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hier--soir · 3 months

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heart to heart

john price x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: john takes you away for the weekend, and nestled in a cottage on the countryside, you show him just how much you've been missing him. warnings/tags: long term boyfriend!john, john price never finishes his cigars, explicit smut, a little body worship, oral [m receiving], fingering [f], unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasms [m], some overstim [m], come eating x2, brief cock warming, idiots in love, porn with minimal plot. word count: 4.4k masterlist a/n: this was born out of me being physically unable to stop thinking about that middle picture being john price, so here we go follow @hier--soirupdates if you’d like to be notified when i share my writing

It hasn’t rained in six days.

Late autumn spins the countryside in its grasp; a warm cloak that sends the leaves golden and the grass dewy. In a small, unfamiliar kitchen you drop teabags into mugs and gaze out the window. Admire the vast acreage that surrounds the cottage, and the marshland beyond that.

The early morning rays are bright and cool, turning the cabinets a washy yellow colour around you as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Everything is quiet, calm. If you listen closely, past the sound of birds chirping and water bubbling, you can hear John’s heavy snores down the hall; still catching up on sleep after a long few weeks away.

When he came through the front door two nights ago, you’d been quietly surprised to see him home so soon. After not hearing much for almost a month, you’d resigned yourself to getting on with things in his absence. A fairly covert operation, you knew, so you’d spent your days waking to an empty house. Working and eating and showering alone and never exceeding the appropriate number of messages you could send him in one day without stirring worry. Little Angus with his long orange tail and his soft whiskers your only company in John’s stead.

Home at last, he’d wrestled out of his heavy boots and draped himself over where you lay on the couch. Soap opera long forgotten on the tele, he’d slipped an arm around the back of your head, held you to his chest and said, Let me take you somewhere.

The kettle whistles and you pluck it from the stove, still smiling at the memory. Douse the teabags in boiled water and watch as the windows cloud with steam. You leave his black, just the way he likes it, but soften your own with sugar and milk. Your toes are numb against the cool tile, and you rub them against your calf in search of warmth. Inside, your body is at sleepy old war with itself. One half longing to be back in bed, or perhaps to have not gotten up at all yet; the other half taking great pleasure in the mundanity of doing things like this for him again, after so long of not. Tap tap tap of an impatient finger against the counter until his tea turns the perfect colour, and then you’re on your way back to the room.

Leant amongst paisley patterned pillows and white linens, John looks a little out of place knuckling sleep from the corner of his eyes. A little too rough around the edges, too big, too hardened for such soft surroundings. In your brief absence, he’s drawn the curtains and nudged the window beside the bed open a crack. A long arm stretches out toward the sill, ashing a cigar onto the small dish he’s balanced there.

Naked as the day he was born, he lifts the cigar to his lips and blinks drowsily at you. Stretches his legs out, the muscles in his thighs straining, curled toes skimming the end of the bed. Eyes wandering, you kick the door shut with your foot and slink to the end of the bed, holding out his mug.

“’Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. Accepts the tea with a soft smile, the skin beside his eyes crinkling as he watches you crawl in beside him. Hands full, he twists an ankle around yours, face pulling up at the feel of your cold skin against his. “Jesus, you’re like ice. I’ll shut the window.”

“Don’t move,” you hush, nestling your head against his shoulder. “You’re right where I want you.”

John laughs softly, warm body vibrating against yours. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You watch him tap his cigar against the dish, sipping your tea and trailing fingers through the dark hairs on his stomach. Enjoy the way his body draws tense beneath your cool touch, goose flesh sprouting across his skin. “Middle of nowhere… unfamiliar town… no one will ever find you. You’re all mine out here, Price.”

“M’all yours everywhere,” he says, abandoning his cigar in the dish so he can tug on the neckline of your—his—t-shirt. “This proves it, yeah?”

“I suppose,” you smile, lifting your mug to hide behind a sip. He watches you move, calculating and quiet as he sips his own tea. You fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, painfully aware of how well he knows you. That your want, your need, must be painted across every inch of your face.

“Love you in my clothes, sweetheart, I do.” John’s fingers curl beneath the hem of the shirt then, rough callouses tickling over your collarbones. “But you’re makin’ me feel awful naked.”

Heat flares in the base of your stomach and you chuckle, matching smirks splashed across your faces as you sit up and drag the shirt over your head. He watches as you flick it to the floor, gaze darkening as he looks over your body, focusing on the thin grey panties that cover the skin between your thighs. A thick arm curls around your waist, tugging you back onto him, and as you settle there his fingers slip down to fiddle with the band of your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments airily, middle finger dropping under the band to caress the skin beneath it.

Mug discarded off the side of the bed, you put both hands to his stomach now. Tickling his soft skin, playing with the hair there as you lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. And then another, and another, with John simply humming, palm flattening against the small of your back to hold you against his side.

Your lips part, tongue dancing lazily against his nipple. Soft strokes until the flesh is stiffening and you’re practically purring against his skin, drifting across to the other one. You hear the soft clink of his mug hitting the side table, and then John’s hand falls against the back of your head. Thick fingers twist through your hair, playing as you kiss and lick over his collarbones, and the little tugs he gives have a low throb starting up between your legs.

“Feelin’ needy this mornin’, hey lovey?” John asks. His fingers come to the front of your face, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. Big blue eyes watch you pout, cheeks squished between his fingers as you nod.

“I missed you,” you say, turning to press your nose into his palm and inhale the smell of him.

His eyes soften, and all sense of teasing seems to slip out the window. “I know, sweetheart, m’sorry. Come here’n give us a kiss.”

His lips are soft against yours. Warm, and familiar, with a hint of Darjeeling. Pulling you up to straddle his waist, he coaxes your chest down against his and huffs into your mouth at the feel of your nipples against his skin, teeth sneaking out to smart at your bottom lip.

“Thought about you every day,” he mumbles against your lips. “Missed you every second, love, always do.”

You feel something hot and sharp spark behind your eyelids at those words, and flick your tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing it away, not now not now. You go soft and pliant against him; let him guide you through the kiss, coaxing your mouth open with his long tongue as his fingers dance down your spine. When his hand reaches the round of your ass he grips your flesh there, kneading it between his fingers and pushing down so your clothed cunt comes flush with his cock.

“Feel that?” John says, pulling away an inch to nose at your cheek. His cock is heavy between your legs, thick and stiff where it presses against the gusset of your panties. You gasp as he rocks his hips up, grinding against you until the damp fabric slips between your slick folds and rubs over your clit. “That’s how much I missed you, sweetheart.”

As he talks, the hairs on his moustache prickle against your lips, and you find yourself opening your mouth. Breathy moans spill as you roll your hips against his, lathing hot opened mouthed kisses over his jaw.

“Looked at your picture every night,” he continues raggedly, breath hitching as you suck at the hollow of his throat. His cock twitches against you, the slide only getting smoother as more slick spills into your panties. “Thought about comin’ home ‘n’ never leavin’ again, just so I could play with this pretty little cunt whenever I like.”

Your hips stutter into his and you whine, a tiny glimpse of an orgasm fluttering through you just from those words.

“S’yours,” you whisper against his skin, the words he spoke moments before dancing through your mind. “All yours everywhere.”

Faster than he can stop you, you’re slipping off his lap and settling beside him on the bed. Continuing the onslaught, you lick hot, messy kisses over the skin of his neck, across the broad span of his shoulders.

“My big man,” you say tenderly, fingers itching their way across his chest. You skirt your teeth down the middle of his sternum, squeaking a little when he murmurs in enjoyment and presses a hand to your ass again. “I missed your body so much.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me then,” he goads lightly, grunting around a smirk when you sink your teeth into the soft flesh over his ribs in response.

His fingers toy with the material of your panties as you drag your tongue over the dip of his belly button, and when you kiss the soft curve of his lower stomach, nose buried in the dark hairs above it, you feel him grip the fabric tight. You can see his cock in your peripheral vision. Swollen and heavy against his hip now. The tip has turned a pretty shade of dark pink, accented by little streaks of white where pre-come oozes from his slit and glides down his throbbing shaft. With your mouth on his belly, you reach out and wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” John grunts, head lolling back against the pillows.

You smile, stroking him slowly as you drag your nose through his thick happy trail, all the way down to nuzzle against the dark thatch of curls above his base. Insistent now, his fingers push beneath the edge of your panties and drag through your slick seam.

You whimper, forehead resting heavily against his skin as he slides two fingers through the wet mess of you. Lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room as John traces featherlight circles around your clit, and your face heats against his stomach, fingers returning to their lazy pace around his length.

The throb between your legs has become a second heartbeat now, so strong that you’re sure he must feel it beneath his fingertips. If he does, he just sighs softly. Lets the thrumming of your cunt sync with the pulse in his fingertips, heart to heart, and murmurs low encouragements as you tilt your head to the side and begin mouthing at his cock.

“Missed my cock.” Your voice is low and unfamiliar in your ears, mouth overrun with desire and spilling your guts before you can stop it. “So pretty, John…”

Circling your entrance with a thick finger, he just says, “I know, love, s’yours. Go on.”

As slow as you can bring yourself to be, you lay gentle kisses down the entire length of him. Wetting your lips and gliding them over his warm, silken skin, before dipping lower and sucking his balls between your lips. A harsh grunt sounds behind you, and, as if in retaliation, he sinks two thick fingers inside you. You moan around his sensitive skin, holding his balls in your mouth and jerking him off until he’s trembling beneath you, broad thighs straining as he tries to hold himself together.

“That’s good, love,” he murmurs softly, almost speaking to himself as he curls his fingers inside you, humming when you grind into his hand. “Need ta get my fuckin’ mouth on you.”

But you just shake your head. Let his balls slip from your mouth with a soft pop before sticking out your tongue and guiding the weeping tip of his cock towards your mouth. Hasty, too needy for your own good, you slip your lips around him and try to take him deep on the first pass. Out of practice after weeks away, your throat constricts and you choke a little around him. So big, so overbearing, you’re too eager to be filled by him that you push and push until you’re gagging and sputtering. Cheeks hot and eyes downturned, you draw back, skin prickling as you hear him say something past the rushing in your ears. Take a moment to catch your breath and ground yourself, fingers tight on his thigh as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“This what you missed then?” he’s saying, collecting your hair in his fist to keep it off your face. “Hm, missed bein’ all full of me?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, pulling back with a gasp only to press his head against your cheek. Eyes closed, you rub his ruddy tip against your chin, your lips, painting your skin with his precome. Feel the weight of him warm your skin and sigh in quiet delight. And when he groans, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath, you press your mouth around him again, desperate to hear him make that sound over and over again.

“Easy, darlin’, lemme see you,” John chokes out, thumbing sliding over the apple of your cheek. “So pretty with your lips around my cock.”

Heat floods your chest, and you drool around him. The words seem to trigger something in your mind, some insatiable desire to please, to make him feel good, because you’re relaxing, sinking your mouth down further on him. A low, drawn-out curse falls from his lips, fingers curling in the hair behind your ear.

Gaudy sounds of sucking and slurping fill your ears, and you would be self-conscious if it weren’t for the way John’s growls met them in the air. Wordlessly, he slips a third digit inside and the stretch brings a dull burn that has your mouth slowing against him.

Your eyelids flutter as his thick fingers stroke at your walls, searching for the spot that makes you spill every time, but your wanton cries of desperation are muffled by the heavy weight of him on your tongue. In slow, measured movements, he begins to shift his hips in time with your head. Feeding his cock to you and grunting when he feels your throat go soft and easy around him, letting him slip further in until your nose buries in the hair at his base.

John watches you, the blue in his eyes almost entirely swallowed by desire fattened pupils. Rakes his gaze over the way your lips stretch around his thick cock, tears dancing on your lashes as you take him in your throat. The heady taste of him is intoxicating, and you can only hold his gaze for so long before your eyes are rolling back, stomach pulling tight as you swallow around him.

Stuffed to the brim with John, John, John. He’s everywhere, filling your mouth, your aching cunt; it sends your heart racing, thighs trembling as your orgasm begins to crest.

Molten heats swims in the base of your stomach, curling and bubbling there as he you ride his long fingers, moaning his name around his cock. But just as you feel everything begin to go tight and tingly, John’s pulling on your hair and dragging you off him.

A thin strand of spit dangles between his tip and your mouth and he snarls at the sight, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he huffs, squeezing insistently at your shoulders. “Wanna feel you on my cock when you come for me, yeah?”

Mind a hazy blur, you let the weight of him fall from your mouth, the hinge of your jaw still burning as you peel your underwear down your legs and spread yourself over his lap. John doesn’t pull his hand away though. No, he keeps his fingers between your legs, pumping them in and out, slowly, as you hover over his cock.

“My girl,” he says, eyes focusing on where the puffy lips of your cunt almost touch his cock. “My filthy, sweet girl.”

“John,” you puff his name, abdomen tensing when he rubs his thumb against your clit. Balanced on your knees and the tips of your toes, your legs shake a bit. Fingers dance forward to touch his shoulder, desperate for an anchor.

You frown a little, swollen lips parted in a torturous mix of desire and confusion, but he just offers a filthy grin and says, “Tell me you missed me again.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you smart instinctually, lips twitching when he barks a laugh and slips his fingers from your wet clutch, grasp drifting to your waist. “Please.”

“There she is,” he rumbles, jaw tensing as you glide his tip through your folds, coating him in your slick. A heavy rush of air spills from his nose. “My impatient girl.”

Once he’s got you on his cock, it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.

He lets you keep having it your way for a bit. Watches, gaze heavy, as you bounce on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. You squirm on him, face twisted up as you adjust to the thick stretch of him after so long. It burns and aches between your thighs, but you can’t help but keep coming back for more, sinking down on his length faster each time. He tilts his head forward to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against the plush of your breast when you arch your back, crying out at the feeling of his teeth on the sensitive bud.

After a while he slots his greedy lips against yours. Presses hot, sucking kisses to your mouth, swallowing down every gasp and moan that crawls its way up your chest. The bristles of his facial hair scratch at your cheeks, your nose, and you love it. Have desperately missed the way it warms your skin as he presses his tongue inside your mouth and tastes behind your teeth.

Using his hold on your hips, he rolls you against his lap. Meets you thrust for thrust until you start to soak his length, jaw going slack as he growls into your open mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love, that’s it,” John groans, fingers tightening on your waist as your cunt pulls tight and hot around him. Thighs shaking, you let your forehead fall against his chest and ride out the flood of your orgasm. “I know, darlin’, I know, I’ve got you.”

Fingers fly up to grip the back of your neck, his other arm snaking around your waist as he continues fucking up into you. His cock presses hot and heavy into that soft, gushy spot deep inside you and you shudder against him, helpless little moans slipping from your parted lips. Face smushed against his hairy chest, you drool a little. Feel it pool between his pecs and smear across your cheek as your eyes roll back, dopamine pounding in your veins as he pushes you relentlessly through the high.

“Gonna let me fill you up?” he’s panting, feet planted on the bed now as he bucks into you, hips stuttering as he sinks closer and closer to his end. “Fuck, I’m gonna make a right mess of you, darlin’. That’s it, lovey, show me that pretty face.”

“John,” you mewl, toes curling against the sheets. “Shit, oh shit.”

“Christ,” he grunts when you meet his eyes, jaw pulled tight. “So tight, m’ gonna come—”

“Wait,” you mumble suddenly, senses sharpening despite the way your thighs still shake against his hips. John stills immediately, grip tightening on your waist. “In my mouth, I want you in my mouth.”

His face crumples at that, a guttural noise sputtering from his lips as you lift off him and slip down to rest between his legs. He nods, brushing hair back off your face as you sink your mouth down on him, slick tongue hungry on the underside of his pulsing cock. He mutters your name, tells you how perfect you feel as he rocks his hips forward, tip nudging the back of your throat with every careful thrust.

“My sweet girl, doing so good for me,” he breathes, a coy grin on his face and a firm hand at the base of your skull. He holds your head in place as he fucks your mouth with slow, steady strokes. Groans every time you swallow, warm wet throat drawing tight around his swollen head.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” he mutters urgently, tugging on your hair until you’re blinking, focusing blurry eyes on his face. He thumbs at the teary streaks on your cheeks and gives a rough, prolonged groan as he begins to spill down your throat. “Fuck, fuck.”

You bob your head as his cock twitches and jerks against your tongue, sucking until he’s filled your mouth with warm come and it starts seeping from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down his shaft. You catch the spill with your fingers, swallowing his thick spend down and then licking what’s left from your trembling hands.

John watches on, chest heaving, and tuts fondly when you whimper, head spinning with the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Bloody hell,” he exhales after a moment, dragging his knuckles over his face. “We’re never goin’ home.”

You laugh, drowsily nuzzling your cheek against the inside of his thigh as his cock softens against his stomach. John cards his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, legs still twitching and eyes drifting closed as he tries to catch his breath. Lips slick with spit and come, you lay soft pecks along his sweaty skin. Smile when he shudders, fingers tightening against your scalp, but doesn’t pull you off.

There’s a hot flush of red splashed across the skin of his neck, his cheekbones, and his stomach is still warm to the touch when you reach out to graze his soft flesh. Sated and sleepy, he wets his lips and continues to play with your hair. Lovingly curls strands of it around his fingers and tugs gently before letting go, only to pick a new strand and do it again.

Overcome with emotion, and unable to stop yourself, you lean forward and take his soft cock back into your mouth.

John hisses through his teeth in surprise, eyes flashing open.

You don’t do anything crazy yet. Just let him feel the warmth of your mouth around him, the soft glide of your tongue against the ridge around his head. When he doesn’t pull you off after a second, you give him a little suck. Not hard—just enough to make his hips flinch down into the mattress and his legs pull tight at your sides.

“Fuck,” he exhales, face pinched. His hand trembles against your head. “Fu—hang on, fuckin’ hell, love.”

You peer up past his stomach to where his mouth hangs open and his eyes are shiny and wide. His nails scratch against your scalp. Needy little nudges that blur the line between too much and not enough. You hum in pleasure around him when a choked sound falls from his mouth. Feeling a little mean, though, you pull back, licking your lips and smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” you murmur, face hot as you squeeze his thigh. “Just want to love on you a little longer, that’s all.”

He hums deep in his chest, brow creasing a little as he brings his big hands to cup your face. His thumb swipes at your chin, smearing the saliva there, and you part your lips for him. He makes a sort of pained sound as he slots the digit into your mouth and watches you hollow out your cheeks out around it, swirling your tongue and sucking like you’d done to his cock just moments ago.

“Christ,” John breathes. Something needy and desperate glints in his eye, and he slips his finger from your mouth. Grips the back of your neck and gives a short nod. “Gonna be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

Guided by his hand, you take him back in your mouth and sigh in relief. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you rest your face against his hip, taking deep breaths through your nose and just holding him like that for a while. You can hear the way his breathing goes haggard above your head; short sharp bursts of air huffing from his nostrils. Sensitive as he must be, John lets you have your fun, shivering and spiting low curses as your touches get increasingly needier. And when you begin to suck softly at his length again, he seems unable to help the way his strong legs writhe against the mattress.

He says your name, rough and urgent, when you pull back only to snake your tongue out against his slit. Eyes fluttering open, you look up at him as you lathe your tongue down his length, smiling at how red his face has gotten, at how he seems to be holding his breath. John’s cock starts to swell and stiffen beneath your touch.

“D’you want me to stop?” you whisper, tracing the blue vein that pulses down the side of his length with your tongue.

“No,” he pants, head lolling from side to side. “Fuck no, gorgeous. Just go easy on me, yeah? It’s ohh—” he winces “—s’a lot.”

You nod understandingly and press a kiss to his tip, smearing the fresh pearl of precome there against your lips. He’s fully hard now, throbbing when you wrap your fingers around his thick base and wrap your lips around his head. A guttural sound rips from his chest and he’s tugging at your hair. For a moment you pause, unsure, but then he’s pushing a little on you. Nudging you closer, further, so you take him deeper and deeper until his tip is nudging against your throat.

“Fuck,” John gasps, hips stuttering against your palms, sensitive cock twitching against your tongue. “S’too much, love, it’s—oh fuck.”

With a ragged grunt his cock pulses in your mouth, and a little spurt of come dribbles from his head. You moan, eyes closed, and swallow tight around him, milking every last drop of spend from his cock until he’s winded and clumsily pushing you off of him.

Breathless, you fall flat on the mattress beside him, feet dangling off the end of the bed. John’s broad palm cradles the back of your head still, a comforting weight as you wipe your face against the sheets.

Ears pricking, you realise it’s begun to rain outside. Soft patters of liquid that knock against the window, thin rivulets that drip down to splash and splutter against the sill. Long forgotten, his cigar sizzles and dies beneath the spray.

“Another tea?” you murmur finally, pushing up onto your elbows.

But with a soft, startled laugh, you find that John’s eyes are closed, chest rising with steady breaths; already back to sleep. Shaking your head a little, you smile fondly at his lax form, and consider closing the window. You settle instead for pulling the duvet from the corner of the bed. Curled against his thick side, you settle the blanket over the two of you and lay an arm over his stomach, content to have a proper lie in after such a busy morning.

thanks for reading, i'd love to hear what you thought x

#my writing #fic: heart to heart #john price x reader #john price smut #john price fanfiction #john price x you #john price cod #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price smut

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beansprean · 2 months

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Lil comic from chapter 1 of Alethophobia by @jay-auris! Character designs by the incredible @pejntboks!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Distant shot from behind a white van parked on a patch of gravel and dirt with its rear doors wide open, pine trees in the distance against a darkening sky. Human Nandor is rummaging around in the equipment in the back of the van, muttering angrily to himself. He is wearing a green flannel with rolled sleeves over a white tee shirt tucked into cut off blue jean shorts, white knee socks, and hiking boots. The side of Guillermo's face appears in closeup in the foreground, looking at him. 1b. Shot from inside the van as Guillermo comes up behind Nandor, both now facing the viewer. Nandor has his graying hair down and hanging messily in his face as he scowls, sweat beading on his forehead. He wears a silver medallion around his neck, orange tasbih prayer beads around his right wrist, has two orbital piercings with silver hoops and a silver conch stud in his left ear, and silver vertical studs on his right eyebrow. He continues glaring at the equipment and shuffling it around with his left hand as he thrusts a camera bag out behind him with his right, snapping, "Leave Laszlo to pack everything like an overgrown child. Here, pull out the extra batteries so I can put them in the actual fucking battery cases we own." Guillermo looks down at the bag in surprise as it is thrust towards him, hands coming up automatically to take it. He is wearing a black tee shirt with a gray symbol on the chest under a sleeveless unzipped dark blue hoodie with red trim, black leggings, red sneakers, a black fidget ring on his right middle finger, and a silver cross around his neck, tucked into the shirt. 1c. Close up of Guillermo as takes the bag and removes the batteries, aiming a concerned look at Nandor as he does so. He asks, "Are you okay?" 1d. Waist up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he straightens up and wrestles his hair back into a messy bun with quick, angry motions. Still glaring down at the equipment, he snarls, "I dislike long car rides; I dislike being out of the city;" 1e. Reverse shot, close up of the back of Nandor's head with its painful looking bun in the foreground as he continues, "I dislike laszlo's laissez-faire attitude towards the security of our expensive equipment..." In the background, Guillermo frowns as he observes Nandor's hair.

2a. Repeat. Guillermo interrupts Nandor's venting by pointing toward his hair and asking, "Can I fix that?" Nandor's head in the foreground turns toward him, asking, "Huh?" 2b. Wide shot facing the rear of the van as Guillermo says, "Your hair, just- c'mere." Guillermo takes Nandor by the shoulders, turns him around, and pushes him down to sit on the bumper with a small, unassuming smile. Nandor looks shocked and not a little flustered, shoulders tense under Guillermo's hands. 2c. Close up on Nandor as Guillermo pulls the rubber band from his hair and lets it loose around his shoulders, covering his eyes. Guillermo combs his fingers through the strands and Nandor stills, expression hidden but cheeks going red. 2d. Close up of Nandor's face from the nose down in profile as Guillermo's hands gather his hair behind his shoulders. 2e. Close up of the back of Nandor's head from Guillermo's POV as he pulls all of Nandor's hair together neatly at his crown.

3a. Close up on Nandor's side, elbow to hip, as Guillermo's right hand leaves his head to tap two fingers on Nandor's jeans pocket. Nandor pulls his elbow away in surprise. 3b. Repeat. Nandor's other hand obliges, pulling a second rubber band from his pocket and offering it to Guillermo, who hooks it onto his finger. 3c. Waist up of Guillermo as he steps back with a hesitant grin, hands clasped together at his sternum. He says, "There. Better?" 3d. Close up of Nandor's right hand as it lifts his phone and unlocks it with a thumb. His phone case is a Lisa-Frank-esque close up of a white horse with purple, blue, and pink spots on a backdrop of a blue sky with clouds and a rainbow.

4a. Bust of Nandor as he raises his phone up to take a look at himself in the camera, expression now softened from his earlier frustration. His hair is now twisted up into a neat, round bun at the crown of his head, one stubborn strand loose at his temple. He raises his eyebrows, liking what he sees, and says "Huh. That's very good. How did you do that?" 4b. Zoom out to knees up, Nandor still perched on the bumper of the van. Guillermo stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and leans back against one of the van doors, flushed and grinning as he aims his gaze elsewhere. With a humble shrug, he replies, "Sister taught me. She said that if I wanted to impress a girl one day, I should learn how to do basic styles." Nandor lowers his phone and drapes that arm over his raised knee, left hand palming the other to balance himself as he turns his torso towards Guillermo with a grin. He says, "Well, color this girl impressed." /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #alethophobia #fic rec #fic comic #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #human nandor #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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faeriekit · 24 days

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Snow Day

SO IT TURNS OUT @tourettesdog also had a far-frozen based Phic Phight prompt so here's a sister fic of Snowdrift Sanctuary from yesterday okay please and thank you

Tundra peeked around the pillar of ice. Again.

The human was still there.

…Tundra peeked left. Tundra peeked right. No one else had seen them yet.

The human, in a big coat and big boots was squatting in the snow, drawing shapes Tundra couldn’t make out with their finger.

Tundra’s tail wagged. Well. He didn’t have a very long tail, so he mostly butt-wiggled. There’d never been a human at the Far Frozen before!! Tundra had heard of humans — he’d seen depictions and heard stories, sure. But now a human was here. And they lived here.

That was so cool.

So, maybe Tundra wanted to say hi! So what? Mama had said that he should be nice to the human, since they needed help and shelter that the Chief would provide, but they were also new and interesting and they hardly ever had anyone stay with them who wasn’t a yeti ever!! Maybe they’d let Tundra play with them while they were here?

So Tundra got down on his haunches. He crawled over the snowbank, wriggling as he went, taking advantage of his coat that blended into the terrain.

The human didn’t see him at all.

Tundra bared his teeth in a play grin, eyes squinting, tongue caught between his teeth. The human was so close. He crouched down as far as he could. He waited until the human wasn’t looking.

Tundra pounced.

And then there was a flash of green burning through the air, hot and bright and loud. Tundra startled.

He landed in the snow, dazed and off-balance. He could feel a hot spot in his fur—putting his paw to it, Tundra could feel where his fur was burnt to singed ends, the tips of each hair bulbous with char.

There was a steaming hole in the snow behind him.

…Oh.

“HOLY SH—are you okay?? Did I hurt you?? I’m sorry!!” someone shouted. Someone gently turned Tundra’s head, careful not to move him too harshly or too quickly. “Is your head okay? Are you bleeding? Is—“

“…Cool.” Tundra muttered, eyes still stuck to the hole in the snow. That was so strong. Even Avalanche wasn’t that strong, and she beat everyone in the tournament last season. No wonder the chief was in charge of the human ghost, even if there were lots of adults willing to help.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the human apologized again, hands on their flat, pink face. Huh. Their hair was white now. When did that happen? “Usually when ghosts sneak up on me, they’re, uh… they’re not usually playing.”

Tundra looked at the human’s flat face and frowned. They got attacked? For real, and not for playing? “That’s mean. I hope you got them.”

The human made a strangled noise. Super weird! “Yeah…yeah. I did.”

“Good,” Tundra decided, back straightening straight up. The human was about as tall as he was, but humans were smaller in general. They were probably older. “If anyone attacks you now, you should get the Chief to eat them, and then they won’t attack you anymore.”

The human made another choked noise. Tundra assumed it was a laugh. He grinned back, pleased with the response, and wriggled back upright. “I’m Tundra! Mama says that you’re older than me even though we’re just as tall as each other! Are you a boy human, or a girl human? Or neither? Or both?!”

“…I’m a boy,” the human said, voice weak. Tundra peered in close at him, trying to see if he’d been injured too, but no; he looked fine, and he got his black hair back too.

“Cool,” said Tunda. “So am I. Arctic is too, but he’s big already, so he doesn’t want to play all the time. Do you like hunting?”

“I’ve…never hunted before.”

Not ever? Tundra gasped. “We can play chase, then, and then the chief can teach you how to hunt! And then we can hunt together!” Tundra scrambled to his feet, excited. “Do you want to stalk Avalanche with me?! She always throws me off, and then we can wrestle!”

The human hesitated.

“Or,” Tundra amended, because the human was still kind of small, “You can watch me stalk Avalanche, and watch us wrestle, and then I can teach you to stalk the chief so that you can wrestle with someone you know is safe.”

The human snorted, the fur cuff from his sleeve hiding his face. “I don’t know…isn’t he busy? You know, being the chief and all…””

“You’re supposed to wrestle your parents,” Tundra assured him, chest fur puffing up with pride. “I used to chew on Mama’s ears all the time when I was a cub. Now Avalanche and Arctic and everyone else can wrestle with me because they’re big enough to know how to stop playing before they squash me flat.”

The human laughed, openly and brightly, and it sounded nice.

Tundra stood so that could he could launch himself back towards the settled part of their little patch of the Infinite Realms. “Come on!!” he shouted, more than eager to play. “Last one there doesn’t get any fish eyes!”

There was a moment of silence—and then they were both rolling in the snow, the human having decided to launch into him!! This was great!! Tundra whooped, feigning bites and wriggling while the human pushed him further into the depths of the snow. The human’s grin was kind of wide and weird without a muzzle, but that wasn’t his fault, and he was having fun!! And so was Tundra!!

And the human-ghost could fly, and Tundra couldn’t, so chasing after him was super fun. They made it all the way back to the settlement in no time flat, dodging other kith and kin—

And running into Mama and Chief Advisor Pritla on accident was worth how much trouble he got into later.

Whoops!

#phic phight 2024 #phic phight #faer fic #danny phantom #far frozen #I needed a yeti to look down at Danny and be like 'this is a best friend' and I needed Danny to look up and go 'this is...legit a baby'#no frostbite this time though check the previous instead #whoah did you know danny phantom was trending today you guys no way /j #no I am still not over the greenland shark nor fish eyes together we can COME TOGETHER AND APPRECIATE CULTURE SPECIFIC DELICACIES #HOLD MY HAND. WE WILL FIND WORLD PEACE. TOGETHER

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patrollingboston · 1 month

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141 Beach Episode // Cod x Reader

You know how in every good show there's a beach episode? Yeah this is theirs.

The 5 of you were sat in a truck with the aircon blasting. Price was dramatically fanning himself with his boonie hat. With one hand placed on the steering wheel. You had just finished a week-long mission and it left you all somewhere on the east coast with the sun beating down with no mercy. You were so uncomfortable, dressed head to toe in full gear practically sweltering in it.

“Not used to this bloody heat.”

Soap sighed placing a hand to his forehead to relieve his brow of sweat.

“I’ve got the aircon.”

Gaz smirked, of course he was fine he was sat in the front seat with cold air blasting directly onto him. You were squished between Ghost and Soap, plus he always wore a sunhat and sunglasses even in the rain.

“How ghost isn’t a puddle yet I have no clue.”

You stated, glancing over at ghost who was dressed in all black with his mask still pinned down onto his face yet he didn’t show a single sign of discomfort.

“Can you even breathe? Isn’t it like being trapped under a blanket?”

“I can breathe fine.”

He grunted not sounding amused by your questions.

“Look at tha’ ain’t it a pretty view.”

Soap said tapping on the truck window, everyone’s eyes glanced to meet where he was pointing. You were greeted with the sight of a gorgeous white sandy beach with the clearest sea water you had ever seen with families playing in the sand and surfers utilizing the waves.

“The things I would give to dive in those waves.”

You said groaning, resting your head back in the seat knowing you had a hot and uncomfortable 6+ flight ahead of you to get back to base in England not to mention the drive to even get to the airport.

“Can’t we stop for a bit? The missions all done and dusted, surely, they don’t need us back that hastily.”

Gaz asked turning to face the captain with a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

“I could use a pint. I’m sweating like a fucking pig. We only have a few hours but I think we could all use a break.”

“Make that two.”

Ghost’s gruff voice chimed in his mood perking up at the promise of a cold beer.

“I think everyone here wants a bloody pint.”

A few moments later the 5 of you were all stood on the beach boardwalk, you removed your boots and placed them by the railing before stepping onto the soft, warm sand.

“I have never ever stepped on sand so soft oh my-“

You wondered how long it had been before you stood barefoot on a beach. Probably not since you were a child on a day trip with your family.

“Shit the sands a bit hot ain’t it?”

Soap said as she stepped onto the sand beside you, shifting from foot to foot as he complained about the temperature once again.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks, find a spot I’ll come find you all.”

Price said before stepping up the stairs and walking towards the crowded beach bar on the boardwalk.

Ghost, who was still dressed fully in his gear stomped behind you scouting the beach for a place to sit like it was the toughest decision he ever had to make.

“Here.”

He said pointing to a peaceful square of the beach, not too far from the shore.

You all placed your backpacks down and set a towel down for yourself. Ghost was wrestling with the beach umbrella to get it stood up.

“Whose going for a swim?”

Soap said with a huge smile on his face as he stripped off his t shirt leaving him in his cargo shorts.

“You go first mate, tell us how cold it is eh?”

Gaz joked, pushing soap slightly closer the seafront.

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I’ll go!”

You said, removing your jacket and vest leaving you in a tank top and some old cargo shorts dumping by your backpack them away from the shore so the waves didn’t steal them.

You jogged down to the water front stood beside Soap and Gaz.

“Whose going to make the first move then?”

You all stood in a line, hands on hips inspecting the water as it broke in front of you. As you spoke Soap dived headfirst into a wave like a goofy dolphin. He stuck his head up like an seal, running his hands through his mohawk and wiping the salty water off his face.

“Is it cold?”

You shouted through the crashing waves.

“Nah, its refreshing.”

He shouted back before running through the water back onto the shore to stand beside the two of you.

“I don’t know if I’m that hot anymore you know-“

You said backing off after feeling the ‘refreshing’ water splash over your feet and ankles sending little shockwaves through you.

With that statement Soap placed two hands on your waist and lifted you up into the air before placing you over his shoulder like a fireman would carrying someone out a burning building.

“DON’T YOU DARE SOAP, I MEAN IT.”

You screamed thumping his back in fear as he stepped into the freezing ocean once again. Gaz stood on the shore filming the entire situation laughing at your misfortune. Ghost sat watching from afar under a big shady umbrella pint in hand with Price sat beside him reading something, smoking one of his cigars as per usual.

“Ready?”

Soap teased as he began to hoist you up even further before throwing you into the sea with a huge splash. The cold water shocked you at first but after a few seconds, soap was right. It was kind of refreshing. You popped your head up out the water with a frown.

“I hate you asshole.”

“You weren’t going to get in I had no choice-“

You pushed a big wave of water his way aiming for his face secretly hoping the salt would burn his eyes.

“GAZ GET IN.”

Gaz stepped into the water with haste joining you and soap.

“We going play mermaids or what?”

You asked with a chuckle as the 3 of you treaded water in a circle.

“I would prefer to drown Soap.”

Gaz said before dunking soaps head back under the water.

About an hour later you sat on the beach wrapped in your towel, drying off in the sun.

“Been a while since I’ve been able to relax on a beach.”

Price spoke, he was leant back on a sun lounger his hat placed over his face shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

“Thought you were asleep old man.”

Ghost chuckled.

“Can we take a photo?”

You asked bringing out your super old digital camera you dragged around on every single mission.

The 5 of you gathered in closer. Gaz throwing up a peace sign. Soaps arm slung around ghost and a beer held loosely in the other. Captain Price sat up placing his hands on your shoulders. Your smiles were all wide (you would like to believe ghost’s was too) as the light of the setting sun glowed on your faces.

That day was a good day.

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andypantsx3 · 10 months

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quick interlude from the bakugou barbarian-verse.

for @procrastination-artist bc your last drawing of feral bakugou made me go berserk 🙃

"He's a prince?" you ask incredulously, gaping at Izuku. "Bakugou?"

Izuku nods that head of wild green curls, blinking guilelessly back at you. "The closest thing his people have to it, anyway. Their custom isn't quite like Yuuei's," he answers.

You glance over your shoulder to where Bakugou is wrestling Kirishima into the dirt, apparently trying his level best to gouge the dragon's eyes out while he's at it. It's only your knowledge that Kirishima is basically impenetrable that stops you from rising in concern.

"That? That is a prince?" you repeat, hopelessly lost, as you watch Bakugou shove a literal fistful of dirt into Kiri's face.

"His mother is their leader," Izuku tells you, a smile in his voice. "It's mostly a hereditary position, with some fighting necessary to succeed. Kacchan's next in line."

"And stay down you spiky-haired shit!" Bakugou's crow reaches you as you turn back to Izuku, mystified. Izuku's mouth is twisted up fondly in the firelight.

"Well he certainly won't have any trouble there," you say emphatically, moving to turn your sausage over the fire. Drippings of grease sizzle off the sides of it, hissing where they hit the flames.

"The fuck I won't," Bakugou growls from behind you, pointedly loud so you can hear it.

You feel your ears go hot, embarrassed that he's heard you discussing him. But it's only natural, considering you're now legally married, according to the customs of one deeply batshit village.

Not that either of you have acknowledged it, however, short of Bakugou snarling that you were his as he'd won the village marriage tournament. He'd hauled you into his arms, carrying you out of there, only to drop you the second you'd cleared the village sight lines.

And neither of you have spoken of it since. But you can't help but be more curious than ever, now, about the man who sort-of-is, sort-of-isn't your husband.

"I'll wipe the floor with anyone who tries for the seat," Bakugou says, stalking over, his booted stride heavy and sure. "Like those assholes in Dagoba."

You chance a look up at him as he drops onto the log next to you, running a hand through his ash blonde hair. He glows in the firelight, the hard planes of his chest glinting with sweat, and he swipes at a patch of dust high on his cheekbone with the back of his hand. The shadows pool in the divots of his arm muscles as he does so.

"So you really are some kind of prince," you echo disbelievingly, reaching back for your sausage skewer, just for something to focus on. "Who would have known."

Bakugou's smile is white and knife-sharp in the light of the flames as those scarlet eyes find you, hot and intent. Your cheeks heat despite yourself.

"Yeah," he says, sounding smug. "Guess that makes you a princess."

You startle. Your sausage goes flying into the fire, hissing and crackling, and your face flames even hotter than the campfire.

Bakugou's smile is far too self-satisfied in the dim.

#consistent tense? never heard of her #andie's writing #bakugou barbarian verse

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waynes-multiverse · 14 days

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Plastic Hearts – Part 21

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, smut (p in v, dirty talk, spanking), fluff, angst, comfort

Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: It's finally happening! Get the Office gifs ready 👀😂 It's so good to bring this series back after such an unexpectedly long time away. We've got five more chapters left, so let's make 'em count with as much drama and ridiculousness as possible, shall we? Ready? And action! 🎬

<< 20 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

21. Rock You Like A Hurricane

Dean swallows the clot that has formed in the back of his throat as the first button of her white cotton blouse flies open. The air in the office feels dry, his mind hazy. Is he dreaming? Once again, he reminds himself to stop mixing booze and blow. It never ends well and barely ever helps.

Another step forward, another button, another swallow.

Y/N is a Fata Morgana, a mirage, slowly moving towards him through blurry lines and summer heat.

“Don’t you want me?”

The innocent lip bite that accompanies her question sends him downstairs, predestining him to burn in hellfire. He swallows again. Of course, he wants her. He always does.

The heels of his boots dig into the rotten floorboards as he pushes back on his office chair, enough to free his thighs from underneath the wooden desk and show off the bulging erection blooming in his jeans. It started to form as soon as she walked in and turned that damn lock behind her back.

The corners of her pink lips rise to a smile. She likes what she sees, and soon enough, she finds herself slotted between his bow legs with his greedy palms smoothing up her denim-clad thighs until they find a home on the juicy globes of her ass and squeeze tight. Green eyes darken as they wander up her frame before they meet two sparkling orbs that mirror his own lust back to him.

More buttons spring open, the blouse slipping off her shoulders and hitting the ground. A gray leotard becomes visible, two pointed peaks on luscious hills poking through the thin material, his mouth forming a ring around one of them, hot air igniting her skin and stealing her breath. Her arms weave around his neck, her head lolls back between her shoulder blades, her legs grow unsteady. Eyes close, fingers tangle in his hair and claw at his skin.

One large hand travels to the front, works the zipper of her jeans, and shimmies the denim fabric down two smooth thighs. His other arm snakes around her waist, holds her tight, and pulls her closer until she straddles his lap and lets their hips fuse into one.

Their eyes find each other. Gently, he brushes her hair out her face, tucks it behind her ears, strokes her flushed cheeks. She’s breathless and breathtaking, and then she dips her head and catches his lips, kissing him until he is, too.

“Wait, wait, wait…” He draws back in a drunk state of mind and gasps for air, hoping oxygen will help in clearing his head.

“What?” She pouts, her voice velvety soft and delirious.

“I just-… I have to ask you something first, make sure…” The air works wonders, the fog dissipates from his mind. Green eyes watch her closely. There’s something off, something wrong, something out of place. Y/N wouldn’t just stroll into his office and throw herself at him. As much as he enjoys this little dream sequence, it’s not who she is. “Why are you doing this? You’re not-, uhm…” He swallows harshly, his mind racing in circles. “You’re not fucking me, so I’ll stop being mad at you, right? ‘Cause that’s not what I want.”

God, the thought alone kills him. It’s his goddamn nightmare. What if he subconsciously manipulated her to do this? What if he’s taking advantage of her? What if he drove her so desperate that she sees this as her only option? What if she actually doesn’t want this?

But a gentle smile forms on her face instead. She pecks his lips, rests her forehead against his, and softly shakes her head. There’s amusement in her voice. “You already said you weren’t mad at me, remember?”

“Then why?”

Y/N shrugs and licks her ample lips. “I want to. I want you… You’re the best guy I know. I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more,” she assures him with a sweet smile and caresses the scruff on his cheeks, her hips grinding against his crotch. “It’s just-…” She bites down on her lower lip, cutting off her sentence.

“What? Tell me, sweetheart.” He clutches her chin and draws her gaze to meet his eyes.

“Even with the show being over, I don’t want the girls to find out,” she confesses nervously.

Dean nods in understanding and gifts her a smile. “Lucky for you, I’m good at keeping secrets. Have I ever let you down in that regard?”

She thinks for a beat, then shakes her head and matches his smile. “No.”

“See?” He grins, showing his pearly white teeth, and pulls her lips back to his for a searing kiss that seals their deal.

His hands begin to roam the curves they’re holding, her hips rocking against his in a needy rhythm, desperately searching for more friction to scratch the unbearable itch he seems to cause.

“Need you so bad, need this cock so bad…” she whispers between kisses and ragged breaths.

“Yeah? You think you can get off like that?” Dean lifts his thigh a little higher, shoves it right against her clothed cunt to give her a bit more friction, and listens to her whimpers in satisfaction. “Show me how much you want this… want me, baby girl. Wanna know how desperate you are for this cock, Y/N. Work for it.” His challenge is accompanied by a little smirk, which soon disappears and becomes stuck in his throat when Y/N accepts with eager nods.

Shit, he really needs to stop underestimating her. That’s already been his first mistake when he met her.

Her arms lock tighter around his neck for more balance as she rubs her pussy against the rough denim that covers his thick thigh. Her breathing grows so labored that kissing becomes an impossibility, the need for air in her lungs greater than the need to stay connected. The strong arm slung around her waist helps her move while his other hand tweaks, pinches, and gropes her tit, prying the gray cotton of her leotard over one shoulder to free the flesh and expose her nipple to the cool office air and his hot breath. He feels a wet patch forming on his leg, sees the stain on his jeans from her arousal as he peeks down between them.

“Dean, I’m–…”

Y/N doesn’t have to say it out loud. He can see it on her face that she’s damn close. “Such a good girl. Cum for me, huh? Let me finally fill and stretch this nice pussy with my cock, baby. Been waiting for you,” he coos. “Bet you’re so tight, yeah? How long’s it been?” His tongue licks the hardened bud before he pops her tit in his mouth and sucks, bites, tears.

“Fuck!”

She explodes, his name falling from her lips in prayer as she trembles and quivers in his arms. Her mouth parts, sucks in as much air as she can to fuel her lungs. Her arms cling to him, fingers denting the skin on his broad shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” Dean praises her, smiling as he lets her ride out her orgasm. “So, so pretty when you come. I missed that face.”

“Dean, please… Need you inside me now,” she purrs against his lips, swallowing his groans as they connect.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Uh-huh, please,” she begs breathily. “How d’you want me, boss?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Hearing what a woman wants him to do to her or what she wants to do to him has always been one of the biggest turn-ons for him. “Tell me.”

“Want you to bend me over your desk, take me hard, punish me… Been a bad girl. Need you to punish me, please,” she whimpers and hungrily claims his lips, her nails digging into his jaw.

Now, Dean should probably be worried or at least stumped by her somewhat strange request. Not because it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard a woman ask for in the bedroom, but because it’s not necessarily something Y/N would say. However, she’s also an actress, and he’s about 99.9% sure she’s playing a role and following a script in her head. And well, hey, he likes playing too, so who would he be to deny her wishes? He’s been dreaming about spanking her ass and punishing his favorite Russian villain for weeks at this point.

“I think we can arrange that, baby girl,” he promises, a saucy smirk plastered on his lips. “But first – need to see your face when I break you in, yeah?”

Y/N grins and nods against his lips, her hand reaching down between their heated bodies and unbuckling his belt, pulling it from its loops, metal clinking before the sound of a zipper follows. Lifting her ass from his lap, he helps her strive off the denim, pushing it down his legs till it pools by his ankles, only leaving a thin barrier of cotton between them.

“Condom?”

Dean nods and motions for her to stand up, so he can reach into the bottom drawer of his desk. As he fishes out a foil packet, Y/N discards her leotard, nothing but naked skin and flesh left for his eyes to devour. Removing his own pair of boxers, his long cock bounces against his stomach and stretches to his belly button, fully erect, head swollen, and leaking at the tip. He tears the foil with his teeth and rolls the latex down his aching length before his hands drag her back into his lap.

Her arms settle on his muscular shoulders, her lips find and bruise his as he lines himself up with her entrance and threads his dickhead through her dripping folds. Her cunt is pink and glistening, hot and wet as he slowly slides inside, lets her feel every inch that fills her tight hole to the brim, her small body sinking down on him till they’re inseparable.

A moan escapes them both when he’s fully sheathed in her heat, and Dean knows lasting long would border on a miracle. Her mouth falls open as he stretches her tight walls, her eyes seeking his and not daring to look anywhere else. Unsurprisingly, Y/N takes direction well. She remains connected to him – mind, body, and soul.

“Fuck, Dean,” she breathes and swallows at the sheer thickness inside of her, her eyes finally falling closed as their foreheads meet.

Dean caresses her cheek and softly pecks her hairline. He then shuts his eyes as well and just focuses on the feeling of her wrapped around him for a blissful heartbeat. This is all he ever wanted.

Her. Here.

“You good?” he checks, his fingers trailing soothingly up and down her spine as she relaxes her muscles and adjusts to his size.

A gentle smile twitches and tugs on her lips. “Yeah, I’m great… You feel great.”

“You know, if you keep giving me compliments like that, it’s gonna be hard for me to smack your perky ass purple and blue,” he chuckles and watches a grin form.

“I like to make things hard for you,” she sasses and kisses his lips, her pussy purposely gripping his throbbing dick.

“There’s my bad girl.” Dean can’t fight the smile on his face. “Alright, you ready?”

Dean doesn’t have to wait for an answer as her hips begin to lift and rock against him, calming like the Pacific waves and soothing like the lullabies his mother used to sing when he was sick as a child.

“M-more,” Y/N whines, the needy desperation haunting her vocal chords.

“Beg for it,” Dean whispers, nuzzling his nose against her ear with a smirk.

“Please… Please fuck me, boss,” she rasps her pleas. “Need it hard and fast.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Dean catches her lips, the kiss scorching and lasting before his hands smooth up her bare thighs and grab her ass tight, lifting them both from the chair.

Swiftly, her soles hit the ground as he swirls her in his hold and bends her over his desk. Her tits press flush against the wood, his palms finding her hips as he pulls her closer to him, ass up until it brushes against his solid length. With his knees, he spreads her legs wide and easily slots between them. He palms both asscheeks, caresses the skin before he administers his first slap, the sound echoing through his quiet office with her whimper as he watches the juicy flesh ricochet, completely entranced.

“You got a safe word, Y/N?” Dean asks as he soothes the red spot on her cheek.

“Hmmm,” she muses and bites her lower lip, and he can see the mischief twinkling in her orbs. She giggles, “What about ‘camera guy’?”

His palm strikes the other globe, making her yelp and jolt on the spot.

“Ow, fuck!” Y/N’s moan drowns in a laugh. “Jesus, Dean, I was just kidding.”

The director chuckles, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” With one harsh and fast thrust, he drives his cock back into her tight cunt, causing her to slam forward, her hips bruising against the desk. Her fingers curl tightly around the edge, knuckles white as she keeps herself pinned in place. He leans forward, his chest pressing against her back as his warm breath fans against the shell of her ear, his blunt fingernails denting the skin on her hips. Smirking, he demands, “Safe word. Now.”

“Fuck, uhm…” Breathlessly, her mind spirals, his cock slowly dragging in and out of her and not stopping to give her even a second to ponder. “Squirrel?”

“Squirrel it is,” he agrees amusedly, straightening as he picks up his pace and drives in deeper, watching as his dick gets swallowed by her soaking cunt, his swollen shaft glistening with her slick. “Shit, baby girl… Wish you could see how well you take me. Your needy little pussy sucks my fat cock right in,” he groans, listening in delight as his balls slap against her ass with each roll of his hips.

“Maybe you can bring your camera next time, boss,” Y/N mewls her suggestion as she falls apart underneath him.

“Yeah? Would you like that, huh? Would you like to see how fucking desperate you are for me, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh, would love that, boss. Wanna see how you fuck me and split me open,” she breathes hazily, her moans getting louder with each slam of his hips. “F-fuck, so close… Wanna come on your cock, please.”

“Oh, we can arrange that, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles, his breathing growing more labored as well as sweat starts to collect on his skin in sticky beads. He’s close, too, feels his cock throb and swell inside of her. His palm smacks her asscheek one last time. She cries out with pleasure as the sting burns her skin, her pussy clenching around his dick and gripping it tight.

But just as his hand sneaks to her front and finds the sensitive little nub, their ears both perk up as the big metal door of the gym flies open and a wave of female chatter floods inside.

“Oh, shit!” Y/N moans loudly at his last violent pound into her pussy before Dean’s palm covers her mouth and stops the rest from spilling out.

Pulling her up, her back straightens and presses flush against his body. He slows his thrusts but still pushes in deep enough to tickle her cervix and keeps the little circles on her clit alive, feeling her knees give in as her legs become putty. Her breathing is harsh and restricted against his palm, her lips straining and tightening to keep the screams inside.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh… you’re doing so, so good, baby,” Dean whispers his praises into her ear and chuckles as she clenches hard around his dick. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Trust me, they won’t hear us over their blabbering,” he chuckles. “Relax, okay? Let loose… little more,” he orders her, feeling the tension in her muscles shift to her head as she bites down on his fingers to keep it locked inside. “There you go… Gonna need you to come quietly, and I’ll be right behind you, alright? Can you do that?” Y/N nods against his hand. “Good girl,” he coos and pecks her temple quickly.

And then, he draws out till only the tip remains inside her drenched channel before he roughly slams back in. His thrusts become relentless in both speed and force as he fucks her, her screams of pleasure only muffled by his palm and the harsh bite of her lip. Tears sting her eyes and stream down her cheeks, trickling onto his fingers at the intense pressure as her walls tighten. One more thrust, and they begin to flutter, her body convulsing as she falls over the cliff and milks his cock for all he’s got, pulling him over the edge with her.

A primal grunt rumbles in his chest and crawls out of his throat, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips behind as he spills hot ropes of his seed into the condom, his cock throbbing in rhythm with her twitching cunt. His hand falls from her mouth as she braces her palms on the wooden surface in front of her.

Deliriously, they both gasp for air, every breath jagged before the storm within them calms. Dean brushes her hair from her sweat-covered neck and lovingly kisses the salty skin on her shoulder blade, a blissful smile gracing his lips.

The sun blinds her eyes as Y/N stands on the green, perfectly cut lawn of the Dusty Spur. The boys have called an emergency meeting at the motel this time, gathering all the women in front of the reception outside.

It’s been three days since she has fucked the director in his office. He was careful not to leave any marks on her throat behind or anywhere else where it might catch unwanted attention, no one batting eyelashes at the new bruises on her hips that joined some of the old ones from training.

Dean told her he wanted a repeat of their encounter, whispering the dirtiest and most sinful promises into her ear. However, they haven’t seen much of each other since then. Both of them have been quite busy after the news of their new time slot and impending cancelation broke. And while it certainly dampened the lighthearted mood in the gym for a day, hope was not entirely lost, though, and still thrived in everyone but Y/N and Jo.

Yet, the two of them played along with the illusion the show still could be saved for the sake of the team. She didn’t know why Jo was entertaining the farce, but Y/N did it for her friends and, well, Dean, who’d been pondering and working nonstop to try and figure out what went wrong in his well-oiled machinery.

Y/N hates that he blames himself, not having the guts to tell him it’s in reality all her fault. Even with his sunglasses on his freckle-dusted nose, she can see the bags under his green eyes from the lack of sleep in recent days and feels more guilt pooling in the pits of her stomach. She doesn’t want him to be mad at her again, which is why she’s glad she can use Billie’s new, harsh training regiment as a good excuse to avoid him.

“They gave a men’s wrestling show our slot! And you wanna know why, hm?” Cas throws his rhetorical question into the group. Y/N has never seen the producer so angry and swallows more shame down. “Truth is, they’re better! They fly higher and hit harder!

“They hit harder because they’re bigger. It’s physics,” Y/N points out and tries to keep her annoyance at bay. It’s a men’s world they’re living in, and she’s getting sick and tired of the comparisons.

“Oh, fuck physics, Y/N!” Cas yells, causing her to flinch at his tone. “I need you to take everything you got and push it all the way to the limit, okay?”

“I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve been training for hours almost every day. Sun up till sun down,” Donna says and sighs.

Maybe it’s not too late, and Y/N should request a private meeting with Dick at the network, try and smooth things over before they get any worse. Maybe a blowjob in the office is enough to get them their old slot back and save the show. Dean wouldn’t ever have to know, right?

Besides, would he even care? Maybe he’d be grateful. After all, she doesn’t have much worth beyond fucking someone if you asked anyone here.

“I don’t need to hear excuses. I need to hear results,” Cas huffs and places his hands on his squared-off hips, shaking his head.

“You want bigger moves? Fine, you’ll get ‘em,” Billie assures him with a biting fighter spirit.

Cas’ lips curve into an enthusiastic smile. “That’s what I wanna hear! Look, I know this is gonna be hard, but I believe in miracles, and we’re going to make this miracle happen!”

Jo heaves a sigh. “Right, so we break our bodies and wrestle harder and magically get our time slot back?” she asks wryly, but her sarcasm is sadly lost on Cas.

“Yes!” the producer agrees joyously. “Look, I have it from Richard Roman himself that this is what they’ve been missing.”

At that, Jo’s blaming eyes wander to Y/N as the two former friends share a look. Shamefully, Y/N averts her gaze to the green grass underneath her feet, and Jo clenches her jaw tightly and starts to grind her teeth. Ever since their heated conversation in the gym, things have went downhill between them. Nowadays, there are just judgmental looks and passive-aggressive comments passed between them.

“So you met with Richard Roman?” Jo turns her unresolved anger towards the guys.

Cas groans loudly and rolls his blue eyes back. “Jo, I’m sorry, okay? It was a guy thing. We had to storm the gates,” he explains.

“Yeah, don’t get back up on your feminist high horse, alright? We didn’t leave you out, okay?” Dean jumps to Cas’ defense and unsuccessfully smooths things over. “We just think your focus should be on performing this week, you know? You and Y/N have a big match coming up. The, uh, continuing tale of the bereaved mother and the insane Russian, right?”

Jo nods and clenches her jaw once more, biting back her surely fiery comments.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s do it!” Cas announces eagerly and claps his palms together as the women scatter back to their rooms to get ready for today’s training.

“What time do you wanna rehearse today?” Y/N bitterly asks her blonde opponent, already expecting a bitchy answer.

“Oh, any time, really. I mean, we could rehearse all day and night. It won’t make a difference,” Jo replies in an annoyed tone as anticipated. “You of all people should know that.”

Y/N watches Jo leave, trying her hardest not to strangle her former friend. She gets it. She fucked up, but she still doesn’t agree with Jo. Would sleeping with Roman and sacrificing her dignity really have saved the show?

“Hey, everything alright?” Dean’s deep voice startles her. She was so preoccupied with killing Jo in her mind, she hasn’t even noticed the director sneak up on her. “I know Cas was a little intense today. Never seen the guy this riled up before. It’s like a puppy getting rabies.”

Y/N forces a chuckle from her throat and brushes him off. “Oh, uhm, yeah, wasn’t so bad. I get it.”

Dean’s brow creases, sensing something is off with her. Shit. She does not want the director to find out about what happened.

“You’re not mad at me, right? I know I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. It’s just been crazy with everything going on,” he explains sincerely and shoots her a soft smile. “I meant to call you or at least talk to you. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, no, like I said, I get it, Dean. Don’t worry about me, okay?” she assures him and compels another smile to her face before her curiosity takes over. “Did Roman really say our moves weren’t good enough?”

Her hope comes flooding back. Maybe it truly wasn’t her fault. Maybe the guy hits on so many actresses on a weekly basis that he doesn’t even care if one rejects him. Maybe it’s just all in her goddamn head, and it was just bad luck all around.

Dean shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, he didn’t say it exactly like that, but you girls are amazing. He’s gonna change his mind, and you’ll be back in your old slot in no time,” he promises her hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess so…” Fuck. It’s definitely about her.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean checks again, noticing her absentminded behavior. Y/N’s usually chipper, eager, talkative, and hard to keep contained. She’s a warrior. The woman in front of him right now is the complete opposite, however. He almost doesn’t recognize her, and it worries him a little.

Is it him? Did he break her?

“Uh-huh, yeah, just tired, you know? Billie’s been riding us pretty hard this week,” Y/N excuses her strange mood with a half-truth, and Dean seems to buy it.

“Yeah, I bet.” He nods understandingly, chuckling. “Well, uhm, I’ve got some free time tonight. You wanna come over for dinner and I don’t know maybe… stay? You could ride me pretty hard, too,” he suggests, making her snort. “Admittedly, that sounded better in my head. Sorry.”

“No, uhm, I’d love to,” she replies honestly, giggling at his bashfulness. “But I’m pretty beat. Probably gonna fall into bed around seven like a dead person. Raincheck?”

Truthfully, there’s nothing she’d rather do than spend her nights (and days) with Dean, but the guilt in her belly is eating her alive. She can barely look him in the eyes. As of right now, though, she can see even more disappointment shimmering in his green orbs.

“Sure, yeah. Open invitation, sweetheart,” he says and acts as if her rejection doesn’t bother him. “But still, if all you wanna do is sleep, then you’re welcome to do that at my place as well. I do have the better mattress than the motel. Maybe a good night’s rest and a hot bath is all you need to recover, you know?”

Hot bath. The words make her skin crawl and take her right back to that horrible night where it all went wrong. How could she have been so stupid?

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat and fights for words. “Oh, uhm… I don’t, uh…”

“Hey, it’s okay, alright? No explanation needed, sweetheart,” Dean says and lets her off the hook. “Just wanted to offer, you know?”

“Thanks, another time.” Y/N forces one last smile to her lips.

Dean hasn’t seen Y/N in a whole week. Well, that’s not entirely true. He sees her every day at training in the gym, rolling around with Jo in the ring. But he hasn’t seen her privately since their little naughty stint in his office.

By now, he’s sure she’s avoiding him for some reason, but he doesn’t have the guts nor the balls to ask her straight. He’s too afraid of her answer, scared she has changed her mind about them and their arrangement. He’d accept it, of course, but he still doesn’t want to find out if that’s the reason why she keeps her distance. It would most certainly break his heart.

A knock on his office door makes his head snap up with hope that it’s Y/N. Either she’s here for another booty call or to end it. He’s prepared for both. To his surprise, though, it’s Donna who’s stopping by for a visit.

“Dean? Can we talk?” the curvy blonde asks insecurely, concern etched into every crease of her face.

“Sure, uh, what’s up?” Dean knows Donna and Billie have given their all to train the girls over the last few weeks, and if production could afford it, he’d give them both a gigantic raise. Unfortunately, he can’t but hopes it’s the thought that still counts.

“It’s about Y/N and Jo,” she informs him, and his ears perk up at that.

He’s noticed some tension between those two as well, so he’s not as surprised as he should have been. But honestly, sometimes it’s hard to tell what those two are fighting about. If it’s something new or just the same old beef.

“Usually, they do a good job of keeping their weird friendship stuff out of the ring, but not in the last week. There’s something wrong with them,” Donna tells him.

No shit, Dean thinks. Those two having issues is not an entirely new thing.

“What d’you want me to do about it?” Dean asks. He knows Donna didn’t just stroll into his office to chat and gossip. She’s looking for direction. Like the rest of these women downstairs, the blonde expects him to solve their problems. In the end, that’s his job.

“Postpone the match,” Donna prompts, the worry deepening. “I don’t think they should fight. They’re not communicating properly. Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

Dean tries not laugh, but in reality, it’s just fucking funny. Do these women ever think things through? Y/N and Jo’s match is the main storyline, the two of them being the best fighters as well. If they’re not entering the ring, he might as well just throw in the towel now and quit. The show would never make it back on air.

“Donna, I can’t do that,” he tells her frustratedly and runs a palm over his face. “C’mon, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like they’re gonna kill each other.”

“Dean–” Donna is about to interject when he stops her.

“Fine, all right? I’ll talk to her,” the director assures the blonde.

Donna’s brow shoots up. “Her?”

“Them. I’ll talk to them,” Dean corrects quickly and watches her leave his office, clearly dissatisfied with his solution.

Dean hates West Hollywood like a mouse hates a cat. He can’t believe he fucking agreed to this thing in the first place. And the only reason he did agree was his stupid daughter, who’s not even here tonight because she’d rather spend time with her boyfriend than with her dad.

Fucking teenagers…

Honestly, Dean’s got no clue why he still came here without Claire. Maybe because he’s old-school and actually keeps his commitments, or maybe it’s because he’s got nothing better to do since neither his kid nor his not-girlfriend want to spend time with him. So, it was either getting drunk at home alone like he always does or do this.

As Dean enters the dark theater, he notices not a lot of seats are taken. Surprise, surprise! No one cares about him or his movies…

There’s a group of teenagers in the front row, though, who seem to be way to young to watch one of his films. But who is he to judge? He’s not their fucking parent. God knows he’s got his hands full with one teenager already.

He’s about to take a seat somewhere in the back when his green eyes spy a familiar head of hair. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes his favorite actress. Out of all the places in all the world, he’d never thought he’d meet her here.

“Hey,” he says as soon as he’s made it to her row. Her head darts up, but she doesn’t seem too surprised to see him here, which makes this coincidence even weirder. He assumed she strolled by this theater by accident and saw one of his movies was showing, deciding to check it out, which just so happens to flatter him and stroke his ego perfectly fine. “What are you doing here?”

Dammit. That sounded way too aggressive. He’s honestly happy she’s here; he just hasn’t expected it. Call it a ‘pleasant surprise.’

“Oh, uh, Claire invited me,” Y/N explains and gulps nervously. “But I can leave if you don’t want me here.”

Damn that kid. Of course, she meddled in his affair. Does she know he likes Y/N? Is it that obvious? Well, either way, someone’s getting a bigger allowance this week. Doesn’t he have the best kid?

“No, uh, stay. Please,” he says and sends Y/N his best smile. “Can I sit with you?”

Her face lights up. “Sure.”

Dean sits down on a red velvet seat next to her and feels like a goddamn teenager on a first date. His knees are shaking as he anxiously taps his boots on the sticky movie floor and drums his palms repeatedly on his thighs. Something inside of him urges him to hold her hand and interlace their fingers, or do one of those moves where he yawns and slings his arm around her shoulders.

In fact, he can barely concentrate on the movie until he takes her hand in his. But who cares? He wrote and directed this masterpiece, so it’s not like he’s missing out on anything important. He already knows the plot and every single shot.

Once their fingers touch, his heartbeat accelerates to light speed. She shoots him a look and raises her brow with a teasing smirk. He can catch it from his periphery but doesn’t dare to look straight at her. Instead, he awkwardly clears his throat and glues his green eyes stubbornly to the silver screen, pretending it’s not a big deal.

When did holding hands become such a fucking thrill? He’s not goddamn sixteen anymore, for crying out loud.

Y/N takes note of his uncomfortableness and focuses back on the movie but still gives his hand a small squeeze, telling him everything is all right. They remain exactly like this till the end credits roll across the screen.

And then, to his greatest surprise, there are cheers and claps from everyone in the theater. Y/N lets go of his hand to clap as well and bites her lip to hide a smile once she sees him blush furiously at the attention and admiration.

The group of teenagers then approaches him and stops by his row as a young, scrawny boy speaks up, “You’re a genius, Mr. Winchester.”

Mister?! How old do they think he is? Well, granted, he probably shot that movie before those kids were even born. Talk about feeling old.

“Your disorientation factor is truly masterful,” the boy continues. “Claire told us we’d love it.”

His brow shoots up in surprise. “Claire? How do you know my kid?”

“Oh, we’re all in AV club together,” the boy replies and gestures to his peers before they filter out of the theater.

“Huh.” Dean is gobsmacked, truly. For one, he didn’t even know Claire was in AV club. And secondly, he’s goddamn proud of her. Who knew the kid would take after her old man?

“See?” Y/N pokes his arm with her elbow, a big grin adorning her face. “You have a whole fan club of teenagers who adore your movie that they are, for sure, too young to see.”

Dean chuckles softly and wishes he could hide his reddening cheeks from her.

“I liked your movie, too,” she says then and watches his reaction closely.

“Oh, c’mon,” Dean tries to brush her off. She’s probably just saying it to appeal to his ego. He knows she’s not the biggest fan of his work. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Y/N says enthusiastically. “Those kids were right. It was disorienting. You were doing your own thing.” But then she catches her mistake and corrects herself, “Are. Sorry! You still are doing–”

Dean, however, shakes his head at her correction. “Nope, you’re right,” he admits and scoffs. “That was me twenty years ago. My hands all over everything like the biggest control freak, driving everybody nuts. I mean, my operator actually became so frustrated with me that he quit the first day and threw his camera at me. I had to shoot the rest of it myself.”

“You shot that?” Y/N’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I did.” Dean sighs and pensively scratches his beard. Something’s been bothering him for a while now, and talking to Y/N usually helps him sort through his jumbled thoughts. After all, she’s his Alma. “You know, I’m accustomed to a certain level of failure. When a project usually goes wrong, I know exactly what happened. It’s just-… with our show… I have no idea what went wrong there. I don’t know why they shit-canned us. Not a fucking clue. None. It’s driving me insane.”

Y/N grows quiet next to him and fumbles with her fingers. She swallows deeply before she opens her mouth. “I have an idea. I know why,” she confesses.

The director’s brow furrows. As he looks at her, he recognizes her nervousness. It causes him to worry. “What d’you mean?”

“Richard Roman, the head of the network? He-, uhm, he invited me to dinner… at his hotel room,” Y/N begins, the uncomfortableness growing inside of her and expanding in her chest.

Dean, on the other hand, stays perfectly still and quiet. The calm before the storm, so to speak. Because as soon as she said those words, he could feel his heart stop and drop several feet into the depths of hell. There, he’s sure he’ll find some kind of weapon he can use to kill that motherfucker before he comes back topside. The director knows how that story ends before she has even finished it, and it makes him want to puke his guts out and burn this godforsaken city down.

“He came on to me. As in… he wanted to have sex with me,” Y/N continues and clarifies in case he didn’t catch on. She’s not entirely sure the director is getting the message since he hasn’t said a word yet. “But I left before anything could happen. Ran away, actually. Bolted right outta there.” Her little chuckle at the end is a futile attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Dean’s furious, his nostrils flaring. He wants to punch and kill someone, but most of all Dickhead Roman himself.

“No, I’m not,” Y/N replies meekly. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Bewildered, he frowns. “Mad?” That’s when he notices that she suddenly seems scared. Is she frightened… of him?!

“Maybe I can still fix it. Just call him and ask him if I can come by his office,” Y/N suggests, her voice laced with desperation. But not the good kind that usually turns him on. This time it’s just plain sad.

“To do what exactly?” Dean prompts grimly, already knowing her intentions. Over his dead body is she doing that!

“Well–”

“Fuck no!” Dean doesn’t even allow her to finish her sentence. In fact, he doesn’t want to hear it at all, or he might have to scratch his ears out afterward. God, he doesn’t even want to think about it. “You’re not fucking doing anything, alright?”

“But–”

“That stupid fucking son of a bitch,” Dean huffs and shakes his head. “What a goddamn prick!”

“So you’re not mad?” Y/N checks insecurely.

For a moment, Dean stops his rage to look at her, his heart almost breaking as he does. She deserves so much better in this life than all the shit she’s getting. How the fuck is any of this fair?

“At Dick cocksucking Roman, yeah. But not at you. Never at you, okay?” he emphasizes and sees her nod in relief. His heart shatters anew. How could she even think for a second he’d hold some sleazebag’s actions against her? But then his suspicions grow as he puzzles the pieces together. “When the fuck did this happen?”

“Uh, a little over a week ago,” Y/N answers quietly. “The night before they moved us to the nighttime slot.”

“That’s when you came to my office, and we–” Dean doesn’t finish his train of thought and cards a hand through his messy hair. Now, it makes sense. Her strange behavior, the inexplicable need for punishment, and everything in between.

‘You’re the best guy I know,’ he remembers her words. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more.’

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Was that why you were avoiding me?”

A part of him feels unbelievably relieved. It’s not him but literally someone else’s fault. For once, he’s done nothing wrong. For once, he hasn’t ruined everything. But another part of him, the bigger one, just wants to rip Dickbag Roman’s throat out with his goddamn teeth. What a pathetic fucking loser…

Dean wishes he could beat the guy black and blue and leave him bleeding on the highway till a truck runs over him. He wishes he could cut off that guy’s dick and put it through a meat grinder. His mind can’t stop imagining the most gruesome ways to make that asshat suffer and die. In fact, he wishes Manson was still roaming Spawn Ranch and would send his Family over to that Roman’s mansion and leave Sharon Tate the fuck alone.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was scared you’d react like Jo.” Y/N gulps and averts her eyes to her trembling hands in her lap.

His brow knits, Donna’s warning words echoing through his mind. “Jo knows? What did she say?” But before Y/N can answer him, the director stops her again. “No, wait… I can take a fucking guess,” he mutters bitterly. The blonde bimbo probably told her to blow the guy in his goddamn office. Typical…

“Well, she’s not entirely wrong, you know,” Y/N mumbles and bites down on her lip without looking at him.

“What d’you mean?”

“All I’m good for is a fuck,” she says with a wry smile and wipes away a small tear. Dean’s heart twinges and hurts for her, but that pain is nothing compared to the cool blade of a knife he feels soon instead. “I mean, you of all people know that…”

Dean’s quiet for a moment and bites his nails as he ponders. His mind is a maze, and he knows he has to pick and choose his words carefully in order to get out of it.

“No, I actually don’t know that,” he states and catches her attention.

He tries his best not to sound angry or offended, even though he is a little. Hasn’t he been building her confidence for weeks now? Hasn’t he been instilling in her that she’s his favorite – and not just among the cast but on this planet in general? He figured she knew how much she truly means to him, but maybe he hasn’t been clear enough yet. He knows Y/N’s self-worth issues could fill every damn swimming pool in California, so maybe he shouldn’t expect a miracle so soon.

Mostly, he’s angry at Dicksuck Roman and Barbie for ruining all his hard work with one asshole move and a few bitchy words.

Dean wets his lips and lets out a sharp exhale through his nose before he looks at her. “Y/N, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my entire life. You’re never just a quickie in the office to me. Do you understand that?”

She nods in slow reluctance. “I think so.”

“Good,” he says sternly. “Now believe it ‘cause it’s true.”

The green-eyed director cups her cheeks and pulls her to his lips, tongue meeting tongue in a searing kiss. The old seats creak when their weight shifts, Y/N leaning into his touch as she wrings for oxygen with heavy breaths. And where words fail, he tries his best to show her how he feels through his actions.

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes cheekily once he lets her get some air. “Couldn’t hold myself back any longer. That’s okay, right? We’re still on?”

Suddenly, it dawns on him that she might’ve still changed her mind about him. Has he just sexually harassed a woman right after she told him how she’s been sexually harassed by a superior? Jesus fucking Christ, he’s goddamn tone deaf, isn’t he?

To his luck, though, Y/N finds his stupidity amusing and giggles, placing another sweet kiss on his plump lips as she shakes her head. “We’re still on, boss,” she assures him and hears him heave a big sigh of relief.

“Awesome.” He grins from ear to ear and brushes a strand of rogue hair out of her face. “Are you and Jo okay? ‘Cause if you’re not, you gotta tell me. You wanna postpone the match?”

Now that Dean knows there’s no chance in hell the network’s going to let the show survive, he doesn’t even give a shit if the girls resort to doing the chicken dance in the ring or taking a dump on stage. No one truly gives a fuck anymore, least of all him. He never has.

The only thing he cares about is sitting right next to him.

Y/N, however, vehemently shakes her head. “No, we’re fine. I wanna fight. ‘Sides, I’m supposed to win this match, and I can’t wait to kick Jo’s bitchy ass.” She grins broadly.

“That’s my bad girl.” Dean smirks and pecks her lips. “You’re gonna stay over at my place tonight? Play a little Cold War in my bedroom?”

“Only if I can do my accent,” Y/N says, beaming.

The director playfully rolls his green eyes, even though he’s direly been waiting for that sort of role play. “Oh, you’ve got yourself a deal, Natasha.”

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

Hope you enjoyed this one! We came back with a literal bang 😂 Next up we deal with more drama and a hospital stay 👀

Don't forget I re-did the tag lists after the break, so pick your new place (everything, specific character, or series) and put your username in there ❤️

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33

Old Series Tags (only for this part): @jessjad @mrsjenniferwinchester @smellingofpoetry @justrealizedimmascifygurl @leigh70 @4getfulimaginator2022 @yeahmynameiscool06 @luci-wiggles @darkened-writer @mimaria420 @samanddeansannoyingsis @sarasolros

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #director!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female reader #actress!reader #dean winchester au #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #glow au #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #supernatural

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womenofwrestlingfashion · 2 months

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Shaker-52 Boots in White Vegan Leather from Demonia ($92.95)

#becky lynch #rebecca quin #shaker-52 #boot #boots #white vegan leather #Demonia #women of wrestling fashion #wwe

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phantasmiac · 1 year

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best friends brother!touya who has had his eye on you longer than you realize

cw/tw: reader is in college, reader is 18 and touya is 19, one mention of touya smoking, fluffy fluffy fluffy

wc: 2.3k

a/n: this is part two of my bfb!touya au. part one can be found here.

if there was one thing that had always prevented your crush on touya from being a total cliche, it was the fact that you had a good relationship. you were never reduced to being just his baby sister's equally babyish friend, there to ignore or treat like a nuisance. whether he really knew it or not, touya was your friend, too; and you were his.

it’d be inaccurate, however, to describe your current predicament as a “friends” quarrel. it might even be inaccurate to call something so one-sided a quarrel at all. all you know for sure is that touya’s been giving you the silent treatment for far too long, and you’re going to do something about it.

after weeks of avoiding you and his own house, he’s forced to reappear for shouto’s birthday (although you think rei repeatedly asking him if fuyumi is now her oldest child during their daily phone calls should also be credited). it’s meant to be a small celebration between the family that they all insist you’re a part of. shouto has plans to spend the rest of the evening with his new school friends.

“you still friends with the little shit that looks like he bites, shou?” touya asks while rummaging through the kitchen drawer for candles, unbothered by rei’s soft swat on the back of his head and hissing of his name. it’s the second one he’s received from her since he’s arrived, the first having been provoked by a new tattoo taking up a large portion of the side of his neck (needless to say, it made you feel a bit delusional for thinking you were entirely to blame for his lack of visits).

despite his crappy description, shouto understands enough to mumble an “mhm”.

“what about the one with the freckles? he’s a good kid. i’d keep him around if i were you.”

“thank god we have such an upstanding citizen for a brother,” natsuo teases, large enough to ruffle his big brothers white head of hair while he’s still sat. “share some more of your wis— get off of me!”

touya’s interest has shifted to putting natsuo in a headlock, wrestling him to the ground in a competition he’s bound to lose, if their past scuffles have anything to say about it. the box falls from his hold, spilling dozens of multicolored candles all over the kitchen floor. the sounds of the sticks crunching and breaking under shoes puts a halt to their little match.

touya pulls away, unaware that you’re already crouched under the table trying to recover the salvageable candles yourself. it’s his hand landing on top of your smaller ones that alerts him, eyes shooting up to meet yours like a deer caught in headlights. the constrictions of the tight space causes you to nearly knock face first into one another. despite the proximity, you’re suddenly reminded that you’re not nearly as close as you were weeks ago, when your tongues were down each others throats.

it takes all your willpower not to squeal from embarrassment as you squirm your way out from underneath the table, body running dangerously hot. it’s ironic, you think, that you’re the first to back away after begging for a chance to be near him again all this time; but more so the fact that touya is the one left with a sad, longing expression on his face when he stands.

light snow is falling by the time shouto’s celebration comes to an end, accompanied by bitter cold weather. kind of depressing, but touya figures that’s just how his oddball little brother would like it. it’s only four thirty in the afternoon, but the lamps lined along the pathway in front of the todoroki household are already on. his black down jacket is zipped all the way to his nose, hood struggling against the unruliness of his hair. the crunching of the snow underneath his boots brings him a nice calm — ruined by the sound of your warm voice.

normally, your shouts of his name were more than welcome. but given the circumstances, he can’t help but feel a sense of impending doom. he turns on his heel to see you running down the yard without a care in the world, and fights the urge to yell at you to be careful (though the thought of you slipping and landing on your butt is kind of endearing too). by the time you reach him, you’re out of breath. it comes as no surprise to the creep who’d spectated you in the past during your high school sports festivals.

“touya,” you pant, hand on his shoulder. “walk me home, will you?”

you’re cruel. it’s a request he can’t say no to; you might as well have put a gun to his head. there’s a sadistic, pleased little grin on your face as you start waddling alongside him. touya figures it shouldn’t be too difficult taking you home without sparing a word; you only live about ten minutes away. what’s ten more minutes after weeks of keeping this up?

he fails to take into account that having you this close strips him of all immunity to your charm, especially when you look this adorable. you look well prepared for an expedition to the antarctic, in your oversized puffer jacket, winter mittens, gloves and scarf. all the bundles practically swallow you whole, only leaving your cute little face exposed.

there’s students roaming the streets, probably heading home from their after school clubs. you’re people watching; touya knows you’ve always had a knack for that. he quickly averts the side gaze he’s had on you when he notices your head turning up towards him.

“did you ever realize how popular you were in high school?” there’s a hint of nostalgia in your voice.

you receive a shrug in response. “not really.”

“everyone in my year was in love with you,” you chuckle into your scarf.

touya’s eyebrow quirks up. everyone? even you? he wills himself not to say. your new boyfriend probably wouldn’t like that.

but your power over him must have upgraded to telepathy, because you proceed to answer his question. “even i was a victim to the touya disease, you know.”

“oh yeah?” even if he can’t steady his heart rate, he’ll maintain his cool.

“oh yeah. i think everyone would agree it was hard crushing on someone who didn’t even know they existed.”

touya digs his face deeper into his jacket, hands curled tighter in his pockets.

“right.”

touya’s ears pick up on your voice before he actually sees you for the first time. just standing in the school library is enough to send shivers down his edgy spine, but he’s willing to make the sacrifice to wait around for his buddy, who’s been forced into tutoring sessions. he’s made himself busy scanning through the aisles for books that pique his interest, a safe distance from the tables where you and his friend had agreed to meet up.

“hey, that’s alright! even i struggled learning this at first. you’ll get the hang of it in no time. i believe in you.”

touya snorts. he can imagine his friend currently trying to dig his fingers into his eyeballs. but even funnier is the sweet voice you're using and your gentle words of encouragement. most people fearfully trip over their own feet and fumble their words at the mere sight of his group of friends: yet you’re treating the scariest looking one of the group like a grade schooler learning his times tables.

touya had promised to make himself invisible while waiting around; his friend was already humiliated by just the prospect of needing tutoring. but his curiosity always came out victorious, and he’s soon peeking from behind the shelves just to catch a tiny glimpse of you.

your pretty face matches your voice.

the next time touya catches a glimpse of you, your back is turned to him. he’s performing his regular routine of sneaking out of his p.e. class in order to head to the bathroom for a smoke. you’re walking down the halls with your headphones in, completely oblivious to the presence behind you, and through the silence he can faintly hear the instrumental of whatever it is you’re listening to. he knows it’s a shitty thing to make judgements about someone he’s never even had a conversation with, but he can’t help but think whatever’s playing in your headphones is far different from what he’d expect someone as soft as you to listen to. he’s able to make out the sounds of heavy drums and electric guitar riffs. it’s as if you lived to surprise him, he thinks, when you start whispering the lyrics to the song; one that’s been on nearly all of his playlists.

touya thinks the universe is trying to get him arrested when he finds himself coincidentally trailing behind you on the way home a week later. he also thinks you should have more concern for your safety, seeing as you could’ve had a full fledged stalker at this point and had no idea. five minutes into your journey home, he watches as you come to a stop under a lamp post, and reach into your backpack. maybe you’re finally taking out pepper spray, or a pocket knife, touya guesses (and secretly hopes). instead, you pull out a can of food, kneeling down and placing it in front of a nearby bush. there’s a rustling and the sound of a meow before a stray ball of fluff comes running out, circling and rubbing his head against you in familiarity before indulging in your offering. as he watches you coo and gently scratch around the cats ears, touya comes to a conclusion: he has a fat crush on you.

for the next year, touya’s attempts at doing anything about his crush on you don’t surpass staring at you from afar for no more than three seconds at a time; and that was just fine for him. leave it to his little siblings to screw it all up. granted, the last of his siblings he would have expected to act as the agent of chaos was fuyumi. the day he came home to find you sitting at his kitchen table and giggling with his little sister, touya knew he was well beyond fucked.

there’s a tug on the sleeve of your jacket that forces you to stop in your tracks. the snow that’s now been disguised by the complete darkness of the evening is reilluminated by the light radiating from the lamp post above you.

“i’ll cut the bullshit. i like you. a lot,” touya declares, blinking away the snowflakes that make his eyelashes look impossibly prettier. “hearing that you had a boyfriend fucking sucked, and i had this petty, stupid idea to bring some girl over. i don’t know what exactly i was trying to accomplish.”

you’d had a whole speech planned and written in your heart for the boy looking down at you; you figure you should also correct his faulty assumption, but his confession leaves you tongue tied.

“but then you had this sad look on your face the whole time and that’s all i could think about for the next day. kissing you was a dick move, i know but….” he sighs, looking up at the night sky as if it might throw him a bone. “but you kissed me back. and i don’t want to be like… your side bitch, or something.”

you’re able to read genuine hurt in touya’s eyes, but his claim and it’s wording throws you into a fit of giggles. even as you’re laughing at his misery, touya can’t help but have goo-goo eyes for you.

“i’m serious! i went back to my room with a sad boner, you know! and it’s honestly blasphemous for you of all people to two time your poor boyfriend. i thought you were supposed to be a saint!”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. it’s just— you’re so stupid,” you wheeze.

it’s difficult for touya to take the fact that you just called him stupid to heart as you unsuccessfully attempt to wipe your tears away with your mittens on; so he does it for you. you give a soft smile of gratitude in return, a glint in your eyes. you take off your gloves so that you’re able to pull down the zipper covering his face. and despite his declaration that he didn’t want to be your “side bitch”, touya doesn’t stop you when you get on your tippy toes and loop your arms around his torso to plant a soft kiss on his lips; nor does he complain when it lands on his cupids bow instead. the softness of it all only makes him blush even harder, an effect he hopes is you’ll blame on the cold weather.

you don’t.

your chin is propped on his chest as you look up at him with a goofy smile. “i’m not dating that guy. i was peer pressured by fuyumi into going on one date, but nothing came out of it. you’d know that if you hadn’t stormed out of the room like a big baby. i kissed you back because i have feelings for you, dummy.”

with wide eyes, touya lets out a breathy laugh, before pulling his hands out of his pockets to grab your face and crash his lips into yours, hard and needy. you’re lips are locked for what feels like far too little a time before he pulls away.

“if i were you i probably wouldn’t want to date such an idiot after all this but…. will you? date me?”

“i’d love nothing more than to date this idiot.”

touya’s going to have to tell you later how you got together in the same spot he fell for you; but his first order of business is to take you back to his place and make up for lost time.

★ tag list: @ushygushybaby @stvrrlight @gbbibbi @julietdelamare @dabisearpiercings @gracefulbumblebee @sky-casino @twerkformammon @mika-writes-fanfics @iheartgeto @doulcha @aicakee @alondraapple19 @imeverycliche

#dabi #dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #dabi drabble #dabi imagine #dabi x y/n #dabi angst #dabi fluff #dabi fanfic #touya todoroki x reader

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dreamtinblackandwhite · 23 days

Text

A Dog's Best Friend

chris evans x female!reader summary: Dodger finds his best friend - Chris finds... someone.

note: this is my first fic for Mr. C. Evans :) I'm still going back and forth on if this will be a full series or if it will be a series of one shots but if will for sure have multiple parts! let me know your thoughts and opinions please!

warnings: meet cute, little bit of fluff, Chris falls hard and fast, swearing

word count: 2262

“Come on, Dodger!” I call to my rescue boxer-mutt as he trots back towards me with his skunk toy. Normally, he is very good at fetch but today he continued to be distracted by the golden retriever who was playing near him. I really can’t blame him though, I am equally as distracted by the owner of this dog.

Stop staring, I remind myself as I force my eyes to Dodger again. I kneel down as he gets closer so I can wrestle the toy away. I watch from the corner of my eye as the girl nearby tosses her dogs ball out into the distance; she’s got an arm, that’s for sure.

Dodger’s wet nose bumping into my face was his subtle reminder that I should be looking at him and not anyone else. “Okay, buddy,” I laugh as I stand up. I toss the skunk off in the same direction as before and watch Dodger happily chase after it.

While I wait for Dodger to come back, I easily fall into the enthralling trap this stranger yielded. I wonder if I’d ever seen her hair color on another person before – the sun really catches it perfectly, illuminating the multitude of different hues and shades that dance between each strand. I wonder what she does for work; her outfit didn’t give too much of a hint: blue jeans that were cuffed at the ankle just above a tan pair of boots with a grey-green shirt tucked into the waist with a long tan coat tossed over the top of it all and loosely tied closed at the front. It was a simple outfit, but nice enough in imply she was going somewhere next; unlike my black joggers paired with a grey workout shirt, white running shoes, a green windbreaker, and a Boston Bruins cap.

I watch her kneel down to greet her pup, “this isn’t yours, silly!” She exclaims, tugging at the skunk that hung from his mouth. Wait, skunk? I look down at Dodger now who sat patiently looking up at me with a ball in his mouth, his tail wagging a thousand miles a minute.

I laugh as I gently take the ball from him; he licks my hand in thanks. “You are such a good wing-man, buddy,” I praise with a gentle pat to his head. I stand straight now, tugging my cap a little bit lower over my eyes to hopefully save the awkwardness of her knowing me immediately and flattening out any wrinkles that may have formed in my jacket.

I walk closer to her as she searches the park for the possible skunk owner. Dodger follows happily at my side, his eyes trained to the ball in my hand. “I think our pups got a bit confused,” I open, trying to keep my voice welcoming and charming; I hold the ball up and give my wrist a slight twist.

She blushes immediately and moves to close more distance between the two of us, reaching her hand forward with the skunk. “I’m sorry about that; I’d say he doesn’t do this often, but that would be a lie,” she grins at me as we trade toys. I wet my lips before grinning back at her, her smile was gorgeous. She is gorgeous. Her eyes seemed to carry specks of a thousand different shades in them and were piercing against the sun that had begun to rise. “He’s got a bad habit of stealing.”

I laugh gently and shrug my shoulders, waving off the apology for her dog. “Don’t worry about it,” I reassure, looking down at Dodger at my feet. “I’m sure it was a mutual trade.” I try to control my expression as I glance back to the girl in front of me, my mind racing with a thousand different observations and questions. I think she chews her lip when she was nervous; even now she had the bottom right corner tucked into her teeth, her jaw flexing slightly as her eyes searched mine. Is she a coffee or tea person? She has really pretty eyes. Does she like road trips? Movies at home or in the theatre? God… her eyes.

“Dodger, right?” She asks, a small smirk playing at her lips as she steps back to toss the ball for her dog. My eyes widen by a sliver as a blush creeps over my cheeks, I’ve been made. I should have introduced myself right away, why try to hide it? Now it just seems like I was intentionally hiding from her – I don’t want to hide from her. Does she think it’s weird for me to be who I am? What if she hates my movies and, in turn, me?

“Uh- y-yeah,” I stutter embarrassed as I turn away and toss the toy for Dodger to run after.

“So, you’re Chris Evans’ dog walker, then?” She asks, her voice carrying the smallest glint of teasing. I smirked softly, looking back at her feeling slightly more comfortable after clocking the joke. Maybe my social status didn’t matter to her. That was nice; most people would have thrown a fit by now.

“Evans couldn’t afford my dog-walking fees,” I joke, winking at her. Did you just wink? What the fuck was that? Are you stupid?

She laughs, her chin falling towards her chest and one hand covering her mouth. The sound literally brought goosebumps to my skin and a warm tightness to my chest. I gulp as I try to control the smile on my face. Keep it friendly, not creepy. “I’m Y/N,” she introduces, sticking her hand out for me to shake. Y/N…

I feel my smile grow slightly as I took her hand in mine, giving her a polite handshake. “Chris,” I reply, keeping my voice cool and collected. Should I have let go of her hand already? How long do you normally shake someone’s hand? How long have we been shaking hands? It feels like hours – her skin is so soft and her hand is so small. I don’t want to let go – what is happening to me?!

She dropped her hand to take the ball from her dog again, tossing it off. I squeezed my now empty hand into a fist, containing her warmth to my palm. Calm down, she’s just a stranger in the park… with a beautiful name and beautiful eyes. “If I’m being honest, I recognized Dodger before you,” she explains as I bend down to grab Dodger’s toy and toss it. “So, either you have this whole ‘Clark Kent’ thing down solid or your dog is more famous than you. I’ll let you decide whichever helps you sleep better at night.”

It’s my turn to laugh, hard, my hand cradling my ribs as I do. It felt freeing and relaxed. I took a few deep breaths as I look back at her. “Thank you for that,” I chuckle, “I need to be humbled now and again.” She grinned at me as the dogs trotted back over to us. I knelt down and held my hand out towards her pup. “And, what’s your name?” I asked in a puppy voice as I scratched his ears.

“Oh god,” she mumbled slightly, covering her eyes embarrassed. I look up at her confused, taking the ball and tossing it off before doing the same for Dodger. “I have never been embarrassed about his name before this moment…” she grumbled, giving me a sheepish grin as I stood back up next to her.

“You’ve got me on the edge of my seat, Y/N,” I laugh softly, suddenly feeling anxious for very different reasons. Did she notice how you basically just moaned her name? You are being fucking creepy, dude.

“His name is Thanos,” she grumbles, hiding her face again. I burst out laughing again, leaning forward and resting my hands on my knees. “I didn’t think I’d meet anyone from the MCU when he was a baby!” She defends before starting to laugh herself.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” I breath out between chuckles as I try to control myself.

She shook her head at me. “No, please,” she giggles as her hands hide her blushing face again. “It is pretty funny.”

“I guess I’m just disappointed it’s not Rogers or Captain,” I grin at her as the pups came running back to us. “Hi, Thanos!” I cheer, kneeling down to scratch his head again. Dodger, realizing I was busy, went straight to Y/N. She happily bent down to give him so belly rubs before tossing his skunk off – I did the same for Thanos.

“Oh, you’ll just love his brother and sister then…” Y/N mumbles, looking at me embarrassed still.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I straightened up.

“Two cats… Loki and Nebula,” she grins, laughing at herself. Even if I didn’t actually find what she said funny, I’d still be laughing with her. It was contagious, I couldn’t imagine anyone hearing her laugh and not joining in.

Dodger and Thanos returned to our feet quicker this time, yipping at us to stop laughing. “Sorry, guys,” Y/N sighs as she bent down to toss Thanos’ ball. I went to do the same for Dodger but he growled and backed away, wagging his tail as he looks up at Y/N.

“What in the world?” I laugh softly; Y/N bent down and easily took the toy away from him to toss. “Traitor!” I call out as Dodger chased away. “It’s because you’ve got a better arm than me,” I wink again, looking back at Y/N. She blushed and looked down at her feet nervously; she’s adorable when she’s flustered. “So, where are you from?” I ask maybe a little too excitedly.

“What do you mean?” She counters, giving me a pointed look. “I was born and raised here in Boston.” Her serious resolve quickly faded to a grin as she heard the horribly fake accent come from her lips.

“No offense,” I laugh, setting a hand back on my chest to try to comfort my heart that was doing summersaults. “But never do that again.” Always do it – it was adorable.

“Noted,” she chuckles softly. “I am from a super small town in Wisconsin, moved here about a year and a half ago.”

“Ah, Wiz-cahn-sin, eh?” I countered, putting my own midwestern accent into use.

“That’s not fair,” Y/N laughs, playfully pushing my shoulder; I felt the warmth of her skin radiate through my jacket. “It’s part of your job to be able to do accents.”

I smirk at her as I held my hands up defensively. “You’re right,” I admit my defeat happily after seeing her smile. “What’s it like? I have never been to much of the Midwest.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she smiles, tossing both dogs toys now that Dodger was completely ignoring me. “It’s pretty much just farm land everywhere you look, but the people and weather are pretty similar to Massachusetts. Just take all the history from Boston, Salem, and Plymouth and replace it with red-necks, corn, and beer and it’ll be like a typically Tuesday night for me.”

This woman seems to have quite the knack for making me laugh; I can’t remember the last time I laughed so genuinely with someone, it was nice. “What brought you to Boston, then? Needed a break from the red-necks?” I guess with a small smirk.

“Always need a break from the red-necks,” she grins at me. “I got a job at Tufin as a senior project manager for their cybersecurity department. It took me a bit farther from my family than I had planned, but it’s been a welcome change.” I study her facial expression for a moment, she looked sad but not in a bad way. She missed her family, I think.

“It must be hard, being so far away from them,” I glance at her as she tossed the ball for Thanos before he got distracted by wrestling with Dodger playfully. “Do you get home to see them a lot?” Take it slow, play it cool…

“Not really,” she shrugged her shoulders with a sad smile now. “It’s hard to get off work, and the flights aren’t exactly cheap.” She anxiously ran a hand through her hair again. “Holiday’s and special occasions mostly.”

Hug her. Wait, no! Don’t do that, that’s creepy. Fuck, how can I comfort her? Dodger happily rolled onto his back as Y/N scratched his stomach, Thanos was off in the distance chasing a few butterflies. A soft ring echoed from her watch, she frowns as she shut it off.

“Fuck, it’s already 8:30…” she mumbles; I look around anxiously, zipping my coat up and tugging my cap lower onto my forehead. Normally, I would have already made it home by now and avoided any extra interactions. “T!” She calls out with two sharp taps to her hip; Thanos came running at the command. “I’m sorry, I have to drop him off at home before work.” She looked at me apologetically, her smile didn’t reach her eyes fast enough to hide her disappointment.

I felt a pang at my heart as we both clipped the dog’s leashes onto their collars. “Of course,” I smile at her to reassure her, though I doubted it hid my disappointment either. “It was really nice to meet you, Y/N.” Y/N…

“It was nice to meet you too, Chris,” she grinned before turning away and clicking her tongue for Thanos to follow. Wait, don’t go…

“Y/N!” I called out before she got too far away. “I’ll be back here at 7 tomorrow, if you – I mean, uhm…” I stuttered, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She giggled softly and bit her lip, god how beautiful. “I will see you tomorrow then, Chris.”

#chris evans au #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x you #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff #a dogs best friend

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beansprean · 1 year

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A coupla gen-u-ine wrestle boys

(ID in alt and under cut)

[ID: Black and white drawings of Guillermo and Nandor in various fighting/wrestling poses. Guillermo is wearing a plain button down with the sleeves rolled up, chinos and loafers, and black leather gloves. Nandor is in a simple sleeveless tunic over tight sleeves and tall boots. 1. Guillermo has Nandor pinned on his stomach and is laying spooned over his back, arm hooked in his elbow to wrench his arm back in a chicken wing and the other pinning his free wrist to the floor. Guillermo smirks against the back of Nandor's head. Nandor is frozen and not trying to struggle, looking a bit startled and flushed. 2. Guillermo is laying on his side perpendicular on top of Nandor, holding his opposite arm straight back in a lock with his other arm around Nandor's shoulders to keep him down. Nandor wiggles angrily, face mushed into his own hyperflexed arm as he struggles to turn out of the shoulder lock, legs flailing. Guillermo grins confidently down at him. 3. Nandor has Guillermo on his stomach with one arm wrenched in a chicken wing behind his back, a similar but looser hold to #1. Nandor grins and crows in triumph, hip pressed to Guillermo's side and legs curled up to keep the pressure on. Guillermo is propped up on his free elbow and seething, angrily kicking his feet as he feels for an opening. 4. Guillermo has Nandor in a tight chokehold, dragging him backwards to prevent his longer legs from gaining traction. Nandor growls and grabs at Guillermo's arm to try to wrench it away. 5. Guillermo flips Nandor over his back with one arm and a handful of hair. Nandor, eyes bugged out in shock, hurtles back-first toward the floor, one hand flailing out and the other gripping at Guillermo's shoulder. 6. The two rolling around, grappling at each other. Guillermo is rolled up onto one shoulder, trying to stay off his back, one hand pressed into Nandor's chest to keep him at bay as he looks overhead, hissing. Nandor has one knee between Guillermos legs and an arm locked at the elbow against the floor to hold himself up, free arm lunging for Guillermo as his boots slip against the floor. /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #intricate rituals #violence tw #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

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shares-a-vest · 5 months

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@steddiemas Day 13: Snow Day (Winter Wednesday)

wc: 2.4k | Rated: T for flirtatious banter and a post-spicy-times premise | cw: A very brief (and mild) exchange alluding to Period-Typical Homophobia Tags: Stuck in Snow, Car Breakdown, Post-Coital, Getting Interrupted, Multiple/Switching POVs, Established Relationships

This is equal parts Steddie and Clarkson, so I'm tagging Queen of the Clarkson hive, @unclewaynemunson. Also thanks to @rocknrollsalad for not only indulging my Clarkson thoughts and cheerleading me on, but for also providing me with some Scott Clarke crumbs in the form of the Stranger Things comics.

Steve awakens to cold silence with a hand in his hair, fingers gently curling and relaxing in tandem with the steady breathing of the person beneath him.

Eddie. It’s Eddie. And it’s also Eddie’s winter coat, a kaki parka whose slippery material threatens to fall to the car floor as soon as he shifts a little.

He grimaces, aware now of the jeans pulled down to his mid-thigh that would expose his bare ass if it weren’t for the coat protecting his modesty. He is without a shirt too and quickly becomes aware of a tacky coldness sticking between him and his partner. Steve startles and props himself up on his elbow.

He grimaces because he is sticky. He feels sticky.

“Eds,” he mumbles, voice feeling – and sounding – like gravel.

He smacks his dry lips and gulps as he attempts to sit up in the cramped darkness of the backseat of his car.

“Mrmphf,” Eddie hums between another low snore, the hand occupied in Steve’s mussed hair now falling to his partner’s bare chest.

“Eddie, we fell asleep,” he continues, rubbing his eyes enough that he can make out the time on his watch.

He feels his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“We’ve been out here for hours!”

“So?” Eddie stirs, argumentative despite still being half asleep.

Steve hikes up his pants and bites back a shudder (and a chilly shiver). That tackiness is a problem for Future Safe-At-Home Steve, he thinks as he searches for his shirt.

He’d tossed it off (hours ago, it seems), back when Eddie had pulled him into the back cab as music blared from the radio – a stupid alt station that falls in and out of frequency that Eddie insists is worth listening to. Then he remembers, Eddie situated him in his lap, as they tend to do when they make out in his car.

But the making out didn’t stop there and instead continued with Eddie unzipping his jeans, eagerly pushing them down and –

Well, his next thoughts explain his nakedness, his tackiness and the fact that they’d passed out moments after Dio had stopped screech-singing about…

Steve looks at the dashboard, practically diving into the driver’s seat to check the ignition. Eddie yelps behind him and Steve feels a rush of air that makes him think Eddie probably attempted – and failed – to kick at him.

“You almost kicked me in the balls!” Eddie hisses.

“And I’m freezing my balls off!” he shoots over his shoulder.

Eddie gasps at the thought and Steve can’t help but laugh for the split second it takes him to adjust into the driver’s seat properly and look at the Beemer’s ignition, right where his keys are dangling away.

Oh no.

“Eddie, we left the radio on!” he shrieks, his voice reverberating off the windows and creating a ringing in his ears.

“So?” Eddie says again, sounding like a goddamn parrot as makes a mountain of noise, palming around for some clothes.

“So!” Steve mocks back at his boyfriend, scrubbing his hand over the nearest window.

It’s snowing outside now, so much so that all he can see is white fog. He cranes his neck to get a look at the tires but soon gives up and instead settles for pinching his nose. He breathes in and out for a few moments, preparing himself for the inevitable disappointment of not starting the car.

And yeah, it does not work.

Eddie jumps into the front seat, jostling the whole front cab as he wrestles on his boots, distracted enough to not mention the barking yelp Steve gives.

“You fell asleep,” Eddie quips, shucking on his black crumpled long-sleeved shirt and coming back up with a wicked grin, “I rocked your world, baby, so you need your beauty sleep after that. Naturally, I followed suit because you’re just so warm and cosy and hairy.”

Steve turns to find Eddie making grabby hands at his still bare – and cold – chest. He half-heartedly slaps his hand away, earning a pout.

He’ll tease Eddie about the phrase, ‘Rock your world’ later.

“Maybe we can walk back to Johnny’s Gas Station?” he wonders aloud, the suggestion eliciting a groan of protest.

Wayne bolts upright at the sound of the ringing phone and, before he knows it, Scott is grumbling away next to him.

“You just elbowed me in the stomach!” he complains but all Wayne can focus on is the phone.

He jumps to action and glances at his alarm clock radio. It reads 3:46 am.

The cold air of the trailer hits his legs and he looks down to find himself in merely his boxers. He looks at Scott, who is now upright and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Their blanket falls away and Scott shivers from the exposure.

They make eye contact and his partner blushes, sending a flurry of their calm and quiet evening at home into Wayne’s tired noggin.

Eating dinner, watching TV all cuddled up impossibly close on the couch and then –

Ring… Ring…

Wayne shakes his head and heads for the kitchen. Clothes (and those other recollections) can wait.

“Wayne Munson,” he answers, voice gruff to an almost comical level he’s sure Eddie would make a quip about.

“Hey, Uncle,” Eddie sighs on the other end, greeting him in the typical fashion he does when he has done something wrong.

“Are you safe?” he asks instantly, turning to find Scott dressed in a blue flannel set of pyjamas and holding the pair of sweatpants he had long discarded on the bedroom floor.

“Could you come get us?” Eddie asks.

His heart skips a beat. He looks at Scott, who mirrors his panic.

“ – My car!” Steve’s panicked voice cuts in, sounding close enough to the phone, the kid must be listening in.

Scott steps forward to hand over the sweats.

“Jeans,” Wayne mouths back.

In a flash, Scott has turned on his sock-covered heels and doubles back, grabbing his beige parka from the coat rack on his way.

“Huh?” Eddie grunts. There’s some incoherent bickering before the boy sighs, “And we need a tow… Steve’s car battery croaked it.”

Wayne sucks in a breath of relief but also bites his tongue and readjusts his grip on the phone.

“It was your fault!”

“No, it wasn’t, Stevie.”

Wayne rolls his eyes at the mischievous lilt in his nephew’s voice on that last one and moves to look out the kitchen window, only to be met with snowy darkness. He’s pretty sure he can tow Steve’s BMW in this weather. There’s no way he’d leave such an expensive car outside, nor would the boy let him.

“Alright,” he says, voice clipped, “Tell me where you boys are at.”

Whatever happened, Eddie and Steve are in for a lecture…

All Eddie can see when Wayne pulls over to the small clearing-come-makeout spot are trapper hats, his uncle’s scowl and Scott Clarke’s snow goggles. He groans and throws his head back, jostling his and Steve’s conjoined form.

“Eddie,” Steve warns, “I gotta unzip us.”

Eddie grumbles and drops his arms so his boyfriend can reach behind him and unzip the giant winter coat he had managed to coax himself into as well. He thinks they haven’t even been back at the car for all of five minutes but, as always, Wayne has come to his rescue quicker than he said he’d be.

But, as he watches his uncle open his car door and round to the back truck bed, Eddie can spot Wayne’s bristling shoulders a mile off – old Army jacket and snowy weather, or not.

He grits his chattering teeth as best he can, standing still with his hands in his pockets as Steve abandons him to give an endless torrent of apologies and offer his assistance.

“Eddie,” Scott nods.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Maybe he should chance it with his uncle, his inevitable grumpiness and Steve. Scott is all winter woollies and moustache as he removes a red tartan trapper hat, one that matches Wayne’s and is likely the one he used to give Eddie himself back before the old man ever owned anything kid-sized.

Scott offers the hat but Eddie shakes his head and gives a gloved, two-finger salute.

“Scotty,” he mumbles as politely as possible before catching Wayne’s eye.

“We’ll talk about this,” Wayne begins, waving the eyelet end of his tow rope (even with Steve close on his heel), “Later.”

Eddie looks at his partner and finds Steve nervously running a hand through his hair.

The pair turn in unison, Wayne pointing and offering instructions that Steve promptly follows and they once again leave Eddie standing with Scott, who rocks on his heels and very obviously ogles his uncle's ‘handiwork’.

He shudders and takes a step forward to block Scott’s adoration from his line of sight. But the man soon follows and Eddie huffs out a laboured breath, readying himself for an overly cheery chat.

How his uncle started dating a Chatty Cathy, he’ll never know.

“We were asleep, anyway,” Scott offers.

Eddie feels a blush creep up his neck to his snow-bitten cheeks, recalling how he and Steve had been peacefully sleeping away in the Beemer before this whole (admittedly embarrassing) situation started…

Or more, a situation they found themselves in the middle of.

They watch in silence as Wayne and Steve work in perfect sync, shovelling away the snow built up around the car’s tires, before attaching the hook, placing the Beemer into neutral and firing up the truck.

“I could have helped, you know,” Scott offers, still looking out the window, finally deciding to break the silence that has befallen the car.

Well, a silence that exists besides Steve Harrington’s snoring in the back seat, which started up a mere few minutes from the clearing the boys were stuck at on the outskirts of McMillan’s farm.

He glances at Wayne in an attempt to gauge just how gruff he is.

What type of gruff it is, too.

Wayne sighs and readjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

“Could have driven too,” he can’t help but add.

“No bother,” Wayne says before shooting a look in his rearview mirror.

“Might surprise you, but I was as silly and eager as they are too, once upon a time,” he chuckles, “I’m sure you were too.”

Wayne only grumbles.

Maybe that wasn’t the best point to make right now.

“What’s the matter?” Scott asks – even though he’s sleepy, he knows Wayne prefers to get straight to the point.

He reaches over the middle console to take the hand Wayne is now resting on his thigh. It probably isn’t the safest move considering the weather but, with Steve’s car in literal tow, they are moving at a snail’s pace.

“I worry about them,” Wayne replies, squeezing his hand, “Goin’ out and...” he trails off before changing the subject (so, if Scott knows his partner, he should consider it dropped, for now), “Besides, they interrupted our night.”

Scott smiles to himself as he continues to look out the window, watching a snow-drenched Hawkins pass them by.

He stays like that until they arrive back at the Munson’s. They stir the boys and reassure Steve that as soon as the weather passes, his car will be worked on. In the meantime, Wayne secures a tarp over the maroon Beemer and rouses the boys inside with zero promises of his famous hot cocoa.

And, just like that, Scott finds himself in bed with Wayne Munson once again, cuddling up to spoon his partner and hoping he won’t get an elbow to the ribs this time.

“No funny business,” Wayne whispers over his shoulder and Scott catches a flash of a smile.

“Not even a little more hanky-panky,” he teases, squeezing his middle.

He presses a kiss to Wayne’s pyjama-clad shoulder (a flannel set he’d gifted him at the beginning of winter).

“And you call me a dirty old man,” Wayne quips before sighing, “Don’t think we’ll get too much’a that now that the boys don’t have a car between ‘em.”

He shifts on the spot and readjusts his arm under his pillow.

“Is that what’s got you all grouchy?”

“We’ve only got so much time over the holidays, is all,” Wayne says with a hint of sadness that sounds more like he has to admit to being disappointed.

“What about you get the boys to work on the car together,” he smiles into his shoulder, “That’ll get them out of the house.”

Steve all but runs into Eddie as he exits the bathroom, finally warmed up and wearing his old Hawkins High sweater.

At least he intends to stay warm, an idea that begins to quickly fade considering Eddie won’t budge an inch as he munches from a bowl of Honeycombs – his go-to emergency snack in lieu of hot cocoa.

Eddie points his spoon in the direction of Wayne’s bedroom and glares as milk drips from the end of his utensil.

“You hear that?” he bites conspiratorially.

“What?” Steve asks, lightly pushing past his boyfriend to dump his towel and soiled clothes in the hallway hamper.

“They’re giggling,” Eddie recoils.

“They’re cute,” he chuckles, “Anyway, shove off! I’m gonna start freezing my balls off again.”

Eddie darts out of the way, his disgruntled frown turning serious.

“Yes, shoo!” he hisses, “Go get all toasty. I’m very concerned about what your balls have endured this cold dark winter night, Big Boy.”

He taps at his shoulder with the commanding spoon before jabbing him with it.

“You think Wayne’s really mad?” Steve can’t help but ask as he throws back the bed covers in Eddie’s room.

“Nah,” Eddie drawls, abandoning his bowl on the nightstand, “You’da seen that vein on the side of his head explode.”

He all but cackles at his joke and beats Steve to get under the covers first, twisting them all about as he flops down.

“And you think he’ll get me a good deal on the car?” Steve wonders, adjusting the covers as he slips under them too, “It’s more than just a cooked battery, it turns out.”

“Hell, he’ll probably get us to work on it,” Eddie gripes as the two of them snuggle in, limbs intertwining on instinct, “I’m sure there’s some lame lesson we are supposed to learn from tonight.”

“And what would that be?” he teases.

“Don’t make me say that screwing each other’s brains out in the back of your car is something we shouldn’t be doing,” Eddie whines.

“You mean, ‘rocking my world’,” he giggles into his boyfriend’s not-borrowed yellow sweater.

#i'll cross-post to ao3 when i finally think of a title 😅#i miiight write a sequel to this that's the next morning #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #scott clarke #clarkson #have to incorporate them this month!#steddie fic #lily writes a fic #steve x eddie #steddiemas #clarkson ☕

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