#what the fuck man what the actual shit what
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after the game - wooyoung x fem!reader (18+)
⚾️ pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader
⚾️ warnings: pure smut (18+), no plot lmao, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, housewife kink, explicit language, gentle dom vibes, hint of sub reader, not proofread 👀
⚾️ summary: after seeing his wife interact with the kids at the baseball game, wooyoung wants one of his own.
⚾️ a/n: still trying out the lowercase text! this is puuuuure smut with no plot, so i hope you guys are okay with that lmao. also, i am madly in love with wooyoung and that baseball game did not help 😮💨
my masterlist
it all started with a baseball game.
now, wooyoung’s black jersey and pants are strewn on your bedroom floor, along with your sundress and thong. the pair of you barely made it to the bedroom, bodies intertwined as soon as you got home.
he’s still slightly sweaty from the heat, refusing to shower until he’s had his fill of you. he’s been hard for hours, and he’s not stopping until you both get your fix.
all you can do now is pant beneath him, his thick cock stretching you to the brink. the fringe of his grown-out hair hangs over his hooded eyes, which are focused on your sopping cunt.
he bites his lip at the sight, fascinated by your wetness coating his shaft. your steady moans keep him going, like music to his ears.
“that feel good, baby?” he teases, pushing further into you, knowing that you’re on cloud 9. you can feel every ridge of his cock, the closeness sending a shudder down your spine.
“sh-, shit, yes,” you huff, “feels so good, woo,” you whine, lifting up to meet his lips.
it’s sloppy and wet, both of you focused on the intense pleasure. the way his tongue delves into your mouth makes your pussy even wetter. he’s like a starved man, ravaging your body for whatever you can give him.
“fuck, this pussy is so damn tight,” he groans, breaking the kiss. the sight of him wetting his fingers makes your eyes roll back. when he starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, you know you won’t be able to hold back for long.
“uh, woo, please,” you whine, unsure of what you’re actually asking for. you’re so close, but you don’t want this to end. he lets out a cocky laugh, carrying above the slick sounds of his sharp thrusts.
“i know, baby, i know.” he slows down a bit, making sure you feel all of him. he loves the way your face contorts, getting off on your pleasure.
“h-harder, please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. you moan out when he leans down, slower thrusts allowing him to grind against your clit.
you let out a gasp, hands suddenly pinned to the mattress beneath you. he’s staring at you intently, wanting to see the moment you fall apart.
“look at me when i’m fucking you.” his serious tone makes your pussy throb. when you meet his eyes, you’re enthralled by his beauty.
his tanned cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed in concentration. his full bottom lip is between his teeth, another sign of the harsh way he drills into your pussy. a warm shiver spreads over your body, further turned on by the hungry look in his eyes.
“there’s my pretty girl,” he hums, love-filled smile briefly breaking through his dominant demeanor. you whine when he pulls his cock out, sitting up to find out why he stopped.
you sweep your eyes over his body, appreciating the beauty of your husband. his lean body before you, muscular thighs bent at the knee, sitting back on his heels.
his veiny hand grips the base of his cock, tapping it on your clit. he makes a show off stroking himself, loving the way to stare at him. your thighs quiver, the sight of him making your pussy clench around nothing.
he pants, rolling his head back at the way your wetness clings to his tip. each tap of his sensitive head against your clit drives him wild.
“woo, please,” your voice cuts through to him, breaking his trance. with one last drag from your clit to your opening, he nestles his cock into you, the squelch filling the quiet of your bedroom.
“fuck, gonna cum soon,” he grunts, his thighs slapping against your thick ones.
“me too,” you squeal, feeling more of your wetness leak onto his hard cock. lifting up, you trace your tongue along the vein in his neck, the sensation making his cock jump inside of you.
“gonna cum in this pussy, make you a proper housewife,” your eyes roll back at his words, excited by the mention of his breeding kink.
“y-yes, please,” you squeal, bringing your hips up, matching the pace of his thrusts.
“want me to fill you up?” he huffs, pinning your wrists again. “maybe i should just cum in this pussy and get you pregnant, hm?”
“f-fuck woo! i’m cumming!” you squeal, eyes shutting at the immense pleasure. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips into your clit, prolonging your pleasure.
“that’s right baby, cum for daddy,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy at the sight of your fucked out expression. your pussy feels even wetter around him, the lewd noise pushing him further to the edge. your hand comes up to tweak his nipple, before running your manicured nails down his abs.
“you look so pretty for me, woo,” you hum, turning your head to press a kiss to his flexed arm.
“shit, i’m close,” he whines, hips losing their rhythm. you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting him with a sweet kiss before you pull away.
“wanna feel you cum inside me, woo,” you purr, looking up at him with doe eyes. “wanna feel you in me all night,” you look straight into his eyes, already seeing his orgasm wash over him.
“fuuuuuuuck,” he pants, warm spurts of cum flooding your wrecked pussy. you soothe him during his orgasm, stroking every part of him you can get your hands on.
when you’ve both come down, wooyoung is quick to hop up, much to your dismay.
“wooooooo,” you whine out, missing his warmth already.
“i know, baby, it’s okay,” he coos, running into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you. when he comes back, he’s very gentle, carefully cleaning your sensitive folds. he finishes off with a soft kiss to your thigh, finally taking his place beside you again.
he pulls you into him, your sweaty bodies cuddled together beneath the sheets. your little yawn makes him chuckle, heart full of love at your cuteness.
“did i tire my baby out?” he teases, lifting your chin so he can see those pretty brown eyes. your smile is bashful, always feeling a little shy after a particularly strong orgasm. he smothers you kisses, unable to contain his love for you.
“speaking of babies,” you murmur, now causing a blush to spread across his face. “hello, mr. breeding kink,” you tease him, having fun with his embarrassment.
“you just looked so sweet today with all the kids. it made me start thinking about our future kids,” he confesses, tracing his finger along your cheek. you feel your heart skip at his confession, trying to fight back the sudden tears in your eyes.
“jagi, what’s wrong?” he hums, brows furrowing at your tears. he’s afraid for a second, hoping his confession hasn’t made you uncomfortable.
“nothing baby, i was thinking the same thing today,” you pout, so in love with the man in front of you.
you share a kiss so sweet it almost makes your heart burst. wooyoung’s lips are soft against yours, setting a slow pace. you both savor the feeling, never tiring of sharing your affection.
you’re both breathless when you pull away, giggling under the sheets like teenagers.
“so, maybe we should keep practicing,” he smirks, covering your body with his own. it’ll be a while until the both of you leave the bedroom again.
#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics#ateez x black!reader#ateez x black reader#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung smut#ateez wooyoung#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#ateez smut#wooyoung fanfic#ateez fanfic
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A Doe in Fall (part 7)
⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall
Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦
Part 2 - Liar smut💦
Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦
Part 4 - Enough
Part 5 - Too Much
Part 6 - Learning smut💦
Part 7 - Recognition smut💦
Part 7 Recognition
It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.
「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」
I think I fixed the broken tag list!
....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross.
thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link>
unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?
Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗
A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.
But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.
No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.
Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.
But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.
The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.
But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.
So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.
Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.
“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.
“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.
“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”
He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”
Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)
Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.
“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”
The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”
“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”
“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”
“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.
“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.
“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”
Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.
Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.
But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?
He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.
Or the wrong person.
Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.
Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.
A record Brady could claim.
When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”
Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”
“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”
“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”
“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”
With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”
“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”
That’d be ideal.
A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.
Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”
“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.
He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”
“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”
The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”
Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“I never said sorry.”
You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.
“For what?”
He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”
You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.
Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?
“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”
Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.
You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.
But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”
Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”
His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”
You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”
“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”
You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”
Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.
When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.
A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.
Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.
Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.
You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.
“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”
His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.
The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.
“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”
Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”
Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.
You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.
Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.
And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.
It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.
But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.
When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.
“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”
He asked her why she couldn’t have both.
“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”
He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”
It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?
He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.
“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.
Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.
“Do you know who I am?”
Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”
Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.
“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.
He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.
Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.
Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.
“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.
“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”
When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.
Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?
What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?
You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.
He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”
“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.
He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.
“Hush.” You cooed.
You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.
As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.
He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”
Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”
His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.
Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.
“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.
You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.
“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”
Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.
“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.
He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.
“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.
“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”
When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.
His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.
Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.
For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.
So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.
He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?
“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.
An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.
You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.
“Something like that, yeah.”
His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.
You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.
And you liked him
You appreciated him.
He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.
Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.
Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.
When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.
You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.
“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.
“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.
Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.
“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.
Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.
He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.
When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.
When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.
He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.
You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.
He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.
“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.
“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.
“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.
A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.
Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.
Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.
Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.
The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.
Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.
When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.
And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.
Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.
But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.
Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?
When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.
He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.
As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.
You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”
Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.
He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.
You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”
“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”
His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”
Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”
A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”
You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.
While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.
“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”
But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.
A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”
With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.
Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.
He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.
As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.
Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”
Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”
“Tsk, wrong.”
Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.
Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.
“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.
Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.
“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”
You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.
“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.
It clicked, “Absolutely.”
You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.
As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.
He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.
But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.
“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”
“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”
A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.
You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”
He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”
A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.
Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.
Life changing decisions.
Decisions that filled empty homes.
Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?
When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.
When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”
He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”
Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”
“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)
“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”
He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”
“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)
Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.
Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.
A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.
When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.
You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.
Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.
No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos.
Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)
When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.
Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)
Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.
“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”
She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”
“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.
“Is she in some kinda trouble?”
“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”
Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”
He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”
Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)
He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.
“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”
Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”
Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)
“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”
She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)
As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.
Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.
Enough games.
When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.
Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.
James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.
When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.
Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.
“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)
˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖
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Transcript:
Murph: Uh, and you may now use your pixies!
Emily: Finally! Alright, my pixies, uh, first one's gonna go ahead towards, uh, towards the Wraith, and do their once a day Polymorph.
Murph, realizing: Oh…
Emily: So do a, uh--
Murph: Wait, how many pixies do you have.
Emily: Eight.
[Murph laughs.]
Caldwell: Goodness gracious.
Murph: This… is some bullshit. And I love you for it.
Emily: (laughs) I am assuming that if he gets messed up, then the rest of these guys'll get messed up. So. First one gonna Polymorph on the Wraith. It has to do-- it's only 12, Wisdom save.
Murph: Okay. Uh, first Wisdom save is a 19, passes.
Emily: Okay, second one's goin' after 'im.
[Jake laughs]
Murph: Uh, 15.
Emily: Okay that passes. Third one's goin' after 'im.
Murph: (inhales) 7.
Emily: Fail!
Murph: Gonna burn a legendary resistance.
Emily: Yeah you will!
[Caldwell and Jake laugh.]
Murph: This is…
Jake: God, I love this game.
Murph: This is sneaky and bad.
Jake: This is why we listen.
Emily: Fourth one's going after him.
Murph: Okay. Oh my god, that's another 7.
Emily: Is he gonna burn another legendary resistance?
Murph: He's gonna burn another legendary resistance.
Emily: Okay, fifth one's goin' after him.
Murph: That's a-- 13?
Emily: 13 passes, but it's actually a 5, so he fails.
[Murph and Jake gasp.]
Emily: Does he have any more legendary resistances?
Murph: One more.
Emily: Okay! So he's got-- we've got two more pixies.
[Murph laughs.]
Jake: Oh my god.
[Emily laughs.]
Caldwell: Best game in Vegas, let's do it. I like these odds.
Murph: I am… flabbergasted. Jesus. Okay! He'll roll again.
Emily: So, do another roll.
Murph: Okay. I'll roll in front of you, right here.
[Caldwell gasps. Emily laughs.]
Murph: … that is a 9.
Emily: That's a fail!
Murph: What do you turn him into?
Emily: Imma turn him into a dolphin, of course!
[Caldwell cackles.]
Murph, as the players laugh in the background: You guys see, as you guys are all riding full speed, on motorcycles. This horseman, just-- the horse, and the man, together turn into a dolphin, and then just begin flopping on the ground and falling behind everybody else.
Emily: And there's one pixie left. Because that was the-- there's one pixie left, and that pixie's gonna cast its once a day fly on, uh, Pendergreens' motorcycle. [Caldwell laughs.] So we fly into the sky.
Murph: Holy shit.
Emily: So that I can attack him from the air.
Murph: So you guys just take off--
Pendergreens (Murph): Aw, fuck yeah, this fuckin' rules, man!
#naddpod#bahumia#emily axford my beloved#naddclips#simply i love murph's slow realization of what she's about to do#'wait. how many pixies do you have'#emily: >:3
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“Happy two year anniversary on your crush, dingus.” Robin tosses a peanut at Steve’s head.
“Shut uuuup,” he groans into his arms after an embarrassing interaction with the one and only Eddie Munson only 7 min earlier.
“What did you get yourself? What’s the two year anniversary anyway? Paper? Wood?”
“Why do you torture me?” He softly hits his forehead against the top of the countertop near the candy rack.
“Because you deserve it.”
“He keeps getting hotter,” Steve whines.
“So you keep saying.” She crosses her arms and leans against the counter at Steve’s side.
“Did you see? Did you see that tattoo on his- under his- oh my god.” Steve waves his hand under his armpit. “That should be illegal. Why does he think wearing a tank top with that much skin showing is-is appropriate? If he shows up at my house in fucking cut off jean shorts again, I’m going to lose it.”
“Oh yeah?” Like she hasn’t heard this before. “You mean like how you said you were going to throw ice at him, if he showed up in those wranglers to help with your car? Or when you said you were going to bite him, if he wore that stretched out loose-necked band shirt? Maybe this time you should kiss him. Spice it up a little.”
“Shut up, those jeans are diabolical. No one ever said that cowboys had great asses.”
“Um, actually I think they did? Why are chaps assless?”
Steve stands up and thinks about that for a minute. “Oh, shit.”
“You gonna finally say something to him?” She’s thisclose to shoving their faces together.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin anything.” Steve says with a sigh.
Meanwhile…
“Idiot, idiot, idiot.” Eddie bashes his head into a pillow.
“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Jeff rolls his eyes.
“It was horrendously bad. He stared at me like I don’t know, like I grew a second head or something.”
“When are you going to just talk to him about it? Dude, it’s been two years. Two years of listening to you pine over Harrington. If you don’t tell him, I will figure out a way to tell him myself.”
“Et tu Brute?” Eddie grabs the collar of his shirt in mock horror.
“If you don’t tell him, I can promise you Dustin is mere moments away from piecing it together. The way you look at Steve when he picks the kids up? Dude, it’s over.”
“Oh god, don’t remind me. I know I’m on borrowed time!” He digs his fingers into his hair.
“Aren’t you going over there this weekend?” Jeff crushes his empty soda can and tosses it easily into his nearby trash can.
“Yessss, ugh the first pool party of the summer. I gotta find those stupid shorts.”
“You own shorts?”
“They were an old pair of Wayne’s jeans I cut into shorts. They’re a little loose around the waist so they don’t dig into me.” Eddie falls back onto Jeff’s mattress with a sigh. “Last year I could’ve sworn I saw Steve checking me out in them.”
“Dude? Fucking tell him.” Jeff groans.
Steve rushes to the front door after hearing Eddie’s signature knock. When he pulls it open he’s unprepared for what’s standing on the other side.
“Hey, man.” Eddie smiles wide while holding up a six pack.
“Sh-shorts…,” Steve murmurs.
“Huh? Oh, I know my legs are whiter than white.”
“Come in,” Steve tries to even his voice.
“I’ll put these in the fridge.”
Steve walks behind Eddie as the man heads into the kitchen. Steve’s trying not to ogle. Honestly. He’s trying to keep his eyes off Eddie’s ass, objectifying him like he’s a piece of meat, but it’s hard when he keeps shimmying his hips to the music playing in the living room.
After Eddie slides the beer into the fridge he grabs one of the cold ones Steve loaded up earlier and kicks the door shut with his hip.
“Everyone else outside?”
“Yeah, I knew you were on your way so I was finishing up in here and listening for the van.” Steve grabs a bag of chips, rips it open, and pours into a big plastic bowl.
“Hey, did you know we’ve been friends for two years now?” Eddie bumps Steve’s hip with his own.
“Oh yeah?” Steve definitely knew that.
“Happy anniversary,” Eddie grins.
“Heh, that’s what Robin said.”
“She- Robin said happy anniversary?”
Shit
Steve opens his mouth trying to come up with something but shuts it again when it all sounds stupid in his head.
“Yeah, uh, she said something like we’ve been friends for two years.”
Eddie shifts and leans on the counter to face Steve. “You and her? You’ve been friends longer than that.”
“No, no, you and me. You and me have been friends for two years.”
Eddie furrows his brows while chewing on his bottom lip. Steve keeps his eyes pointed forward as he continues to situate snacks. They stand in silence for a beat and Steve feels like he should say something.
Eddie beats him to it. “Tell me something. Do I look ridiculous in these shorts?”
Steve feels his stomach drop because there’s no way he’s getting out of this unscathed.
“They were my uncle’s and I cut them up. Do you think I should cut them shorter, maybe?” Eddie turns around and looks over his shoulder at Steve.
Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s denim hugged butt before clearing his throat and looking away again. “I don’t know. They look fine like that.”
“Sure, but,” Eddie turns around and takes a hold of the hem of Steve’s shorts between his thumb and index finger. “Your’s are so much shorter than mine.”
Steve can feel Eddie’s knuckle brushing against his thigh.
“I may not have thighs like yours, Stevie.” Eddie leans into Steve’s space while continuing to hold the hem. “But do you think I could pull them off?”
Steve’s brain is malfunctioning because does he mean pull Steve’s shorts off? “My shorts?”
“Hmm,” Eddie grins and then looks over Steve’s shoulder like he’s making sure no one is watching. “I’m gonna do something that I’m praying you’re into. If not, please don’t punch my face.”
“What-?” Steve’s question gets cut off when Eddie places a quick kiss to Steve’s mouth.
It’s so quick Steve’s brain didn’t even realize it was happening until Eddie was already standing back in place. He stands in shock, lifts his fingertips to touch his lips, and gawks at the doe-eyed man before him.
“Was that ok?” Eddie’s leaning away.
Steve’s nodding before he speaks. “Yeah, mhmm.”
“Can I do it longer this time?”
Steve can’t speak but he nods without hesitation. Eddie makes a quiet noise before moving in and kissing Steve.
And it feels….
“I knew it!”
Steve pulls back and the two men turn to see Robin standing smugly.
“I knew it! Two fucking years.” She shakes her head before waving her hand at them and moving to the fridge. “Oh don’t stop on my account.”
#the spend the entire afternoon sneaking away and making out#Dustin ran in on them in Steve’s dad’s den but they broke a part before Dustin could see#Steve pretended to be showing off the crown molding#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddiecameraroll posts#my writing#steddie ficlet
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What do you think about ai art? Is it worth pursuing art anymore?
I’ve seen this question before and my point stands: it’s fucking stupid
Ai art isn’t even a tool but is an excuse for the laziest cesspits of man to take jobs from actual artists and make no attempt to make something of themselves.
Art as a culture and as a way of humanity is something that no robot or algorithm can replicate, and I’d much rather spend 100$ for a human commission than wait two seconds for a dog shit amalgamation of stolen property and soulless garbage.
And if anyone disagrees with my thoughts on the matter,
Go fuck yourself
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He's My Man (Part 2)
Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...
Masterlist
Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader
Word Count: 4,500ish
Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff
A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!
__________
Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.
You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.
“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room. He straightened in his seat, pausing a beat. “So. What’s this long story?”
Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.
“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”
Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing.
“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.
“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”
“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving.
“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”
“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”
“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”
“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.
But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…
Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.
“Do you like your job?” he asked.
“S’complicated,” you whispered.
“How complicated?”
“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”
Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”
“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”
“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”
“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”
Late Evening
Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.
“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.
“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.
“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.
“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”
“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”
“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”
“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”
“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”
“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”
Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap.
“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”
“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle.
“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”
You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves.
“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.
“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”
“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.
“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment.
“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”
You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”
“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”
“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”
He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”
“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.
“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”
You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.
“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”
“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.
“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”
“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”
“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”
“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”
“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”
Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”
“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”
“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”
“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”
“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”
“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.
“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”
“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”
“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”
Four Hours Later
“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV.
“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”
You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.
“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.”
“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”
“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.
“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest.
You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped.
“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.
“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee.
“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer.
A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.
You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie.
“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.
“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.
“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”
“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds.
“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”
“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”
“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.
“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.
“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”
“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”
“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”
Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second.
“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.
“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within.
“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”
“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.”
“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”
“I’m good at reading people is all.”
“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.
“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”
“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”
You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.
Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington
“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”
“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark.
Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.
Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.
“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”
“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.
Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people.
“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”
“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by.
If only it were that simple.
It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion.
“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”
“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground.
“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”
“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”
“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”
“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”
“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”
“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“How-”
“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”
You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.
Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.
Russ
P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.
You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed.
Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.
No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.
“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.
He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.
And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.
Fuck.
__________
A/N: Part 3 coming soon!
#russell shaw#Russell Shaw x reader#russell shaw fanfiction#Tracker Fanfiction#Tracker#Russell Shaw x you#Russell Shaw Series
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sweet treats
summary: adam accidentally falls in love with a barista while disguising himself as a human
from my other account! available as a chatbot ^_^
Adam was out of his element in the fucking human realm.
It’s what being up in Heaven for a billion years ever does to you, especially when you’re the first man to ever bless the goddamn earth.
When Eve was kicked out of Heaven for eating the forbidden fruit, an apple he didn’t wanna fucking eat and told her just as much when she tried to offer it to him too, Adam scored a spot among the elite of Heaven with a new pair of shiny golden wings on his back. Sucks to suck, get fucked.
…It also sucks that paradise is so fucking boring when you’re not killing demonic cunts only once every year. There’s nothing to *do* because every day is a good day, getting shit-faced gets old quick when you can do it every single day and not wake up with any of the consequences. The hell was he supposed to do all the time while waiting for the next extermination?
He knew it was getting bad when even screwing angels was starting to feel like more of a chore than a good time. Honestly, the only time he could really get his kicks was doing it right after an extermination, still high on adrenaline and all the more cocky.
Eve was probably having the goddam time of her life, down there on Earth doing whatever the fuck she wants with humans. They invented all sorts of shit, and bitches were everywhere. God, what he would give to be down there enjoying that shit too.
Wait a minute.
—————————
Sticking it to the man was harder than he thought when it was so easy to go down to the human realm, hiding his angelic features in order to mingle amongst the everyday buzz of people.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but maybe that made it all the more better. So he made a routine of sneaking down after wiping his wings and halo clean, and conjuring what he saw human men wore. Shoes were so fucking lame, but he guessed they aren’t exactly able to walk among the clouds just yet.
That is, if any of these fuckers actually get up to the pearly gates, considering how all of them act. Who cares though? Adam loved the bitches that were eager to spread their legs, now they deserved a spot in Heaven more than the bastards he’d occasionally scrap with. So what if he fucked your girlfriend? Why is she at a bar pressing herself all up against him in the first place? He didn’t even have to do shit, they’d invite him over easy and he’d give them a taste of Heaven.
Honestly, it was all great until he royally FUCKED up.
The FIRST man, the original dick, the beginning of EVERYTHING. Fell for a fucking human. How stupid was that shit?
God, he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw them walking down the street, nearly bumping into him in a rush. He was going to yell at them or some shit, nearly making him lose his next bed-warming target, until he got a glimpse of their face.
It was so over.
He followed them right into the coffee shop with a blank expression, completely mesmerized. They were so, so fucking pretty when they apologized to him. Their voice… The way they looked, the way they fluttered around him trying to get past him taking up the entire tiny ass sidewalk, made him suddenly want to bless the fucking construction worker who poured the minimal ass cement in this busy part of town. Plans to head to the nearest bar forgotten, he followed them into the cozy coffee shop.
And man was it fucking worth it. The fuck ass coffee was good, but he wasn’t here for that when he preferred getting shitfaced and balls-deep in some random slut.
No, he was here for them.
The first time he’d seen them, he was dumbfounded, acting stupid as fuck when he KNEW his worth, this whore would be lucky to get their ass in his bed. But God, and he meant the big man himself, what he wouldn’t give to actually have them in his goddamn bed. He might even consider getting down on his knees to beg if they blue-balled him any longer.
He’d left that night with a fierce determination to fuck the shit out of this random ass barista, he’d look at the name tag next time he was there. This wasn’t fucking running away, it was a strategic retreat. Fuck you.
Today had been a regular day for him since meeting them a couple of months ago. Instead of getting lucky, he’d found himself drawn back to the cafe every week and getting some stupid ass drink so he could watch his favorite barista make it and stare at them the entire time. He’d toss in a few remarks, and found himself forced to actually try and be respectful to some puny ass human that managed to get a chokehold on him.
He didn’t give a fuck if he wasn’t human and that going down to their realm wasn’t allowed, he wanted something and he’d fucking have it.
That being his barista, ‘cuz who the fuck else would it be?
“Gimme the good shit.” He demanded at the counter, a wad of bills clenched in his hand. His bitch looked so fucking fine today, it was practically taking all his strength to not stare at their ass instead of them. Pretty eyes and all, but FUCK. That uniform was doing wonders for them somehow. He didn’t fucking know, but he wanted a piece of it so goddamn bad.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Adam. The ‘good shit’ isn’t exactly a drink.” Their co-worked stifled a groan, clearly they weren’t happy to see his ass here yet again. Despite becoming somewhat of a regular, he didn’t give a shit about any of the other baristas. No, he wasn’t here for them, bland cunts.
“Give me the good shit. I don’t fucking know what it’s called. They know what the hell I’m talking about.” His eyes searched for as he turned his head in their direction, watching them try and juggle multiple cups of coffee on a tray.
“Fuck, whatever! Hey, you!” Their co-worker yelled, startling them enough to nearly drop a tray, some coffee tipping over the mugs and coating the tray with a few droplets before they could steady themself. Adam’s brows furrowed, an irritated feeling bubbling up, directed at the bitch at the counter. Not at his favorite human, *never* at them. God, he’d spoil the shit out of them if he could.
“Get this guy his fucking drink, whatever that is. I’ll get those.” Their co-worker sighed, setting down his notepad and trudging away to pick up their trays on the table.
They simply nodded, undisturbed at being yelled at, as if they were used to it. Adam forcefully shoved down his irritation, feeling pacified at seeing them taking that bastards place at the counter.
“Sup, slu— Sweetcheeks. Gimme the good shit, not a macchiato but the caramel one. The real one is fucking horseshit.” Of course he knows his fucking order, it’s their favorite drink to make. One night, they’d told him just as much, telling him that it was satisfying to watch the espresso sit on top of the milk, separated by the ice perfectly while doing criss-cross patterns with the caramel. He’d listened, then promptly stirred everything together in front of them just to be a little shit.
They’d rolled their eyes and laughed, which made his dick hard and his heart swell. He’d gotten it every time since. One time, they’d served him an actual macchiato and it was fucking horrible without the added syrup and shit. God, he’d nearly spat it out before making them get his usual caramel macchiato with blonde espresso and extra caramel lined on the cup, something they’d given him the first time he’d walked in and asked for a recommendation.
Way too fucking sugary for him, but he drank it all anyways, because his bitch put time and effort into making his goddam drink and he was gonna drink it all.
“Oh, and add in the stupid pastry you served me last time.” He’d added, then paused. “Please, bit—… Please.” He tossed some of his cash into the tip jar, hoping it’d go to them instead of their fuck ass co-workers.
“Coming right up! And you wanted a slice of our coffee cake?” They hummed happily as they took a slice from the display, and served it on a plate. They set it aside before turning their attention back to him. “You can go take a seat and I’ll bring it to you, okay?”
Adam nodded, oddly feeling lighter than he did when he walked in. His eyes lingered on them for a tad longer before he forced himself to walk to his usual spot in the corner, easily sliding into his booth as he pretended not to be looking at them and instead staring at his phone, something he’d gotten a couple weeks into disguising himself as a human.
Obviously his eyes were on them, but he didn’t want them to know that. Fuck, they looked good as hell today. It was sickening how easily he crumbled when it came to them, every interaction between the two just ensnared him further into their try. Witchcraft or some shit, it had to be. He was better than this.
It was always the other way around. He didn’t know what the fuck to do to catch their attention, he was the first man created! Bitches were all over him except this one. It was frustrating, and he’d almost vented to Lite about it before he caught himself.
Right. They don’t know shit about that part of his life.
Here, he was just Adam, the regular who gets the same drink and tries his best to chat them before peak hits and he watches them rush around trying to take orders and make drinks while their co-workers sit on their ass practically.
“There you are!” They set down his drink and the plate of coffee cake as they give him a beaming smile, one that makes his heart start pounding before he grips his hands into fists tightly under the table to calm himself down before he says something stupid.
“Fuck yeah, thanks.” He has a dumb smirk on his face and he knows it as he reaches for his drink, taking a long sip of the sugary beverage, and he suppresses a grimace at how sweet it is. Despite this, he shoots a grin at them. “You always make the best shit.” He tries to glance at their name tag to finish his words off, but like always, the chalk written on it has smeared and it’s unreadable.
“So, got any plans for the weekend or are you going to be here like always, serving coffee to assholes like me?” He tries to sound casual as he leans back in his seat, one eye peering at them for any sort of reaction they might have.
“Just the usual.” They smile, but it looks a tad tired. “Got a long shift, won’t be leaving until dark. The weather is supposed to be nice though, so I hope you get to enjoy it.”
He furrowed his brows slightly, someone like them shouldn’t be staring all cooped up in this shithole of a cafe when they clearly should be enjoying the weather or whatever humans do in their free time, he wouldn’t know. Sucks though, they have taxes and shit to pay for or whatever. Also something he wouldn’t know about, the human world is just filled with a bunch of weird stuff and rules.
“Sucks to suck, I guess. You free after your shift though?”
Nice. Subtle and nonchalant, Adam praised himself internally, a grin on his face.
They furrow their brows. -2 points, fuck. He watches as his barista internally debates something, briefly glancing at his drink before shaking their head. “Nah, I have to get some rest, got an early shift tomorrow morning.”
He can’t tell if they’re being truthful or not, but the sting of some sort of rejection stabs at him, as if he’d even extended any offer or invitation to go out (which he was BUILDING up to!). His grin falters for a moment before he smooths it over, this isn’t a rejection, he didn’t even say anything yet. Mind you, they were probably being honest, even if they won’t look him in the eye and they’re oddly flushed.
“Huh.” He replies unintelligently, not quite sure what else to say to keep them there. He doesn’t want them to go back to work just yet, but he can hear their coworkers shuffling closer, mumbling to each other about his barista ‘slacking’ off as if this place isn’t carried on their back. Fuck their fuck ass co-workers.
“Well, if you’re ever tired of his dump, come find me, yeah? I know a place with killer ribs.” He doesn’t, but they don’t need to know that. He’ll google it or something later. He glances at them out of the corner of his, trying to gauge a reaction to as if his nonchalant bad boy demeanor is working yet.
They let out a small laugh that sounds like the chiming of a bell, and his stomach does a funny flip before they give him a nod. “Will do, Adam. Enjoy your drink, okay?” They reach out and turn his drink around, before swiftly moving onto the next table, beginning to clean off some ungrateful fucks.
He raises a brow at their sudden moving of his cup, but brushes it off. He watches them for a moment more, letting out a small sigh. This human of his doesn’t even know how bad they have him wrapped around their finger. That’s a good thing though, Adam isn’t some simp for them to have on their roster.
He scoffs at the notion, before grabbing his cup and taking a sip, wincing again at all the sugar before his eyes notice a scrawl on the side of his cup.
Pulling it back, he glances at it before choking on the liquid still in his mouth, eyes wide as he frantically coughs, trying to get the drink down the right pipe before they turn their head at him.
A number, neatly written, paints the edge of his cup, and he frantically whips out his phone, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he punches in the digits immediately in his contacts app. He can’t help the dopey expression on his face anymore, eyes honed in on the phones screen.
After, he pumps his fist in the air, not caring about how it looks to the other patrons.
FUCK YEAH, MAN.
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congratulations to Mme. Pascale Leclerc, who has surely just experienced both the funniest and most unhinged weekend a mother could ever have. Dear fucking christ, I hope your middlest son brought you a bottle of champagne for yourself, ma'am.
#kazoo noises#charles leclerc#cl16#monaco gp 2024#zoomies posting#sports posting#like man. where to begin. one of your racecar children is back in town for the weekend. he has yet to have a truly good work#weekend it seems in town. now this year. we're feeling ourselves a bit. we're feeling optimistic even. and then ur son becomes talk of town#because he keeps doing fucking bits on twitter about adopting his coworker who is friends with your youngest son. this goes on long enough#for actual reporters to comment on it. no one is willing to blink first so by friday night we've yes-anded ourselves to a grandson#(congratulations mme leclerc)#things go well. and then at qualifying they go DAMN WELL#BETTER THAN EVER REALLY! but man. im superstitious. i dont trust shit until its over and the dust has cleared#(the adoption jokes have continued by the way) and MEANWHILE everyone is eyeing that starting grid. were humming. we're making vague hand#gestures when commenting. we're all thinking. Maybe? (the streets can hear u tho. keep it down)#race starts. lap one CHAOS. so many fucking crashes. i'd faint if i had a child even in karting honestly.#(every parent in this sport deserves a prescription for laudanum)#but he's not in it. hes at the front. and he. well. he just Stays There. Through It All. and the laps tick down. until the race is run. and#there he is. your middlest son. cross the line and into the books. first place. home town. what curse indeed. thats your boy!!!!!!!! THERE!#they play the radio of him winning and the audio is peaked because he screams out so loudly. you can hear the water in the laughter.#later theres gonna be videos and photos taken of him pushing his boss into the harbor and diving right in after the man. those photos are#gonna be fucking studied in photography classes one day. and STILL! everyone involved with that goofy joke about him adopting his coworker#(who. despite all the silliness of the race stayed second place and got a podium) is still carrying the bit like a baton relay. Do you have#him over for family dinner? might as well add a plate i guess! people are joking about your youngest son having two nephews? a dog born#maybe a month ago and a man born about... what twenty three years and about a month ago? fuck it! family dinner#sorry this bit got away from me but as someone who loves my homecity and my mom so much it might actually be like.#a visible growth inside my body if they do an autopsy on me at time of death or like. my love will eat me alive. sometimes the charratives#gets to me#anyway cheers mme leclerc i hope you party so fucking hard this week
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Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.
As A Dog
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader
Word Count: 7,085
Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.
Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.
I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!
Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.
He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.
Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.
"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.
He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.
"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"
She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.
He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.
That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.
The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.
His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.
"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.
Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.
"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.
"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.
The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.
"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.
"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.
His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.
"Leave him. He'll be fine."
"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.
"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.
"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.
She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.
"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.
"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.
"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.
"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."
That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.
Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.
True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.
What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.
When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.
It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.
It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.
The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.
"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."
"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.
"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"
He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.
"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.
The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.
She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.
When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.
For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.
By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.
But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...
And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.
She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.
"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.
"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.
He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.
"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."
When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.
She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.
"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.
Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.
"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"
He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.
A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.
There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.
Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.
She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.
When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.
Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..
He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.
"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.
Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.
"Prove it."
She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.
"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.
Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.
By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.
It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.
Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.
"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."
His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.
She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.
In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.
The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.
He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.
"Take that shit off."
Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.
"Suck me." he growled.
While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.
The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.
Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.
"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."
She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.
He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.
It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.
He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.
"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.
The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.
Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.
What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.
He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.
On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.
He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.
"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.
This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.
"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.
Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.
"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.
Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.
Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.
She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.
"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.
As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.
He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.
For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.
Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.
Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.
He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.
Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.
He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.
If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.
His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.
"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.
"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."
"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.
"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."
She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.
"Good girl." he murmured.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv show#fallout prime#ghoulcy#vaultghoul#submission
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Charlie: Where I’m from, not smog world, we have compost, right? So we all, everyone has a compost bin up in Vermont, among the cattle.
Schlatt: What the fuck is going on?
Charlie: And we don’t be wasteful, we aren’t wasteful with our food. So unlike Schlatt here, just going on gameshows—
Schlatt: They lit the ocean on fire, bro.
Charlie: —Throwing them everywhere.
Schlatt: Your compost pile is doing jack shit.
Charlie: I’m eating my…
Schlatt: Your compost is doing jack shit. Eating the butt end of the bread first and enjoying it.
Charlie: I’m eating my butt loaf watching the world burn. That’s what I do.
Schlatt: I’m saving the world by having a little snack before my breakfast.
Charlie: Yeah.
Arin: Do they always do this?
Ted: Very frequently.
Schlatt: This is bullshit, this is absolute bullshit. They lit the ocean on fire. They lit the ocean on fire, Charlie.
Charlie: You’re not gonna toast it, it’s just gonna be a little thing before—
Schlatt: And then, I gotta recycle, I gotta fucking recycle.
Charlie: And you want to bust out the straws, you want to kill every single turtle—
Arin: I want to go home!
Charlie: You are home now. This is it.
Ted: Boys, please, calm down. [Coughs] Welcome everyone to Chuckle Sandwich. This is a very special episode.
Charlie: Yeah, you’re the butt loaf now, buddy.
Arin: Did you push him?
Charlie: I didn’t actually think that…
Arin: I think this is a bit.
Ted: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Chuckle Sandwich this is a… this is…
[Schlatt cries]
Charlie: He loves doing this bit, it’s a good bit he does.
Ted: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Chuckle Sandwich, this is a very special episode because we have Mr. Arin Hanson of Game Grumps and of Egoraptor fame here with us today. Welcome, welcome to the— welcome to the show.
Arin: Thank you.
Ted: We’re here in your building.
Arin: That’s right, yeah.
Schlatt: Help me up.
Ted: You basically—
Arin: Don’t help him up. It’s a bit.
Charlie: It’s a bit? Let go. Stop— stop getting up. It’s a bit—
Arin: Oh, now he’s part of the bit.
Charlie: It’s a— we’re doing a bit! We’re doing a bit!
Ted: Oh my god.
Arin: You realize this is my office, right?
Charlie: Yeah, it’s a bit.
Ted: Yeah. Okay. So they’re all rolling around on the floor right now. For our audio listeners, love you to death, Schlatt and Charlie are literally wrestling on the floor.
Charlie: You gotta help me. You gotta help me.
Arin: I hope it sounds like it’s like really far in the distance.
Ted: I hope so too.
[Schlatt and Charlie moan]
Ted: So, Arin…
Arin: I would help you, but I’m trapped in this corner.
Ted: Don’t listen to them, just look at me.
Arin: Okay, sorry.
Ted: Welcome to the podcast.
Arin: Thanks, man.
Ted: How are you doing today?
Arin: You know it’s funny, we had this nice like, very cordial conversation beforehand and now this nonsense is going on. I feel like I was lied to a little bit.
Ted: Once I sort of introduced the podcast, they sort of went into content mode.
Arin: Did you switch spots?
Charlie: He’s doing a bit.
Ted: They’re struggling a little bit.
Arin: He just wanted to be closer to me.
Schlatt: Sorry I got hard there.
Arin: It’s just a long-winded way to get closer to me.
Ted: That was just him trying to get close to your heart.
Schlatt: I didn’t think I swung that way.
#chuckle clips#chuckle sandwich#episode 23#ted nivison#jschlatt#charlie slimecicle#slimecicle#arin hanson
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◁ || ▷
Dan: Welcome to Bubba’s, what can I get started for you?
A Child: Will two dollars get me a burger and fries?
Dan: Kid, in this economy? I can make you a milkshake. I’ll throw in two cherries and sprinkles too.
A Child: But I really want a burger.
Another Child: Yeah lady, look at the poor kid, he’s starving.
Dan: He looks fine to me.
A Child: What if we paid you back tomorrow?
Dan: Like you’re really gonna remember to do that.
A Child: You’re mean!
Another Child: YEAH! Maybe this is why you work at a crappy fast food job!
Dan: Alright dipshits, now you’ve pissed me off. Get out! [ mumbles to self ] What the hell?
-
[ door opens ]
Dan: Shitshit- [ swat swat ]
Jeremy: You really gotta stop doing that in the walk in. You’re lucky I haven’t told the big man.
Dan: Like you’re so eager to get on his good side. Do they pay you extra for being his bitch?
Jeremy: Now that was foul.
Dan: Awh, don’t act so surprised Jeremy.
Jeremy: You know, I liked you better when you didn’t talk.
Dan: I wonder why.
Jeremy: I just don’t get why you’re so sour ninety-nine percent of the time. You’re actually really cool when you aren’t being a complete ass.
Dan: Was that supposed to wound me?
Jeremy: What happened Dan? Three weeks ago, you were practically all over me.
Dan: For fucks sake I gave you head once for a favor-
Jeremy: Right, your essay. Hope things worked out.
Dan: Do you want a thank you?
Jeremy: I want you to be honest. I feel like we have a lot of chemistry, Daniella. I know I’m not the only one that sees it.
Dan: Then clearly you and whoever don’t know shit. Also, don’t call me Daniella. I hate it.
#first things first welcome to bubba's#second there are so so many things wrong here BAHAHAHAHB#tessellate#sims 4 story#show us your story
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thinking about sinclair again this fine day:
delenn continuing to say "in valen's name" with just as much reverence for the rest of the series, even though he's conclusively some guy named jeff that she personally knows
BUT HE ACTUALLY DID ALL THAT STUFF. SO IS SHE WRONG???
"you talk like a minbari commander" surprise! you all talk like HIM!!
remember marcus's little bit about "the only way to get a straight answer out of ranger one is to hang upside down in a mirror” or whatever? what if "minbari never tell anyone the whole truth" is just because sinclair likes to fuck with people and they made it a cultural tentpole of their society
i'm actually really quite invested now in the alternate universe sinclair & delenn relationship, because imagine her discovering AFTER the fact that her husband is Literally Valen. and she's her own distant ancestor somehow as well
delenn might actually roll with that but lennier's face in the background like O_O
i had a coworker who, anytime some new crazy shit happened, used to take a deep breath and say "this, too." not like 'this too shall pass' or anything, just acknowledging that This Too is a thing we're dealing with today, on top of all the other things. that's lennier ten times a season.
sheridan and delenn are theeee het couple of all time, i think we can all agree on this, i would NOT want to trade them for anything
but i keep thinking about how because sheridan missed season one, he never knew her as a minbari
it just seems so sad for her!!! and for me because i’d like to see him navigate that
i'm having a hard time this go-round watching her get isolated from her people :( :( i mean she IS a religious zealot just Doing Crazy Shit, they're not wrong about her, but the randos calling her a freak need to meet me in the parking lot
ALSO i just watched the dreaming episode, where it's strongly implied that she transformed herself specifically in order to be able to have children with a human (to fix the soul gap or whatever), and she's Destined For Sheridan and all, but she hadn't met him yet
and they weren't even an item when sinclair went into the past to start writing prophecies
soooo do you think she and sinclair were pen pals while he was on minbar and he read between the lines that she was super into this guy?? i think so.
jeffrey valen sinclair in the past writing prophecy about uniting the two halves of our souls: delenn bestie this one's for you <3 go get that blonde man
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Here's my issue with the people trying to cancel Lou
People trying to cancel Lou over memes he posted 11 years ago is not being done out of good faith. It's not coming from a space of calling out past bad behavior.
Hell, the reason the posts were brought up wasn't even in good faith. It's all because people want to get him off the show because he's in the way of fucking shipping.
This isn't coming from a space of actually giving a shit about bigotry or immature behavior. It's because of fucking shipping fictional characters.
As if this fandom couldn't get more disappointing to witness.
I don't like what he posted back then, but also I'm not gonna act like I know this man from fucking Adam. None of us know these people, we can only go off of what we see. We know he cut off his dad for making racists remarks to his brother in-law so who knows how he is now.
My main issue with this was the intention. It wasn't with the goal of calling out the posts It was to try and get him fired. Which, by the way, just to throw this out there:
Maddie's actress is a zionist
Eddie's actor is a racist who first defended using the n-word because he has "black friends" and only apologized after he was called out.
Oliver use to make sexist tweets about women.
Marisol's actress is a homophobe.
And their all still hired by the show.
So, you wanna call people out? Do all of them. Because that's what it means to educate. That's what it means to have actual conversations on bigotry. Bring it all to the forefront.
Let's not use real issues when it's only "convenient."
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Écoute Chérie
A/N: grr
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When a certain someone — specifically a blond male, showed up to Sukuna’s door that next morning holding a wad of cash in his hand, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to sock him in the jaw. But he contained himself, saying, “Keep that shit for yourself. I don’t want it.”
“Oh? You backing out now, Captain?”
“. . .You’re one sick fuck, Zen’in.” He snatched the money out of the younger’s hands, before slamming his door shut.
Pride is a terrible, terrible thing, and Ryomen Sukuna was full of it.
“Oh, my God, girl! I feel like we moved on a little too quickly. Pause: He—you—you guys KISSED? Stop, don’t—don’t play with me right now. I can’t even get a guy to let me cheat off of him on a final, but you kissed someone on the FIRST date. Let me say that again, FIRST date?! As in the first EVER date you two have been on together.”
If you were counting — which you weren’t, this would have been the seventy-ninth time you giggled out loud this evening. You and Nobara were sitting — no, standing, actually, with you leaning forward with your elbows on the counter, and the brunette doing likewise. You decided — well, you were forced — to fill her in on all that happened the day before. You had just gotten off of your shift, and, obviously, were still in your uniform, but Nobara insisted you tell her anyway. She wouldn’t and “couldn’t” wait until you got back to your apartment.
“Yes, Nobs, for the hundredth time. We kissed and even added a little bit of tongue and then he walked me back to my apartment and we fucked all night.”
The look on her face was absolutely priceless, her jaw dropped to the floor and even broke through the tiles and went further beneath the surface. Just kidding; because that’s not possible, but her expression was even more funny after you said, “I’m just messing with you, girl. I have some self-worth left, believe it or not, and I wouldn’t sleep with someone after the first date.”
“Funny how you decided to deny only that part.”
“. . .”
“Don’t—don’t tell me the rest was true. Oh, my God! STOP! I was only kidding; but you—you actually added tongue? What the fuck? And, you just decided to not call me right after? Wow.” Nobara crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air for only a few seconds before she went back to gripping your shoulders and shaking your body. “You are such a freak, my God.”
“He also walked me to my door, y’know. No need to focus on only those parts.” You tried to bring her focus onto that, because you found that part the most adorable.
Truth was, the only reason you didn’t immediately call Nobara that night was because you spent the last few hours of that night screaming into your pillow like a schoolgirl and reminiscing on all that happened.
“You know,” you started, turning to face the man behind you, “you didn’t have to walk me all the way to my door, right? I could’ve just gone by myself.”
You had insisted and insisted to Sukuna that you would be fine, and that the other residents of the building were friendly and cordial, but Sukuna ignored every one of your pleas and walked right next to you anyway. From the parking lot, to the elevators, and down the hallway, Sukuna never left your side, and actually, was surprisingly nice company. You two talked on the way about how good or bad the food at the game was, how hot and humid it was, how annoying the older gentleman beside your seats was, you two talked plenty enough.
“I know. I wanted to.” Sukuna stopped to lean against the wall beside your apartment, crossing his arms as you pulled out your keys.
“Hey, so, I had a lot of fun today. I guess baseball isn’t as boring as I thought it was,” you laughed, scratching the back of your neck. “Thanks for inviting me.” You had tried to tell him on the car ride to your place, but you chickened out.
Sukuna snorted, “No problem; my pleasure, actually. And, I had a lot of fun, too. I think I enjoyed today more than I would if Yuuji was there instead of you. So thank you for coming.”
“Oh, please. Don’t lie; he’s literally your brother. Besides, Yuuji’s not even here to defend himself. Kinda rude, if I say so myself.”
“I’m not lying, though, really. I enjoyed today. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to leave the house for anything fun and actually, sincerely, enjoy it.” Sukuna moved his head as he spoke, as if in a way to accentuate his point. You found that completely and utterly adorable. Just the thought of you being part of making his day alone made you blush, and you looked away sheepishly.
“I’m glad you had a nice time, Sukuna. And thank you, again, for today.” You caught Sukuna by surprise — beyond surprise, actually — when you cupped his face in your hands and brought your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss. Mwah! The sound was audible through the night. And it was the sound which replayed over and over in Sukuna’s mind as he lay completely awake for hours past midnight in bed. The only thing he dreamt of — when he eventually fell asleep, that is — was you. You.
Now that he thought of it, there were no words to describe you. No words to describe your beauty, though, ethereal did come close. No words to describe the smile which you gave him when you two passed each other on campus. No words to describe how friendly and comforting the melody of your voice sounded to him; if you were a siren, and he, a pirate, Sukuna would dive headfirst into the water. No words to describe how drunk, how dizzy, how pathetic you made Sukuna, even with mere eye contact. But, there was a word to describe Sukuna.
It’s quite simple, actually.
Sukuna was whipped. Absolutely enamored of you. But. . . Very unfortunate he only noticed now. And, it was such, such a shame that he was also full of pride.
“Okay, that’s so romantic, though! I can’t believe it. My friend is gonna get with the love of her life, and I don’t even know how to turn the stove on. Oh, my God. My friend’s getting with the love of her life. OH, MY GOD!” That was not even close to the last time you would hear Nobara say “Oh, my God” that night.
-
“You wouldn’t happen to . . . y’know . . . have plans . . . this weekend?”
You didn’t know why Sukuna kept on pausing, but you knew it was oddly suspicious.
“And if I did?”
“Then, I wouldn’t ask you to . . . help me . . . with some . . . math.”
“Sukuna, are you okay? You sound like you’re being held at gunpoint.” You crossed your arms, failing to stifle a giggle. You really couldn’t fathom why he was acting so strange. Sukuna couldn’t, either.
Ever since the day you both went to that baseball game together, Sukuna’s been different, to say the least. And yeah, maybe after kissing someone for the first time changes your behavior towards them, but still, it was strange.
He wasn’t as cocky when going over his daily feats at basketball practice; he wasn’t as blunt and insulting to freshmans whom you two came across while on campus; he wasn’t as teasing or sharp with his remarks as he usually was; he wasn’t as assertive and casual whilst slinging an arm ‘round your shoulder. He wasn’t him. Then again, Sukuna also didn’t know why he was acting this way.
“I’m . . . fine. I’m fine.”
“Okay. . . Anyways, I am free. So yeah, I can. My place or yours?”
“Ah, you don’t have a lot of good alcohol,” Sukuna tapped his index finger repeatedly on his chin, as if contemplating which location to use was very difficult for someone like him. “I get bored with just water. So, it’ll have to be mine. ‘Sides, I don’t think Gigi likes me that much anyway.”
You laughed. Sukuna wasn’t very keen on having you tutor him while your apparently “murderous” cat was present. Giselle, also known by her nickname ‘Gigi’, was a black-furred breed, with very sharp, untrimmed nails, which proved useful whenever Sukuna came over to hang out with you or do some other shit. Maybe it was because of how provocative Sukuna and his usual cold demeanor were. Maybe it was because of how close Sukuna got to Gigi’s owner whenever you sat down on the couch together. Maybe it was because of the fact Sukuna took your attention off of your so precious cat whenever he stepped foot into the apartment. Maybe it was because Sukuna was just Sukuna. And Gigi didn’t like that one bit.
“Alright, since you’re afraid of a mere feline, which — mind you, is less than a quarter of both your height and size.”
“Well, that feline comes from the depths of Hell. So yeah, excuse me if I prefer to stay sixty miles away from it.”
“Gigi comes from Hell, now? Pfft—she’s probably just excited to see her previous neighbor, then,” you snorted.
Sukuna gave you a side glance, hiding his growing grin. He was not about to openly admit you were even slightly funny. No, he would never give you that kind of satisfaction.
“Okay, so can you tell me what the variable ‘d’ is?” You had explained the formulas as best as you could, even taking it a step further and dumbing it down immensely. Then you left the living room to put away the dishes, leaving the pink-haired male to attempt his assignment on his own. — With some guidance here and there.
Sukuna and you had ordered Chinese, deciding to study while eating. And while your plan for energizing proved to be frustrating at first — since a certain someone didn’t know how to eat with his mouth closed, you had become used to it by the end. Your tactic? Drowning out the audible chewing noises. Eugh.
“Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll show you.” Sukuna leaned his head on the cushions, wrapping an arm around the back of the sofa.
You scrunched up your face in reply, pausing in the middle of scrubbing food and gunk and whatever off of the porcelain plates. “Pass.
“I told you already, Sukuna. The exponential functions are the ones that slowly curve up; think of it as this: good things happen to a bad thing. Get it? Like, their lives are getting better. And, since I know you’ve already forgotten, a ‘y’ value can have as many ‘x’ values, but the ‘x’ value is . . . unambiguous, so it only has one ‘y’ value. Now, does that help?”
“Ugh, this is such a bore. How can anyone pay attention to these types of things long enough in class to be good at it? Fuck.”
You took his consequent silence as him giving up on life and continuing to work on solving the problem in his evident misery, but oh, how wrong you were.
“S’kuna, what are you doing?” you sucked in a breath. He was so close. So close, to you. You thought it had only been two seconds, but in those two seconds, it only took Ryomen Sukuna four easy strides to end up here. — With his chest pressed almost right up against your back. Key word: almost. Yes, Ryomen Sukuna was so close, but still, so far.
“Helping you.” God, did he have to be that ambiguous all the time? He was like a walking enigma, a puzzle, a riddle, for you to solve. A mystery for which you would soon lose sleep over.
Sukuna easily grabbed several dried plates, removing them from the rack, and storing them in the cabinet above your head. His hand left lingering touches on your arm as they passed by each other. You slowly, gradually, accumulated a mountain of goosebumps.
It was infuriating.
He was so close, but not close enough.
Every time he moved to grab another plate, he would rest his hand upon your hip or on the curve of your waist. Sometimes he ran his large-scaled hands up your middle; sometimes he moved them lower, and lower. Was he trying to give you heart palpitations?
“Y’know,” he started, his voice dripping with honey, “you can keep breathing, right? What, do I smell that bad?” he snickered.
“I—what—why—what the hell are you doing?” You wanted to argue that he had no sense of personal space, which, yes, was true, but you feared he would stop whatever he was doing at the moment. And, you didn’t want that.
“I’m . . . helping . . . you.” He bent down to your level, lips brushing your ear as he spoke, and his hot breath fanning your ear.
There it was again. That ‘pausing thing’ of his. But, this time, it was different. Earlier he was pausing as if he was unsure, but now, he was pausing just to create suspense and further rile you up. He clearly knew what he was doing; he knew what he was doing to you. Poor ol’ you, who just innocently wanted to wash some dishes.
You had previously wanted to turn around and properly face him in order to confront him better, but now, you didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not like you could, anyway, you were stuck between the counter and him. Your eyelashes fluttered, as your eyes darted here and there. And your palms began to sweat, you quickly wiped them on the material of your sweater, but your continued attempts were futile.
“No—no, you’re not.” You struggled to stifle your heavy breathing, and it took you quite a time to form a sentence without giving away the tight feeling in your chest.
“Yeah? Then, how could I help you, hm? Tell me,” he spoke your name firmly, like he was anticipating your breaking, and egging you on nevertheless. Then again, how could he not be? It had been days, days, since you two went to that game. Days since he felt like he was in heaven and talking to an angel. Days since he felt your lips on his. Days since he felt well. Days. And for days, he’s been restless, hungry, thirsty, empty. Hell, forget about your predicament, he was the one close to breaking.
“Tell me,” he said your name, again. “Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”
“. . .You can help by telling me what the fuck we’re doing right now.”
“Don’t you already know? And here, I thought it was obvious.” Sukuna bit his lip, but that didn’t help any bit in suppressing his laugh.
“What . . . are we . . . doing?” You repeated.
Sukuna was silent, for a moment, “You’re tutoring me, on math.”
“I already know that, dumbass. I mean, what are we doing?”
“You’re gonna need to be a little more specific than that.”
“Oh, my God—what are we doing? What are we? For fuck’s sake. How thick is your skull really, damn.” You finally mustered the courage to twist your body around, and though you were only met with his chest, you sighed and looked upward to meet his face.
“That’s a little harsh.”
You glowered at Sukuna.
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk,” he cleared his throat. “We’re . . . just us. I don’t know what to tell you. Sukuna and you. You and Sukuna. That’s all there is to it, right?”
For a second, you thought he was referencing what you had previously said to Nobara, but then the rational side of your brain kicked in and said, “No, there’s no way he could’ve overhead that,” and so, the surprised expression disappeared from your face as you looked down at the floor of the kitchen.
“We’re friends, yeah, that’s all there is to it. . . But friends don’t do . . . this. So we clearly, definitely, shouldn’t be doing this.”
“So, we can pretend we’re not doing this, right? There, fixed the problem.”
“And if I don’t want to pretend we’re not doing this?”
“Then don’t; we don’t have to pretend.”
“But—”
“Please,” he looked at you with such an earnest expression on his features, “don’t say that word. Not again. You’ve no idea, no idea, how much it drives me crazy when you say that word. Mad, insane, deranged. Anything but that, please, anything. We’re clearly not friends. We’re clearly not just friends. So please, don’t call whatever we have as that. I’m sick of it.”
“If we’re not friends, then, what are we?” Your voice was just above a whisper, and you couldn’t even recall when it turned out that way.
“. . .We’re whatever you want us to be. . . What do you want us to be?”
“No, you decide, Sukuna. What do you want us to be?” You gingerly laid a palm on top of his chest.
“I decide?”
You nodded, “Whatever you want to be . . . will be.”
“I want us to be . . . us. Together. Just us. No one else; just you and me.”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
He took your hand from his chest and held it in his, as if in a way to seal his promise. “I’m glad.”
Having had a couple beers — in favor of Sukuna giving up on attempting any more math, you were a little drunk. Just a little.
“You have a stupid, stupid face, but it’s still my favorite. It’s my favorite to stare out. It’s my favorite to kiss. It’s my favorite to rub — your skin is so soft. It’s my favorite. My favorite.”
He let you pepper as many pecks as you wanted onto his cheek, but when you tried to give Sukuna a proper kiss on the lips, he quickly moved his face to the side so you unintentionally planted your lips on his cheek instead.
For, he didn’t want you to freak out in the morning and think he was the type of guy to take advantage of someone while they were even a little bit tipsy.
Besides, he had just gotten you. He couldn’t lose you now, could he.
A/N: i love portraying raw emotion
#my writing is HEAVY on stylistic choice#so it can be quite hard to read at times#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#ryomen x reader#ryomen x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#sukuna fluff#i think???
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New Car
Peter was aware of how stupid it was to meet with the seller of the car. It was an almost new BMW M3. The car was still going to cost over USD 100,000.00. That was way out of his budget. But there was something that appealed to him even more than the car itself. In a photo, the owner had been reflected in the car's freshly polished paintwork. And Peter couldn't get this reflection out of his head. You couldn't see much. But what you could see was muscular, tattooed and wearing a shiny Adidas tracksuit. Peter couldn't get this image out of his head for the life of him. So he dialed the number given. And when he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he got a hard-on. It was churlish English with a heavy Arabic accent. Peter was actually on the phone to one of his favorite wankers. Bloody hell! He tried to act as cool as possible. He tried to ask a few questions that feigned competence in the direction of sports cars. He was trying to come across as cool and chavvy as possible. He probably sounded more than ridiculous. But the two of them arranged to go for a test drive. After the salesman hung up, Peter urgently needed to go to the bathroom. And have a wank.
The appointment for the test drive was on Friday evening. Peter took the bus to the address given, which was located in a suburb with a bad reputation. There was garbage on the streets. There was graffiti on the walls. But the cars parked on the street were in many cases like something from another world. Expensive, high-powered cars, perfectly maintained. And he was leaning against one of them. The prototype of an Arab chav who spent too much time pumping iron and in the tattoo parlor. Peter had to make sure his erection wasn't too obvious. The guy introduced himself as Ibrahim and greeted Peter with a fist bump. He said that Peter wasn't allowed to smoke in the car and offered him a fag. And instead of saying that he didn't smoke at all, Peter gratefully accepted the fag, took a light and walked around the Bavarian beauty, trying to look as professional as possible. "Shit, dude, what's that on your pants?" Damn, Peter must have sat on a piece of chewing gum on the bus. "You're not getting into my car like that," growled Ibrahim. He opened the trunk, took a pair of training pants out of a sports bag and threw them to Peter. "Seriously?" asked Peter. "Here, on the street?" "Either that or you can fuck right off again." So Peter took off his shoes and trousers, put on the tracksuit bottoms and then his…. Nike sneakers??!?!???! He wasn't wearing sneakers. Ibrahim threw him the key. "Come on then, brother. Fall in love with my baby!" Peter sat down and tried to start the engine as cool as possible. When the 510 horses howled, he winced. Ibrahim grinned. "Yes, you have to get used to it. But you will. Go on, drive towards the highway!" The car was hell. An untamed beast. Peter's forehead was covered in sweat. "Come on, old man! Step on the gas!" And Peter stepped on the gas. The speedometer showed 140 miles per hour. Damn, that would cost him his driver's license. And Ibrahim calmly started a conversation about soccer. "Of course Galatasaray will win the championship again this time!" Peter heard himself say and stepped on the gas once more. The BMW was power and strength pressed into leather and steel. He loved the car. As if remote-controlled, he chased the car first along the highway and then at far too high a speed along the arterial road towards the city center. The sleeve of his jacket stretched across his biceps as he wrenched the steering wheel. Ibrahim pressed himself into his sports seat. "Hehehe, you and the baby make the perfect unit!" "Dostum, ne düşünüyorsun? Gerçek Türk erkeklerinin kanında petrol vardır." replied Peter. No, not Peter, Sinan! Ibrahim turned up the music. Syrian gangster rap. Just the right thing to cruise along the city center boulevards now. it was a warm evening. Ibrahim opened the glass roof. He let his mighty biceps hang out of the open window. The boys and girls looked respectful, envious or disgusted when Sinan revved the engine. But in any case, they looked: Who gives a shit, they had the coolest car, they were the cool guys with the biggest muscles. "Dude, get some cigs and then change drivers," said Ibrahim Sinan. And Sinan headed for the nearest kiosk.
Sinan would never be able to afford such a car in his life. Even though he was number two in the gang behind Ibrahim, his place was usually in the passenger seat. But fuck it, Ibrahim was his boss and he followed him through rough and tumble. Ibrahim's hand missed the stick of the gearshift. But he caught something that was at least as hard. Shit, if he cums on the leather, Sinan would spend the whole morning cleaning the car again. But it was worth it.
Pics by @ki-kink
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pegging Graves but he goads you to do so.
Your asshole of a lover doing everything in his power short of actually doing something to piss you off—if only to see you take the reins.
See, you've entertained it, bought the damn strap and everything, but you always chickened out at the last minute. What's wrong, darlin'? You got a handsome man, willing and ready for ya, and you're turning tail on him?
Is that how this is, sweetheart? Graves thought you were made of tougher shit than that.
That smirk broadens when he's finally got you where he wants ya, but you know Graves, gorgeous. He has to have the last word. And it tips the balance.
"That's all yer made of, darlin'?" Oh, this bastard.
And that smirk turns into a chuckle and that chuckle turns into something else, halfway between a moan, and a breathy "Fuck..." and Graves wonders what took you so fuckin' long.
Shit, you didn't even fully undress him you were so amped up. But that's the point, darlin'.
Remind him to piss you off some other time. ❤️
#2queued4u.#nsfw.#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x reader#cod x you#phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves x you#x black reader#x poc reader#x plus size reader#shadow company#I saw the latest comment on my last blurb on this so I figured why not give some more food? lol.
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