N? Who’s blood is that?” She didn’t answer me. I nudged Pope to ask the same thing.

“Y/N who’s blood is that?”

Y/N’s POV

“You already asked that!” I exclaimed, of course I am on edge I just killed a man. And not just any man, my father.

“Calm down N/N. I’m going to ask you again. Who’s blood is that?”

My ears are ringing, my heart pumping so hard that I can hear it. JJ’s question is registered in my brain but I just couldn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean too. I was scared and-.” I cut myself off with a sob. “Can you just tell us?” Pope reached for my hands but I retracted them. I looked at JJ. “Jay I didn’t mean it. The bottle was just there.”

“What are you talking about Y/N?”

“It’s Luke’s. It’s his blood.

I killed him.”

JJ’s POV

“I killed him.”

My sister killed our father.

Everyone had shocked reactions. I was taken aback. Pope and John B looked like they suspected something like this would happen.

“I am so sorry. I was scared and he started yelling.” She said it all in one breath.

“Ok ok wash your hands get a change of clothes and tell us later ok?”

“No no! Just you! JJ! Only you!” She started shaking and trembling. “Alright. Ok! Just me you can just tell me.” I bring her to the sink to wash her hands then walked away.

Y/N’s POV

I saw the water turned red and I teared up. I might be going to jail. I’m never going to see JJ or Pope again. My life is over.

JJ’s POV

Silence filled the air. What are supposed to do? Hide the body? Frame him to make it look like a suicide? How can I protect my sister?

“What should we do?” John B breaks the silence. “I can’t be an accessory to a crime. Especially murder!” He exclaimed. “You’re not going to protect her? We’ve been friends since the third grade and you of all people are not going to protect her?!” Then we started arguing. He was saying he doesn’t want to go to jail again. I was saying that no one deserves to go to jail.

“Shut up!” Pope yelled so we can shut up and we did.

“She’s probably going through the same thing! She’s scared and you guys are arguing instead of checking on her! JJ go check on her. John B just stay here.” We followed his directions. I went to the door of the bedroom.

“Y/N?” I called out.

“Hey I’m in here but don’t come in I’m changing!”

_____

“Ok come in!”

Y/N’s POV

He walked in and sat on the bed. I sat next to him. I just know he’s looking for an answer but I don’t know it either.

“Um I know you want to know what happened so I just want start by saying I’m really sorry and please don’t see me any differently ok? You promise?” I held up my pinkie and he gave a small laugh. We take pinkie promises very seriously, had been ever since we were 12.

We interlocked our pinkies. I took a deep breath in and deep breath out.

“He was yelling about something. Calling us disappointments and how we are no good you know all the good stuff. He was throwing bottles at me and I got a scar to prove it.” I lifted up my sleeve and showed him the cut on my left arm.

“But anyway I was getting scared and he started to get closer. I picked up one of the broken bottles just in case anything happened you know?” He nodded. “Then he got even closer and screamed ‘Ima kill you! You little shit! Come here!’ then he tried grabbing me and before he did I stabbed him. On the side of his neck.” I stared to cry reliving the trauma. He hugged me.

“It’s going to be okay N/N nothing will happen to you.”

Then there was a knock on the door.

Pope stuck his head in.

“Hey can I talk to Y/N?” JJ nodded and walked out.

“It was self defense man.” I heard him whisper in Pope’s ear. He closed the door and Pope sat next to you.

“He’s right by the way. He threatened my life and I was scar-.” He cut me off with a big hug. “I know you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I don’t want to go to jail Pope.”

“I know and nothing will happen to you. The last thing that will happen is you going to jail ok?”

I nodded. “I love you Pope.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

Then there was three loud knocks at the door.

“This the Kildare County Sheriff!

I’m looking for Y/N Maybank!”

“Oh my god.” You cover your hand over your mouth.

You are so going to jail.

An: HEYEYEYEYE guys episode is my guilty pleasure but anyway hoped you enjoyed this and until i post again my lovers 🤍 *hint: pope heyward;)

#my lovers on top #outer banks #outer banks x reader #jj maybank #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader

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