Lavender

24 now… time isn’t real. 🦊 fox baby 🦊 i like coffee and my plants call sign magpie

[ickology]

pope or jack or both kidnapping reader and keeping her as their little pet. maybe drug use and they're making her call them daddy and they just want to keep their little baby locked up nice and safe from the big mean world

pope pope pope !! and he subreddits something super vague compared to you literally being cuffed to the headrest of his bed. r/confessions “is it wrong to shelter my girlfriend from things that could potentially harm her”. and he reads a reply to his question aloud to you. “says here, if protecting her is within her best interests, then it’s okay— and i think it is within your best interest… ain’t that right, sweetheart?” and of course you have to answer the way he wants you to respond. “yes, daddy …” while nodding your head.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just ghost who never judges the way you eat food.

How could he when the web of scar tissue spanning the lower half if his face makes it nearly impossible to eat normally? He's used to just eating in private and having to clean up any spilled food around his plate.

Which means he doesn't care how you decide to eat either, if anything he likes the little...ritual... you have.

All your food portioned separately in a lunch tin, some cute cartoon character plastered on the side. You make a routine of setting out your matching placemat, sectioned plate with pretty designs, a lidded-cup to match. You even have a cutlery set for each meal of the day.

"I know it's childish, or I guess weird...but I really like it." You had told him one day, little set-up all made with you meal on top. No two items or textures mixing.

"Why do you do it?" Ghost grunts between onr bite of steak and the next. His own plate with food just tossed on, the only effort nothing too liquid so he doesn't look like a complete fool.

"Oh, I guess it just helps me eat," you hum, swirling your straw in your newest cup "I don't really feel hungry and if I don't have a fun routine...I just don't eat."

Ghost...he never considered it like that. Meals have always been a strict necessity in his mind, something you push through to keep living another day unless you want to spend money on fancy food from a restaurant.

He looks down at bus chipped plate he stole from prices home, old and boring, then to yours. "Could i....could I try that too?"

Turns out, ghost loves it.

Which is how you both end up happily coordinating plates and meals and everything together. Suddenly dinner isn't something ghost has to push through, it's a fun way to connect with you, to make something pretty in a way he never could as a kid.

[konigs-lover]

cw: age play, faux cest, daddy kink, this is icky

older boyfriend simon who loves treating you like his lil baby, cooing at you every time you try talking to him, holding your jaw with a gentle touch and pulling your chin up to tell you you’re his pretty little thing

loves pushing his chest against your back, slotting his half hard cock against your back, when you try to reach for a cup or something on a cupboard, tells you it’s “too risky for a small baby like you, let daddy do it”

adores how you flush and squirm when he tells you to listen to daddy and go brush your teeth, wear your cute pj’s, patting your head and calling you his “good little kid” when you do. tells you to respect your bedtime or you’ll be all grumpy tomorrow

tucking you in for bed, surrounding you with your cute plushies and wishing you lovely dreams

and then coming back while you’re sleeping to grope at your body, rough hands pinching and squeezing your flesh as you sleep, shushing you when you squirm and stir, soothing you by saying “daddy’s here, you’re safe, go back to sleep”

simon pulling down your underwear and pushing the head of his hard cock against your hole, hand jerking off himself while the tip stays nestled in your hole

[crashingcryptid]

[total-killer-brainrot]

cw age gap (unspecified age but 18+, much younger than price)

John grunted softly as he slid inside you. Mind going blissfully blank as the tight heat of your cunt surrounded him. He only had a moment of peace before your whiny little gasps brought the guilt clawing back into his gut. Looking down at your face twisted in pleasure. Your perfect, soft face. So young. So sweet. Far too young and sweet for a man like him.

He shook his head to dispel the thoughts. It was stupid. You were an adult. Fully grown and more than capable of your own decisions. You just happened to be half his age. And who was going to blame him really. It was you who came up to him in the shitty bar. Practically begging for the man old enough to be your father to take you home and ravage you.

Then you whined again. Face pinched in slight pain as he built up a steady pace. Jesus chris you were tight. Were you a virgin perhaps? John's cock throbbed at the thought.

"John..." His name fell from your lips. Sickly sweet. Not innocent exactly, not with how you curled the word on your tongue like you would his cock. But naive. Pleading for this stranger to blow your mind like no boy your age could.

John leaned over you. Covering your mouth with his hand. Your breath hot against his palm.

"Shut up..."

He didn't need you reminding him what you were. Practically a kid. John had been the target of plenty of 'cradle snatcher' jokes in his time. But they were jokes. This was different. God he had tattoos older than you.

[rawme-price]

Kyle "fuck I don't want to accidentally offend a bug hybrid..." garrick who is so careful to he respectful when he meets you. He knows how poorly bug hybrids are treated, especially a beetle like you. He seems cool and charming externally but internally he's calculating how long to look at your mandibles before it becomes rude.

Vs

Simon "fuck yessss yes a beetle fuck yeah–" riley who has no sense of social conventions when he's trying to flirt. Meaning, he has no problems cornering you against a wall and huffing "can i lick the underside of your elytra when we fuck?"

...gaz promptly steps on his foot for it, but shocking that was what got you in their bed...

[rawme-price]

Thinking about meeting your future husband, john price, at a bar...right?

But it's not the usual way you'd think. No glances across the bar, no shared smirks or flirty touches.

In fact, you hadn't even noticed john until another man shoulder-checked you instead of stepping the the two inches it took to get around you. The man, drunk by the smell of his breath, had whirled on you "watch where you're going, bitch."

The hand never grabbed your arm, because john stepped in.

Large body between you and the strange man, some words hissed that you couldn't focus on with the hunk of muscle un front of you. Between one blink and the next the man was flat on the floor and johns knuckles were bloody.

On the sidewalk after getting kicked out, with streetlights casting a smoky halo around john, you knew you had to take him home.

One night led to mutliple, led to staying for breakfast and coffee dates and then real dates. Led to whispered confessions and your dreams for the future slowly shifting to include your john. Led to a wedding and an even better wedding night.

On your honeymoon john insisted on taking you out of the country to meet some friends and stay in some fancy cabin.

"–And this is nikolai, but everyone calls him nik." John nods to a man you'd recognize anywhere.

"Are you...are you the man from the bar." You've never been good with subtlety. You look at price "why are you friends with the guy from the bar?"

Of course. Your husband whom you've believed to be your lucky savior since you met him has actually had his eyes on you for far longer. In his infinite wisdom, he decided staging a rescue was the best way to impress you back then.

...nikolai has the audacity to laugh when you chew john out for it.

[boolger]

You resist, yet your soul obeys 🌾 chapter 2: Plums and property lines

nsfw. wc: 4.3k ish. 

Female!reader x Nikolai (main), reader x Nikolai x tf!141, poly!141.

<-last chapter -🌾- next chapter ->

tags: religious themes - christianity, religious trauma, church going, daddy kink, modesty, discussion of religions, virginity, virginity kink, sex, sex before marriage, falling in love, homophobia and biphobia, polyamory, smut, spanking, dom sub, group sex, farming, (author didn’t grow up on a farm), family issues, jealousy, shame, growing up, sadness, horses, mean-ish Nikolai, kinda arranged marriage, masturbating, age gap, more maybe added.

A/N: well well well, i wasn't sure when to make them horny,lol. Anyways. Consider supporting my coffee addiction on Kofi - or don’t! That's ok

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“Hello, dorogaya.”

Your entire body flinched, almost falling down from the fence where you sat, barely able to keep your balance. The unripe plum fell onto the grass, in order to stay up on the fence, and it rolled a couple inches away from you as you looked up at him.

“Oh - uh - hi, mr. Patrov.” Caught red handed, yet you pretended you hadn’t been spotted with one of his fruits in your hand, “didn’t hear you coming.”

Nikolai’s mouth twitched.

“Petrov,” he corrected as if this moment wasn’t bad enough as it was, “but you can call me Nikolai, miss Clarke.”

You winced.

“Don’t call me Miss Clarke then.”

“Mmmhm,” he hummed, tipping his head to the side before he turned to look on the ground, easily bending over to pick up the plum you had stolen, voice almost scholarly as he then told you, “these are not ripe yet, are they?”

Your face burned in embarrassment as you tried to ignore the clear bitemark in the unripe fruit, watching the way the forbidden fruit looked so small in his large hand.

“No,” your voice wasn’t that loud, your eyes flickering away, “‘spose not.”

Nikolai let out a deep hum, turning it in his hand, taking in the bite mark for a moment before looking back at you - you dared to take a glance at him.

“It’s also not very proper to steal.”

Nah, shit. Fuck. Piss. Cunt. Cock. Shit. Fuck.

“I - uhm - I wasn’t —“

“No?” He took a step closer, “so your parents also grow plums now, da?”

Truly caught. You shook your head, grabbing onto the wooden fence you still sat on like a lifeline, nails digging into it, no doubt leaving crescent marks behind in the paint.

“N-no - they don’t, I just…” your words died down and you honestly didn’t fucking know what to say for yourself. 

“Just what, dorogaya?”

“It had fallen over the fence.”

It’s a sin to lie, your parents would remind you. But a whole lot of things were fucking sinful. Sometimes you wondered if they just considered your whole existence sinful. Besides, you didn’t even sound convincing, so you should probably just have been honest.

“Please don’t tell my parents,” you finally muttered, words almost melting together with how quickly you said then, “I - I didn’t…” 

“As long as you don’t do it again,” he finally said, a slightly amused smile on his face and fuck, when had he gotten this close? You swallowed as he tipped his head to the side, “then I won’t tell. Our little secret, da?”

You nodded, almost flinching when you felt his hand on your chin, tipping your head up. He watched you for a moment, as if he took your facial features in. Gentle. Flames of lust licked you, you almost felt unable to breathe.

“Good then. You better get home then, Milaya. It’s not nice to let your parents work alone, hm?”

You didn’t say anything. The moment he stepped back you turned around on the fence and jumped down, trying to ignore the way your cunt felt warm and wet. Fuck, you wanted to go straight home and touch yourself while remembering his words. 

“Bye little one,” he called after you as you hurried towards your parents house and you didn’t answer, just tried your best to not just book it and get away.

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“You weren’t up in that tree again, were you, luv’?” 

“Nope.” You stirred the pot with soup, not looking over your shoulder, hoping your mother would be unable to catch you lying then.

“Hm.”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, claiming the throne at the dinner table, not helping with dinner - why would a man do that? God forbid he helped with making the food, that was a woman’s job after all.

You looked at the tomato soup, not commenting on his sound, just hoping he didn’t know.

“Met one of the lads from next door,” your father calmly commented, holding the pipe that filled the house with a sweet scent of tobacco, “Johnny - said he was impressed with ya’ tree climbing skills.”

The tomato soup looked a little boring but you were too busy cursing the neighbours inside your mind. Fucking asshole, that Johnny fella. Grassing on you like that.

“Huh, weird.” That was your only idea of a reply, so you just ran with it, “must have been someone else.”

Your father hummed, clearly not impressed nor believing you. Shit. Fuck. Why was everything you did wrong? You strongly doubted the bible said anything about climbing in trees.

“Don’t lie,” your mother chastised you, “it’s not proper - how will you find a husband if you’re a liar?”

You couldn’t help it, snorting loudly at her comment. 

“Please,” you answered sarcastically, your father cutting you off before you could point out how ridiculous that was, “I–”

“I don’t think Nikolai would want a wife that climbs trees either.”

You fully stopped stirring the soup, your mind catching up with his words, blinking a couple of times before turning your head to look over your shoulder at him.

“Good thing I’m not marrying him, innit?” You couldn’t help the sharpness of your tone. Why did he even say that? If you found out they were making some sort of plan, you were going to leave. You would rather live in the tree than here.

“You don’t know that,” your father easily replied, his pipe still in his mouth, looking scheming as fuck, “he is a good man.”

“I’m not—“

“You haven’t even gone out with him yet,” your mother added happily, taking the spoon out of your hand to stir, “you could invite him over for tea!”

“No,” you were more firm this time, “should you worry more about this year's harvest?”

“Nothing to worry about, luv,” your father easily replied, as if those were the last of their problems, “we’re more worried about you. Unmarried, living at home, no children yet - it’s not ideal for you, a young healthy woman like you should be looking for that.”

A part of you wanted to scream out loud.

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“Tea time, dear!”

You stopped the painting of the outside of the chicken coop, pulling off your headphones. Your mother had asked what kind of music you listened to and you had to actually stop yourself from telling the truth. Gospel music, you had lied, newer kinds. She seemed pleased with the answer. You felt like you were lying constantly these days, but it was a form of survival you supposed. 

Your parents weren’t bad people. They had made a lot of bad decisions and their morals were quite different from your own, but you still had to remind yourself that they meant well, even if you wanted to scream again and again these days. They had been stricter when you were a child, much stricter. With almost daily bible readings and an extremely limited window to the outside world.

You closed the lid to the blue paint and cleaned the brush off with the garden hose before stumbling in through the back door, yelling out to your parents that you needed to change before you would join them.

The sound of a car door slamming and their truck suddenly being turned on, made you stop in your tracks. Mere seconds later you heard the familiar sound of it leaving the driveway.

“I suspect you’re able to change your clothes yourself, dorogaya,” a familiar voice suddenly said, making you jump and let out a loud squeak, as he continued, “or will you need help with that?”

You turned quickly, words still not quite catching up with your head, blinking at the sight of Nikolai standing in the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug smile on his lips. It was the second time he had scared you within a few days.

“Holy fuck - uh - hi- shit — hi Nikolai,” you felt incredibly caught off guard at the sight of the big man suddenly in the farm house, a small confused sound then leaving you, “what uh what are you doing here? I think - shit, I think my parents just left, sorry.”

“I know,” Nikolai casually answered, uncrossing his arms as he stepped closer, “I did not know that your parents let you curse this much, dorogaya.”

A tiny sound left you. Shit. Fuck. Piss. Why was he calling you out?

“Please don’t tell them,” you whispered, stepping backwards as he came a tad too close, your body instantly reacting like he had flicked a switch inside you, “I - uh - what are you doing here?”

He tipped his head to the side, watching you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite describe. 

“So many secrets you want me to keep,” his voice was softer but there was still an edge that made your toes curl, “You invited me over for tea, dorogaya, did you forget?”

“What?” You stared at him for a second before you realised what had probably happened, your lust being changed into anger, then confusion, then anger again, “ah - I’m guessing my mother called you on my behalf.”

“You father actually,” he answered, a pleasant smile appearing, “they set you up, little one?”

You nodded dumbly before you frowned.

“I’m not little.”

“No?” He teased, “climbing in trees, stealing plums and being covered in paint. Seems like a little brat to me.”

The words made you whimper before you tried to tell him off, yet the words caught you so off guard, making you feel all flustered, so you only managed to stutter out a few messy words.

“Don’t worry, Milaya,” he winked at you before taking a step back, “you go change, I make tea, da?”

You barely managed to nod before you bolted off, skipping every second step as you went up the stairs, hurrying to close the door to your childhood room. You panted hard, resting against the closed door; you weren’t sure if it was from the sudden run or from something else…

You didn’t care if you got paint everywhere as you shrugged off your dad’s overalls, the only pair you could fit and the ragged, paint covered shirt you had worn.

Pretending not to notice the wetness between your legs, you felt heat spark in your stomach. From the effect of Nikolais highly in inappropriate words - and the pure anger from knowing your parents set you up like this.

Yup. You were going to strangle them.

“Are you coming down, Milaya?”

You heard him from upstairs but in honesty you weren’t sure if you wanted to come down. You’ve changed your dress twice, unable to find a dress you brought along — your main suspect immediately was your mother, since it was too short in her opinion - which meant not covering your knees.

As if that wasn’t enough, all your pants and all skirts that didn’t cover the knees, were gone too. 

You were going to strangle your mother as the first of your parents. This was probably the reason you had been sent out to paint the chicken coop, you realised as you chose one of the few dresses that was left, a dark green one. You fixed your hair minimally, just needing it to not be too messy.

Finally you couldn’t push it anymore. You walked downstairs and even though you wanted to continue straight out the front door, you behaved and walked to the living room. 

Nikolai put the kettle down on the table, looking over at you, not even pretending to be subtle about taking you in.

“You look very lovely, dorogaya.”

You bit your lip for a second.

“Mr. Petrov—,” you said, ignoring his compliment, as well as the butterflies in your stomach, “I’m sorry - but I didn’t invite you over, it’s my parents uh… plan.”

“I figured,” he smiled a little, though he didn’t seem that affected by your truth, “but it would be waste to not eat cake and drink the tea, no?”

You wondered what Nikolai’s deal was. He seemed to be flirting with you but at the same time, he had spoken to you very few times… you would barely call him for an acquaintance. He was just your parents’ neighbour.

You sat down, fully noting how your parents had only set the table for two. Traitors, the two of them.

“Mr. Petrov, I —“

“Nikolai.” He sat a slice of a pie on a plate, putting it in front of you before sitting down, as if he was the one who had invited you, “please, call me Nikolai.”

You nodded.

“Nikolai.”

“Da?”

“What’s your deal?” You might as well ask him directly, since you felt forced into whatever… this corner was.

“My deal?”

“Yes,” you looked down at your cup of tea, continuing, “did my parents put you up to this?”

He tipped his head to the side, though he didn’t stop smiling, “to what exactly?”

“This… whole thing. You don’t have to do this, you know, you don’t even know me and I don’t know what my parents have told you but I don’t need to be saved by some man, if —“

“Woah woah,” he raised his hands, “slow down, Milaya. Why exactly do you think I’m here?”

You were quiet for a moment, carefully watching Nikolai for a moment. His somewhat long hair was slicked back, dark even in the light of the lamp above him. His stubble, his nose, the slightly bushy eyebrows - he didn’t look old, even though he was older than you. There was a simple gold chain around his neck, his t-shirt a dark brown color. Unnecessarily hot. Did… that mean you had daddy issues or some shit?

“Because my parents told you to.”

The smile that appeared on his face was a little sad.

“Your parents invited me over, da, but I did not come merely because they asked.”

“… why then?” You dared to ask.

“Because I find you attractive.” 

You blinked.

“Wot,” you couldn’t help but stare at him, mind not quite catching up.

“I find you attractive.” Despite repeating it, you still didn’t want to believe him.

What the fuck. He merely watched you as he took another sip of his tea.

“I - no - you — “ you didn’t even know what to say, words unable to create a proper sentence. You almost wanted to laugh at him for saying it, but at the same time it was so direct that you felt unable to understand it.

“What, Milaya?” He asked, a slight amusement in his voice though it stayed a little dark,“has a man not told you that before?”

“I suppose not,” you answered, still feeling caught so off guard that you didn’t know what else to say than to just admit the truth. Nobody had - well, you had messed around with a few, you had been complimented but never as directly as this. So… shamelessly.

“A mistake,” he answered easily, “you have dated too many young boys.”

“No,” you perhaps answered a bit too quickly, Nikolai raising an eyebrow.

“No?”

“I never got around much to dating.”

“How come?” He asked you, genuinely sounding interesting, if not a little confused, “you are a beautiful woman.”

You pursed your lips, trying to ignore the sparks in your stomach.

“You called me a brat mere moments ago,” you reminded him, perhaps a bit sharp in your voice, hoping to distract him.

Nikolai laughed, waving at you.

“You can be both.”

You wanted to argue against it.

“I’ve only been on a couple of first dates,” you answered instead, before looking down at the pie, “never anything more than that.”

“How come?”

You shrugged. Nobody had ever seemed to be interested in you the same you were in them - a single time it was the other time around. It didn’t matter what gender, though you had mainly gone on actual dates with men, too scared to go with anyone else.

Your parents were less homophobic or biphobic than they were when you were young, but talking about anything other than heterosexuality with them still felt like a minefield to you. You never quite knew what to expect from them. ‘They grew up in another time’ your sister would sometimes remind you, with other morals and a different perspective on the world. That didn’t excuse it, even if it explained some of it.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered, “studying and working felt more important.”

Nikolai let out a hum, but didn’t press further. You decided to attempt to change the subject from whatever this hell was.

“Why did a bunch of veterans like you guys buy a plum orchard? Bit different kind of work, innit?”

Nikolai laughed. Full belly laugh. You pretended you didn’t like the sound.

“I suppose so, dorogaya,” he agreed, still smiling, “but we like to have a project. The farm and the orchard have plenty of those for us. We would like some more animals.”

“What kinda animals do you have now?”

“Couple of cows, some goats. Kyle would like some geese or ducks, I think. Johnny has talked of rescuing some more donkeys.”

“You have donkeys?” The former owners never had donkeys, so it caught you off guard.

“Da,” he grinned, “two and one mule.”

“You have a mule?” You couldn’t keep the excitement hidden, “do any of you ride?”

“John does a little, but not much. I don’t unless necessary - I’ve never been much of a rider.”

You nodded along, the subject much more interesting to you than you believed it would.

“I used to have a horse,” you admitted softly. You hurried to take a piece of the pie so you wouldn’t begin to talk about that too much. The pie was good, at least, even if you were still mad about your parents doing this entire thing.

“You can come over to meet our mule and donkeys if you want, Milaya. Then you can get away from your parents as well.”

“… I would like that,” you finally admitted, “they’re a bit much sometimes.”

Nikolai nodded, a soft smile on his lips.

“You are always welcome at ours.”

You smiled yourself.

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“Well then?”

You stared at your mother with the angriest look you could muster.

“I hate you,” you told her plainly, not even bothering to hide it, “both of you.”

“Now now,” your father began, holding up his hands, “we merely helped the two of you alo—“

“You have no right meddling with my life like this!” You said out angrily, pointing at them, “it’s not okay! I am a grown woman!”

“You didn’t turn him away, did you?” Your mother sounded scandalously afraid, touching her chest, fully ignoring the way you were scolding them, “please tell me you didn’t, dear god.”

“Of course I didn’t,” you answered, once again crossing your arms, “but I should have! I didn’t invite him over after all.”

Your mother let out a delighted sound that made you roll your eyes.

“What do you think of him then?” Your father asked, pushing off his shoes, sounding just as excited as your mother.

“Polite,” you didn’t give them anything to work with, “they’ve rescued a mule. I’m gonna visit tomorrow to see it.”

Your mother let out a delighted squeal that made you not only feel embarrassed - but instantly unsure whether you should actually go or not.

“It’s not like that!” You snapped before turning around and walking upstairs to hide in your room.

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You almost regretted your decision, the idea of leaving the family farm suddenly made you a little weak in your knees. Licking your lips, you straightened your shirt a little more, as if it mattered.

It had taken a tiny threat to get your clothes back from your mother, at least a pair of pants and afterwards it had taken a scolding from both your parents for even threatening your mother - while you had argued back that stealing your clothes felt like a bigger sin than demanding it back.

Besides, you weren’t going on a ride when the older man you had gone on an unwilling date with yesterday was watching you. Ridiculously it felt too… exposing. Your parents were rubbing off on you and you hated it. A good christian girl would never.

Ugh. Disgusting.

So, wearing a pair of pants and a long sleeved shirt, you jumped the fence in the orchard, knowing that you at least could cross the property line with good conscience today. The plums still weren’t close to ripe, which you already knew but you had to give it a check of course.

Walking out of their orchard and into their driveway felt… odd.

“Hey lass!”

You jumped at the sudden yell, turning around. 

A muscular man with a mohawk and an impressive scar across his temple that spread over the face, grinning like he had just won the lottery.

“Ye’re the youngest Clarke’s lassie, I assume?” The man with the Scottish accent stopped in front of you, still smiling as he offered you his hand, “Ah am Johnny - heard bunch ‘bout ye from Nik.”

You tried to hide your embarrassment the best you could, shaking his hand as you offered your own name.

“Only good things, I hope,” you answered, trying not to think about the fact that Nikolai had been talking about you to his friends, the thought making annoying butterflies appear, “wait - you’re Johnny? You’re the one who grassed on me!”

“What did ya’ do know, punk?” Price appeared from the farm house, drying his hands off on his pants, “good to see you again, love.”

“What? No! I dinnae do anything!”

“Yeah you did!” You crossed your arms, pretending you didn’t see how Johnny instantly looked at your tits for a second, “you told on me to my parents! For climbing in the trees.”

“Oh!” He at least had the decency to look ashamed, “Am sorry bonnie, I dinnae ken et was a secret.”

Price chuckled, shaking your hand for a moment before pulling back, winking at you.

“Oh, so Mrs and Mr Clarke seem like proud climbing people to you?” Price asked Johnny teasingly, the idea making your snort.

“Suppose not,” Johnny agreed.

“It’s hard to climb with a bible up your arse,” you muttered before you could help yourself. The silence that followed for the next two seconds almost made you want to apologise. Then both men suddenly burst into laughter, Price even had to bend over.

“I like ye, lass” Johnny declared, “nae as uptight as yer ol’ folks.”

“God no,” you agreed, “they stress me out sometimes.”

“Understandable,” he nodded, “me parents are quite catholic - dinnae really understand me either.”

You didn’t get to say anything else, when you heard a familiar voice call out, your body instantly felt warm merely at the sound of it.

You turned on your heel, watching Nikolai walk closer.

How the fuck was he attractive in a green plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, the button at the top was popped open, you didn’t know but your body still reacted to it. 

“Hi Nikolai,” you hated how you sounded.

“Hello, milaya,” he greeted back, not even trying to hide how he looked you over, “want to come look at the mule and donkeys with me and Johnny?”

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Nikolai was suddenly close - very close. Breathing against your upper neck, making goosebumps spread across your body, a small sound leaving you. A hand on each side of you, resting on the hay bales in front of you, caging you in. 

You hadn’t even seen any of the animals yet. 

He was so fucking hot. This was so fucking wrong. Well, it wasn’t wrong - it just… felt sinful. Pleasure sparking inside your body. You wished you didn’t find him attractive, wished you didn’t feel incredibly turned on.

“Nikolai,” you whispered, unable to raise your voice, his body pressing ever so gently against you. Like a warm weight against your back, making an embarrassing heat spread through your body, making you feel even hotter than before.

“Dorogaya,” the meaning of the word was still unknown to you, but you caught the vibe from the way he spoke it, “I cannot hide how lovely I find you.”

Johnny wasn’t far away, he left momentarily to collect something in the main house, but right now you didn’t want him to come back right away - in fact, he could just stay inside. The idea of being caught… somehow made you even wetter. You didn’t know why he decided to do this right now and didn’t say anything in the house yesterday, but…

A small sound left you at his admission. You carefully turned around, looking up at him. He was watching you intensely, pupils blown. 

“Ni-Nikolai,” you whispered, unable to keep the truth back, “I like you too but…”

“But?” 

The hay was pressing against your back, Nikolai even closer than before, leaning slightly down, his breath hitting your face. Mint. Coffee. Cigarettes. You wanted to press your lips against him, even if it would be stupid. Even if it would be giving in to what your parents wanted. You had only met him a couple of times - barely four times. You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“I… Nikolai, I’m not goin’ to stay here on the farm - I want to go back to the city.” The words felt wrong to speak, but for once you agreed with your parents’ ideal of not lying. You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t want him to have some little dream of you becoming a proper country wife. 

A deep breath left him. He moved to rest his forehead against yours. This felt more intimate than when a boy kissed you for the first time. This felt more intimate than any date you had been on.

“I know, milaya,” he confirmed, “but I still want you.”

You couldn’t help yourself; you tipped your head a bit and almost pressed your lips against his - they didn’t manage to touch before the sound of Johnny opening the door made you panic and pull away, ducking under one of Nikolai’s arms, escaping him. Pretending like you didn’t just try to make out with his friend.

“There ye are, loverbirds - c’mon, let me introduce ye tae my herd.”

Nikolai let out a complaining, grumpy sound behind you.

[boolger]

You resist, yet your soul obeys 🌾 chapter 1: Walnuts and wheat

nsfw. wc: 4.2k ish. 

Female!reader x Nikolai (main), reader x Nikolai x tf!141, poly!141.

next chapter ->

Summary: When everything goes wrong, you have to leave London after six years and return to your parents and your childhood farm. You feel like a failure, not ready to return to a life out in the countryside with two christian parents who considered your life in the city a “phase”. After a couple of days you meet the new owners of the orchard next door, one of them a handsome man with a strong Russian accent and a smile that makes your toes curl. For some reason your parents have gotten the idea that you need to marry Nikolai - that you need a good christian husband to get your life back on track. You loathe the idea - but… Nikolai is kind and handsome and despite not having any plans of staying out in the middle of nowhere, you feel drawn to the older man and his friends.

tags: religious themes - christianity, religious trauma, church going, daddy kink, modesty, discussion of religions, virginity, virginity kink, sex, sex before marriage, falling in love, homophobia and biphobia, polyamory, smut, spanking, dom sub, group sex, farming, (author didn’t grow up on a farm), family issues, jealousy, shame, growing up, sadness, horses, mean-ish Nikolai, kinda arranged marriage, masturbating, age gap, more maybe added.

A/N: Boolger, I hear you say, is the title lyric from a phantom of the opera song– yes. It’s a lyric from a Phantom of the opera song, Wandering child/Bravo monsieur, to be more exact. Why are we surprised that I named fics after song lyrics from this musical anymore? Anyways. Mwah sinners. Consider supporting my coffee addiction on Kofi - or don’t! That's ok. Also I gave Nikolai the middle name Dima and the last name Petrov bc I needed him to have a last name. I also gave the reader a last name because I honestly needed it and I’m not writing y/n, lol. So your last name is officially Clarke, surprise! congrats with your new last name.

If there are any mistakes, I apologize, English is not my first language.

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Ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated - you wanted to bury yourself in the ground and simply seize to exist.

Trees and bushes passed, becoming a blurred mess as you stared at them. 

The bus roared, a constant shaking which gnawed its way into your bones and your body jostled every time it crossed a pothole. The sky was grey; water drops hit the glass that you leant against now and again but a proper rain never hit. It merely teased you, showing you that it could hit whenever it wanted. 

Your headphones had died 20 minutes ago and the lack of music made you want to scream. No way to hide from your thoughts and fears, only the constant sound of the motor and the occasional chatter from the elderly ladies a couple of seats behind you, who had already discussed who you were twice. 

A slow form of torture before you had to be fully confronted with your parents - and the failure of what had happened the last six years. Twenty-seven years old, almost twenty-eight, and you had to move back in with your parents. Back to the farm, away from the streets of London which you had fallen in love with.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed off, luv’,” your friend - and now former flatmate - Beatrice, had tried to comfort you with, squeezing you tight in a hug before you had to go to the station, “is just a bump on the road! You’ll be back in London before you know it.”

A lie.

A kind lie, from kind and lovely Beatrice - but a lie nonetheless. She wasn’t the one who was moving back in with her parents, so it was also easy for her to say.

The sign with the letters spelling Millhaven passed by. A bump on the road, that was what one could call Millhaven, you supposed. A bump on the road, in the middle of fucking nowhere - no, freaking nowhere. You would have to get used to not cussing anymore or you would get in trouble with your parents in no time. 

The bus came to a stop a short minute later and you instantly spotted said parents.

“Oh my lass!” Your mother shrieked as you managed to pull out the two heavy suitcases which carried most of your life, out of the bus; her hands were immediately on you, pulling your head close and covering you in kisses, cooing sounds making your toes curl with embarrassment, “you’ve finally come home! Thank you god!”

Home. You cringed at the word. 

Thank you god. God hadn’t really been nice to you these last six years if you were being honest - the only reason your silver cross hung around your neck was because your mother would instantly notice if it wasn’t there and comment on it.

It was only for a short while, you reminded yourself, only for a short while.

“Hiya, mum,” you greeted her, giving her a short hug before your father pulled you into one, “hi dad.”

She smelled of the farm; of wet earth, sheep plums and tea - with a hint of your father’s tobacco.

Your dad gave you a tight squeeze, a pleased grunt leaving the man. He smelled like he always did as well, similar to your mother, though the smell of gas and the smoke from his pipe was a bit stronger. 

“Did you bring all of the big city?” your father asked in amusement before taking the two big suitcases, “you know we have food at home, right?”

“I know, I know,” you smiled as your mother kissed your cheek again, while your dad threw the two suitcases onto the back of their old pickup truck and your mother pulled your backpack from you to carry.

“Lets get ya home, luv, you need a cuppa and some biscuits - have you not been eatin’ properly?” 

It was going to be a long summer.

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Long rows of walnut trees passed so fast it made your head hurt. 

The hum of the truck was familiar despite the many years that had passed since you drove in it regularly. Sure, you had been home for winter most of the last couple of years - whenever you were unable to find a good enough excuse - but knowing it would be your main means of transport in a while still made it different.

Your stomach hurt with the thought of having to stay here for a good while, but there was nothing else to do right now. Gone was the busy streets of London, the coffee shop on every corner and the rush of life around you.

Now it was sheep you could hear as you jumped out of the truck. Sheep and birds – as well as Gabby, Saint and a little slower now, Star. The three border collies greeted you happily as you squatted down to pet them, barking and wagging their tails. 

“Hiii darlings,” you cooed at the three dogs, who sniffed and licked your hands, then cheeks and neck, “how are my best buddies doing?”

“Star is getting too old to work soon,” your father offered, leaning down to pet the border collie with greying spots mixed with the black furs around his eyes, “but she is still doin’ her best.”

“Cours’ you are,” you muttered happily into the fur of the 13 year old dog. The only one you felt bad for leaving all those years ago; he had only been seven then, yet acted like a puppy. Barking after the car when you drove away with all your things, looking lost and small in the driveway.

The farm house looked exactly like it always did. Yellowed, old bricks, moss growing here and there on the roof, the white windows that needed to be painted, big pots in the front of it with different flowers that were going to bloom soon. 

A big cross on the front door, warding off bad demons - or at least so had your grandparents and parents always told you.

The wildest thing that had changed, was that your mother had changed out the curtains from a light green to a light blue, with carefully sewn-on white laces. 

As you took off your shoes, the first thing that met you wasn't a family photo or a painting of nature. It was a big painting of Jesus, or well, at least what the UK countryside decided Jesus looked like. You weren’t sure if his expression was filled with relief of you returning or judgment over the fact you left. Nonetheless, you quickly looked away.

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The next two days were exactly like you had feared. 

Awful. Filled with everything you had hated in your childhood. The ever present presence of a God you no longer believed. 

You walked along the walls, trying to disappear into the wallpaper, distraught over everything that had happened. Sad that you had failed in your many hopes and dreams, that you had to come crawling back. You were pretty sure your parents considered you a real life example of the prodigal son who came crawling back.

The prodigal daughter who had spent her money on sins. Ready to be saved again, welcomed home with open arms. The fact you hadn’t spent your money on many sinful things were besides the point, you supposed.

On the third night you knew your parents patience was coming to an end.

You had almost taken a bite of dinner before saying grace, your dad almost slapping the fork out of your hand before you had realised your mistake.

Afterwards, two bites into it, it finally happened.

“You won’t feel any better if you don’t stop bloody moping,” your mother began, as you stabbed your potatoes, “you need some fresh air.”

“Mum, I told you, it's ha –”

“Don’t start with that ‘mental health’,” she continued, “simply a heap of city nowt, innit?”

 You bit down on the potato much harder than needed. Getting into a fight with them this early wouldn’t be any help.

“I’ll be out of here as soon as I get a job in–”

“Don’t be daft,” your dad cut you off, “uni didn’t work out - big deal, eh? You’re skint but you’re home now. Maybe this is a sign, love.”

“A sign?”

“Yes,” your father was nodding as he spoke, as if he was convincing himself of it too, “The lord works in mysterious ways. Maybe the big city isn’t for you.”

“I lived there for six years, dad,” you couldn’t help the anger from spilling out between your teeth, “I were close to–”

“Look at what it got you, sweetheart,” your mother cut in, shaking her head, “thank the lord you’re back - he got you, hun.”

He got you.

“Well, he didn’t in London!” you finally snapped, standing up, dropping the cutlery onto the ceramic plate “you don’t fucking understand what its like to be back here!”

“Do not cuss!” your mother hissed, “Sit down now and actually talk with –”

“I’m not hungry. Thanks for dinner.”

You didn’t take your dish to the kitchen to clean off, you didn’t look back at them - you merely disappeared upstairs to your old bedroom.

The pink walls were still filled with old posters of horses and of you and your sister… and your old horse.

Your younger self sat proudly on the big horse with a giant grin on your face. The shire horse had been called Mary. It died four years ago and you had tried not to cry like crazy when it happened, but when the big horse had laid with its head in your lap and taken its last breath, you had broken down anyways.

The bed squeaked as you laid down after changing into shorts and your sleeping t-shirt, pulling the flowery blankets over you. 

Fuck this place, fuck their fucking daft god. That god hadn’t stopped the things that happened to you - getting fired, being unable to pay your rent and for your classes. Being robbed at knifepoint, getting stabbed, having to drop out. You were broke and at home with your crazy parents, who thought all the shit you had gone through was a “sign from God”.

Fuck that.

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It was the hard knocking on the front door that pulled you out of your slumber, making you sit up with a grunt; it returned a moment later and it was more out of instinct than actual thinking that got you out of bed. Without any thought you trudged downstairs, ready to tell your dad to stop forgetting his keys - you don’t know why they even fucking bother to lock the doors out here, in the fucking middle of nowhere —

As you touched the door handle and pushed down, it turned out it wasn’t even locked. You ripped it open, ready to scold them, but…

It wasn’t any of your parents on the other side of the door. In fact, it was two complete strangers.

The one who had been knocking was tall. Very tall. 6’10 if you had to guess. You had to tip your head up a bit to meet the eyes of him; slicked back dark hair, with a moustache and stubbles, a sharp nose and brown eyes. He wore a striped knit and an army green puffer vest and a pair of work pants and slightly dirty boots.

The guy behind him was maybe 6’2, he wore a beanie and had mutton chops and a grin on his face. He was dressed in a knit too, though he had a jacket over, wearing similar pants and boots as the first man.

“Well, good morning, young lady,” the man closest greeted you with a smile, Russian accent clear, not even trying to hide his eyes sliding over your body and you suddenly felt exposed in your small shorts and t-shirt that exposed a big part of your right shoulder, “you must be the youngest daughter, da?”

You blinked. Who the fuck where these two giants?

“Uhm, I - uhm yeah -“ 

Before you managed to say anything else your mother ripped you away from the door, anger clear in her face, hissing your name and adding a sharp “get some actual proper clothes on!”

You were pretty sure that she would have called you a tramp, hadn’t it been for the guests in the door.

“Nikolai! John!”

“Mrs. Clarke! We do not disturb, do we?”

You were already disappearing up the stairs, hearing your mother invite them in, telling them that sleeping in this late was something you learned in the city.

As if you didn’t get up at five a lot of days for your job and classes - but you bit your tongue, hurrying into your room to change your clothes. Because who the fuck were these Nikolai and John?

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Hair tamed and in clothes that didn’t invoke sin in your mother’s eyes, you dared to return downstairs. 

“There you are! Come greet our neighbours properly then grab a cuppa, the water is still hot.” Your mother waved you over, a smile on her face that looked familiar; it was the one she always got when she had a plan.

“Ah, hello again. Apologies for waking you up, dorogaya,” both of the men stood up, the guy with the Russian accent closest again, as he smiled and shook your hand, even winking at you “I am Nikolai Petrov - I bought the farm next to yours.”

“Oh - the one with the plums?” You asked, childhood memories rushing back, before you remembered to tell him your name. Why was he attractive? He was probably your parents' age and the idea of finding him attractive made your toes curl. Sinful, your mother would chastise if you ever mentioned it and at least she didn’t see him winking. He had a scar across his eyebrow and another one near his cheek.

You hadn’t even known the plum orchard had been sold - your parents mentioned it being for sale last winter, but you hadn’t expected anyone to buy that old piece of shit this quickly.

“I’m Johnathan Price - but John is fine. I’m Nikolai’s right hand,” the other with the mutton chops, his beanie on the table, a scar near his jaw and neck “we didn’t know you had already returned.”

Ah, wasn’t that just wonderful. That meant your parents had told them about you - probably all the parts about you failing in the “big city”.

“Da, we would have come to say hello earlier.”

“That’s okay - only been here a few days.”

“Moping all the time!” You dad chipped in as he stepped into the living room, making you send him a stare and his a sharp “dad” at him, “hello lads.”

You didn’t look at the men as they greeted your father back, abandoning them all with a short “gotta have a coffee.”

You heard your mother snort, telling the men about how you had learned to drink coffee in London and abandoned the wonderful world of tea. Which wasn’t true but this whole situation was bad enough as it was.

You returned to the table a few moments later after gripping the kitchen counter and pretending you didn’t want to leave immediately.

Nikolai smiled happily at you. 

“When did you buy the orchard?” You asked politely before taking a sip of the coffee, trying to ignore the pleased smile on your mother’s face.

When you were a kid, the plum orchard had been a perfect hideaway. You had stolen one or two almost daily when they were ripe and helped your mother making marmalade when the neighbours swung by to give you some as well as some corn. In return they got a lot of walnuts from your own orchard and some flour from your own fields. Sometimes you had also had potatoes, which you had hated, eating so many on the regular that they had become boring. Always just… boiled, if it was wild then it was mashed.

“This January,” Nikolai happily answered, “my men and I fell in love with it.”

“February, Nik,” John corrected with a smile.

“Ah, da - almost same,” Nikolai answered with a wave at his friend, making your father chuckle.

“We’ve been busy renovating and getting the fields ready.”

“It’s a big place,” your dad commented, “you’ve been busy.”

“We are luckily five people,” Nikolai smiled at you, smoothing his somewhat long hair back a bit, “makes it easier.”

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“Weren’t they just lovely?” Your mother eagerly asked as the two men disappeared down the dirt road in their own pick up truck, “so proper and polite. They helped with your father’s tractor too.”

“Good men,” your father eagerly agreed, “especially Nikolai, he has been very kind even though he is a Russian. Christian too, I think.”

You had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes at both the problematic statement as well as the Christian one.

“Sure,” you agreed, already wary about where this was going, because it seemed slightly out of character for your parents to be this passionate about your neighbours, “they seemed kind.”

“Veterans too,” your father continued, “helped protect our country, high up it seems. They live with their other military friends - seemed to be a team.”

“Yes - I’m sure you’ll meet the rest. Kyle and Johnny are very sweet too! Simon too, but he is a bit more on the silent type.”

“Covered in scars,” your father agreed, “probably some of that - what do they call it, pdvt?”

“PTSD,” you dryly corrected, not wanting to point out that that was technically a part of the so called mental health from the big city that they usually didn’t believe in.

“Ah, yes. Good men, the whole lot.”

“And Nikolai is unmarried, you know.” Your mother happily added, giving you a small puff and shit, there it was, their awful plan, “he is —“

“Nope,” you turned on your foot to go inside, “not even entertaining that idea.

“C’mon hun,” your parents followed you and your father cut your path towards the stairs off, “maybe you should think about marrying - you’re not getting any youn—“

“You stop that shit right there!” You hissed while pointing at him, your father’s upper lip lifting at the swear word, “I’m not marrying some farmer that the two of you like.”

“Don’t talk like that,” your mother touched your shoulder, “he is a good man. An education didn’t work out and that’s okay - your sister is happy - maybe the housewife life is more—“

“Nope,” you easily cut her off too, shaking her hand off you, taking a step away from the both of them while your mother huffed and your father pulled out his pipe from his pocket.

“A young handsome man like that would be a wonderful husba—“

“He is almost your age,” you hissed, “You cannot be serious.”

“Bollocks! Much younger!” your father said, pipe resting in his hand, tone a little sharper, “And don’t talk to your mother like that.”

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” you then simply declared, putting on your shoes.

“At least consider it!” Your mother yelled after you as you walked towards the walnut trees.

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You trudged through the mud next to the sheep enclosure, ignoring the many eyes on you from them, the occasional bleat leaving them. You crawled the fence to the walnut trees and disappeared in between them.

How the fuck where you going to survive this? You hadn’t even been there a week and they already wanted to marry you off to their new neighbours.

Your sister is happy, your dad had mentioned.

Your sister. Sweet and smart Elisabeth who moved to the US even before you moved to London. She had always been the more proper of you two, and had found a good Christian husband over there. Married a big lawyer and moved to New York. Lived in a big apartment with two kids and a third on the way. Everything your parents had wanted for both of their daughters - her only mistake was moving so far away but somehow that was easier to forgive than your choices in life.

You let your hands slap against each tree trunk as you passed them, hating the anger inside yourself.

Jealousy was a sin, your mother had mentioned throughout the years, don’t be jealous. It was easy to say, easy to promise but almost fucking impossible to actually live after.

Yes, you were jealous. Of course you were. It sat deep in your bones, gnawing at them like a pest. A natural feeling, Beatrice had pointed out, but that didn’t mean it was an easy one to have. Just like anger, jealousy was impossible to avoid, what was important was the way one reacted to them.

You kept walking. Bees swarmed past you, the occasional spider web making you paw helplessly in the air as they hit your face. The soft wind made the leaves above you rustle gently as if the orchard was greeting you. Welcome back. The thought made you huff.

Eventually you reached it.

It was bigger than a lot of the others, maybe older than your parents, its branches reaching out towards the sky as if it tried to touch the clouds. You had always gone to this tree. When your sister lived at home the two of you had often crawled up in it - the moment she disappeared nine years ago, you had been alone whenever you returned to it.

It had been years since you had climbed a tree, the burn in your legs and arms worse than you remembered. But the way up came naturally. That branch, then that one - then grab the big one and use the bump on it to push yourself up.

Finally you reached the branch. It was thick, sturdy. It had held your body weight for years, both you and your sister. Your eyes flickered to the trunk, looking for the heart shaped cut the two of you had carved about ten years ago. By now it had almost disappeared and you pushed away some moss to see it properly.

The was almost three metres up in the air, giving a view over the orchard and fields in the distance. Leaning onto the branch next to it, a bit further up, you let out a small sigh. This you had missed, you supposed. When you were a kid your parents had hated that you and Elisabeth had constantly climbed this far up - you understood it a bit more now, but none of you had ever fallen. You didn’t fear it, not this tree. This was your tree, your branches. 

The sun wasn’t even that high yet, the branches a bit cold to the touch, the leaves keeping you in the shadow. 

Peace. Quiet.

No parents who wanted to marry you off. 

You needed some sort of job - soon. But you doubted anyone in the area needed someone with an unfinished bachelor in interior design. You dreaded the idea of working in some sort of local supermarket in Millhaven or a pub. There wasn’t anything wrong with those jobs, you had done both through the years in London. It was just because this was Millhaven. The shame from leaving, declaring that you would never move back, only to now crawl back home to your parents, penniless and without anywhere else to go.

No, you would need to pull yourself together. Work half a year or something and then leave. Maybe you could find something extra online. Fuck it, at this point the idea of an onlyfans didn’t even sound back. God forbid your parents ever found out you have that thought. 

Your eyes flickered over to the old Smith farm - which you supposed it couldn’t be called anymore. What was his last name, Patrov? Petrav - Petrov? Something like that. No longer Smith’s. 

The trees that would carry the plums curled along the land in their neat rows, just like the walnut trees at your own farm. Colorful painted bee hives rested in between a lot of them, reminding you of when you and your sister helped paint the wooden structures.

Movement then, gripping your attention. You could barely glimpse a couple of people crossing the backyard before disappearing into the main house.

It looked like it had been freshly painted, a structure to what could be a chicken coop in the garden too. They had been busy. You were able to spot a couple of different cars and trucks in the driveway.

You licked your lips absentmindedly. 

When you were a kid you would steal the occasional plum, adrenaline rushing through you when you did, as if the Smiths had cared if you took one. It was more the idea of stealing it, of enjoying the sweet taste, plum juices dripping down your fingers. Sometimes, when you had gone for a ride on Mary, you would nick one and remove the pit, letting the shire munch the plum.

Those had been good times. Nice times.

You rested your head against the upper branch. Facing your parents was inevitable, but you could spend a little while out here.

The orchards didn’t demand anything of you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dragonfly 6

Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.

Character: Frank Castle

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Part of the Trailer Park AU

Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️

“There y’are, Magdaline,” Frank claps off his hands as he finishes transferring the last bunch of pansies.

“Wow. A neanderthal can use tools,” your grandma harangues smugly.

“Ah, ya know, I figured it out,” Frank’s tone is cool. “Almost looks like a real lady lives her and not some old witch.”

Your grandma scoffs. She’s quiet for a moment as she moves her crochet hooks. “Smart ass.” She mutters.

Frank shrugs. “Well, I should let you ladies enjoy the evening. I gotta go clean up.”

“So does she. Look at her nails. Dirt all under em, paint all over her.” Your grandma chides. “Grown and all but still actin’ like a damn child.”

You cringe and hide your hands behind you, gripping your wrist tight. “Uh… thank you, Frank.”

“Anytime.” He assures.

“Ya mean it? Get this girl outta my hair?” Your grandma cackles. “Godsend.”

You chew your lip and smile tightly. “Ha, your funny, gran.”

Frank’s thick brow tweaks just a little. “Ya, well, I've taken up enough of your time today.” He gives a salute. 

He turns and stalks back to his trailer. His back and arms muscles bulge with each subtle swing of his arms. You clutch your wrist even tighter and turn to your grandma. “I like the boxes, don't you?”

“Man's got too much time. That's what happens when all you're good for is the service.” She clucks. “My second husband was a Navy prick. The one before you were around. Limp fish, that one.” She spits and reaches her arm out. “Come on, help me off my damn ass.”

You grab her head and get her up. She shoves her crochet into your chest and a needle pokes your neck, the hook scratching you good. She growls and shuffles around the chair and inside.

“Could use some tea.” She grits.

You follow her in and out her crochet on the table. You flip on the electric kettle and hurry out to get her chair. It folds around your finger and you grunt. You haul it inside as your grandmother coughs.

“You sure are slow. Bet you let that man do all the work.” She sneers.

“No, I… helped.” You push her lawn chair until it locks again. You grab her pillow and throw blanket as she drops into it, the frame creaking.

“Sure. You don't really have a concept of help.” She groans and leans back.

You go to the kitchen and wait on the water. You learned long ago not to argue. She wasn't always wrong, was she?

You make her tea how she likes, with the last of the milk. You sit at your desk and yawn over your half-shaped frame. You want it to be a sparrow but it's taking a lot of work.

You're too tired to do more than sort through your gathered supplies. You're like a crow, out searching for shiny things. Your grandmother slurps and picks up her latest crime novel.

After a while, you relent and lay down on the folding couch where you sleep. She keeps her lamp on and reads well into the night, even after you change into your pajamas. You drift off into dreams painted the same yellow as the day’s sunlight.

You hear Frank’s timbre but can’t make out his words. Almost as if he’s not saying anything at all but just making noises. You can see his shadow, then his thick hands, his forearms lined with tendons and veins that strain with the tension of his grip. You don’t know what he’s holding onto but you feel a tingle in your stomach.

You wake, disoriented and thirsty as heck. It's from all that time in the sun. You grab a glass of water as your grandmother gives a start and picks up her book again. You go outside, afraid to disturb her.

You sit with your glass of water on the front steps. It's quiet. The way it gets when everyone's asleep. You can see a raccoon creeping across another lot.

You sip slowly, the scratch on your throat fading. The evening is balmy as the day's heat clings on stubbornly. You set the glass down and cup your chin, elbows on your knees.

“Crazy… always have been…” the grizzly grumble startles you. “Old man…”

You glance over and see the shadow near Frank's step. It's him. You can tell by his silhouette alone. He's running his hands through his hair, his back to you as he rambles to himself. It reminds you of your dream and the quivery sensation.

“Gotta be nice.” His voice rolls like distant thunder.

He paces back and forth. You can't help but wonder if he means your grandma. She can be a bit out there and she's not the nicest.

He stops again. He turns and you swear he’s looking right at you. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he drags his hands over his beard. He shifts on his feet and groans. He rubs his neck and tilts his head to crack it.

He huffs and retreats inside. You sit in the silence and stare at his trailer. His window opens but he doesn’t look out. It just lets out the soft amber glow of the light within.

You wait a few minutes before you go back inside. You rinse your glass and lay down. Your grandma sighs. “Why didn't ya tell me it was so late, girl?”

She gets to and throws the book so it hits the edge of the table and falls. You flinch and listen to her stomp to her room. When you do bother to mention the time, she retorts dryly that she can still read a clock.

You close your eyes. Nothing you do will make her happy. You never expect it to but if there’s nothing to complain about, she might forget you’re around. And if she does that, life would be a lot easier.

[total-killer-brainrot]

cw dubcon pup play. kidnapping.? daddy kink (papa/papochka) musk kink

"You will be good for papa, won't you, puppy?"

Your eyes rolled back as Nikolai scratched behind your ear. The spot making your body tingle wonderfully. Leg kicking out as you leaned closer to his touch.

"Yes you will... so good, Milaya."

The moment he turned to open the door you sat up straight. Nervously fixing your hair and collar to be presentable. God forbid you embarrass your papa.

There were more men than you were expecting. Four of them filing into Nikolai's lush living room. One by one catching sight of you and freezing. Staring in shock. You recognised them. But your thoughts were so slow. A warm swamp that just wasn't worth slogging through to come to a conclusion.

"Is that..." John mumbled. Eyes wide with surprise.

"The rookie that disappeared six months ago..." Ghost replied. Just as zeroed in on your nude form.

"The rookie that could not follow orders and nearly got us killed." Nikolai finished. Petting your hair and smirking when you leaned into his hand. "Useless soldier. Much better pet, yes?"

He didn't get a response.

"She enjoys it. Don't you, pup?" His grin widening when you nodded eagerly. His voice the only clear thing in your mind. "Would you like to show Papa's friends your tricks?"

At the little 'arf' you let out, Johnny muttered under his breath. Entire face bright red. Already chubbing embarrassingly fast in his pants.

"Steamin' bloody jesus..."

Nikolai moved to sit on the couch. Hands on his knees as he watched you. Fidgeting in your seat while you waited for an instruction.

"Roll over."

In an instant you twisted on the ground. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you rolled just like he said. So desperate to be good for him.

"Shake."

You immediately jumped up. Sitting on your haunches and rocking slightly so your tits bounced. Kyle let out a half cough, half curse. Quickly looking away in respect. As if you had any dignity left at this point.

The soft flesh of your chest jiggled with each bounce. Continuing until Nik nodded with approval before finally settling back against your heels. Something akin to embarrassment clawing at the back of your throat. So close to registering. But any sense of humiliation had been trained out of you months ago.

"Present for Papa."

Not a moment of hesitation. You were suddenly on all fours. Ass pointed in the air so your bare cunt was exposed. All the men in the room now able to see how obscenely slick you were. Pussy soaked with arousal.

"Good girl." Nik hummed. The praise going straight to your clit. "You want a treat?"

Even though you didn't move from your spot, they could tell how badly you wanted. Entire body nearly vibrating with need.

"Come get a treat, Milaya."

In less than a second you were between his legs. Nose pressed against the hidden bulge of his cock. Huffing deeply with a pathetic whine. Rubbing your face against him like a proper mutt. Eager to smell like your owner. Your papa.

"Fuckin' hell, Nik." John said. Breaking the tense silence. "Can you do Johnny next?"

[silverlullabies]

[shout out to @konigs-lover who sent me this nsfw artwork which possessed me early this morning.]

Imagine König’s massive frame wedged tight under a crumbling broken section of wall, gear snagged, shoulders jammed at an awkward angle, lower body stuck helplessly on the other side of the wall, voice gone hoarse from shouting for help. Any second now, someone would find him. A teammate. A friendly. Anyone.

Fingers brushing his hips. Relief crashing through him. “Ja- here! I’m stuck, pull me- ”

The hands didn’t pull tho. What they did was slid lower, hook into his waistband, and yank, pants and underwear dragging down in one rough motion, catching briefly on the thick muscle of his thighs before his cock sprang free into the cool air, heavy and already half hard from adrenaline an the awkward position.

“What- ?”

A soft, warm palm wrapped around him, fingers stretching wide around the girth of his cock, stroking, thumb dragging slow over the flushed head and smearing the bead of precum that had already gathered.

König jerki no hard, trying to twist away, but the wall held him fast as the hand continued squeezing, stroking again, almost curious.

Then came the press of thighs.

Soft. Delicate. Trembling faintly as they bracketed his own powerful legs, hand wrapping around his cock and the head nudging against a cunt before sinking down slow, tight heat splitting wider and wider around his cock. Every inch was a struggle. He could feel the way your walls fluttered and fought the intrusion, the burn, the way you had to rock and twist to take more of him.

His cock was too thick, too long, and your were forcing it anyway. The head popped past the tightest ring and you kept going, thighs trembling violently, soft gasps turning into bitten off whimpers as you sank lower, lower, until your ass was flush against him and he was buried to the hilt in scorching, clenching heat that felt like it was trying to strangle his cock.

König’s head cracked against the stone. A guttural, broken groan tore out of his chest.

“Scheiße- you’re- hnnngh- too fucking tight- ”

You started moving, rolled tour hips in desperate, greedy circles, using his stuck body like a toy they’d found. Every drag of that impossibly tight cunt up his length made his vision white out. Every time you dropped back down, takin him all over again, the wet, filthy sound of it echoed in the narrow space.

Your thighs shook harder as you fucked themselves on him harder, faster, chasing something.

He couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t thrust. Couldn’t pull out. Could only stand there, pinned and used, while some faceless stranger took what they wanted from his cock. His balls were drawn up tight, cock throbbing violently inside that squeezing heat, leaking steadily with every clench. He could feel you getting wetter, slicker, the mess dripping down his shaft and onto his thighs.

“Hör auf- stop- I’ll- fuck- I’m gonna- ”

You didn’t stop, only rode him harder, cunt fluttering and spasming around the thick intrusion like you were getting off on how much it hurt, how much it shouldn’t fit. König’s growls turned ragged, voice cracking behind the wall. His hips jerked uselessly, trying to buck you off, trying to thrust deeper despite himself, and every failed movement only made the tight heat grip him harder.

He was close.

Humiliatingly, terrifyingly close- cock pulsing, thighs shaking, trapped and used and unable to do a single fucking thing about it.

[drhobby]

the intervention

ex husband!robbyxf!reader / the pittlings think robby is harassing you and stage an intervention. three little pittlings, one braincell total. based entirely in this request. wc: 1.5 k make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content

Santos was the first to notice. Of course she was. Being the hyper-alert, defensive, and perpetually guarded kid she was, she didn’t blink when Dr. Robby muttered, “If only I were that lucky,” right after you’d grunted, “Oh, fuck me,” while tossing your gloves into the trash. A patient had just refused treatment, claiming it was “toxic” to check the baby with an ultrasound, and your frustration had been palpable.

But that was only the first of many incidents.

There was the time you had backed into him while maneuvering a gurney toward the elevators, and Robby’s hands had instinctively gone to your waist to stabilize you. When you’d muttered a “sorry,” he’d smirked at you with a suggestive, “Anytime.”

Then there was the emergency consult. Your hair was down, loose over your shoulders, and while you attended to the patient, Robby reached out and softly pulled your hair back with a rubber band. When you’d asked, “What are you doing?” he’d simply replied, “Your hair?” You had scoffed, rolled your eyes, and turned to him, spitting out for him only, “Imagining something else, Dr. Robinavitch?” Robby had laughed, and you had turned back to the patient. Your hair was now tied in a low ponytail.

You had shot Santos a glare that she interpreted as, “Save yourself.”

Trinity also knew that Robby didn’t touch anyone. She’d gathered he didn’t like being touched, either. Whenever he needed her, he’d gesture with his fingers to gain her attention; if he was guiding her somewhere, his hand would ghost near her shoulder, but he never actually made contact. Yet with you, his hands were on you all. The. Time. And you didn’t seem to register it anymore. Trinity had seen you shrug his hand off your shoulder once, and that was enough for her to realize that all of Robby’s attention was unwanted. Her heart broke in that specific way it does when you lose a mentor to misogyny.

Without further ado, Trinity sighed, mourning the loss of the man she had once viewed as a father figure, now reduced to just another “me-too” creep.

.

Then it was Javadi. She had noticed the way Robby’s eyes softened when you were around; how his usual frown disappeared, and how, sometimes, he almost smiled. She noticed how he maneuvered around you to hand you whatever you needed, how he reached for the high shelves so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes, and how he’d open stubborn vials for you.

She had even witnessed him pulling out a chair for you to sit, and how you seemed so accustomed to it that you simply muttered a thanks and kept on typing your notes.

Once, you walked up to the Nurses' Hub with your car keys and a new pack of batteries. As you fumbled to open the casing, Robby took the key from your hands and did it himself. He swapped the battery, slipped the used one into his pocket, saying he’d take it to the recycling bin, and handed it back. You had smiled at him, reattached your keys to your lanyard, and walked straight toward the patient he had been discussing with you.

Javadi was also acutely aware that Dr. Robby was tall and had a long stride; she usually found herself jogging to keep up with him, but with you, he always slowed to your pace. He would stare at you while you spoke, never daring to make a move without watching you. So much so that he looked almost clumsy whenever your eyes were on him.

Victoria looked at the evidence and concluded that Dr. Robby had a massive crush on you. And, to her, it looked like you certainly enjoyed the attention.

.

Whitaker had not been paying that much attention. He was too busy trying not to fuck up. The first time he heard Dr. Robby call you “honey” in the Trauma Room he believed to have misheard.

The second time it was you were leaving an exam room, taking off your gloves and discussing the treatment plan with Robby, when he had said “Thanks sweetheart.” And left. You went on your way to the elevators without addressing him. But also without lashing out. Dennis’ brows creased.

The third one, after a successful save, Robby had all but chanted “great job, baby” as he smiled at you with the hazy look of adrenaline rush. You muttered “Thank you, doctor Robby” to him with a clipped smile and that was enough for Dennis to feel the interaction had been wrong.

That day he had gone to Trinity and told her what he had heard. She looked at him with those angry blue eyes and pulled him to the ambulance bay.

“I noticed too.” She spat in that angry voice she used when she was hurt. “Should we say something?” 

“Say something about what?” Javadi asked, who had apparently followed them outside. 

Santos simply huffed and Dennis explained all the inappropriate behavior they have seen from Doctor Robby to one of the OB-GYN attendings. And that yes, it was only towards her but that it was still sexual harassment.

“She doesn't really seem to mind?” Dennis said, still uncertain of what he was saying, or defending. 

“Do you think she is going to report the Chief of Emergency Medicine?” Santos asked, rolling her eyes. 

“Guys” Victoria chimed in, laughing, “He obviously just has a crush with her. He is all acts of service when she’s around!” 

“Yeah and he also touches her inappropriately.” Trinity argued.

“And calls her baby” Dennis muttered, disappointed.

“And you know what? Everyone knows!” Trinity’s voice was rising. Her anger palpable. “They all know, hear it, see it and they just laugh. Dana scoffs and shakes her head. Abbot even encourages him!!” She took a deep breath. “We should talk to him” 

“Talk with who?” 

Robby stood nearby, head tilted, looking slightly concerned by the intense, secret meeting his interns were holding. They all froze, eyes widening in fear. He clearly understood the subject of the conversation was himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Robby pressed. 

They exchanged glances, but his gaze was focused on Santos, who seemed to be the leader of the rebellion.

“We think–” Santos began.

“I don’t” Javadi scoffed, raising both palms as if to physically distance herself from the mess.

Robby placed his hands on his hips and looked down at them. “Yes?” 

“Well, Huckleberry and I think that you’re harassing another attending”

Robby’s eyes could’ve dropped out of his eyelids. He felt to had been physically pushed back. “What?” He asked. And not because he hadn’t understand the statement, but because he didn’t understand anything about it. 

Then Santos said your name, raising her chin in that solemn way she does when she is certain of something. And Robby laughed. He just laughed. The stress he had felt seconds ago vanished into laughter. 

“It is not funny, Doctor Robby.” Santos insisted, but he kept laughing. “You’re abusing your power as Chief to harass her knowing she won’t report you to the board.” 

“Hold on” Robby wiped a stray tear of laughter from his cheek, “you think she needs the board to put me in place?” 

Trinity’s mouth opened. Then closed again.

“We just wanted to let you know we are not comfortable with that behavior.” Dennis gathered all the bravado in his body to mutter that sentence. 

Robby’s heart softened, his eyes rolled fondly. “She’s my ex-wife. I am not harassing her, I am trying to win her back.” 

A collective “ohh” echoed in the ambulance bay. The three of them stared at him puzzled. Trinity was still not buying it. Javadi was shocked, like she didn’t believe he was your ex-husband. And Dennis seemed relieved. 

“Thank you for your concerns. Get back to work.” Robby ordered. He watched them scramble back into the ED and followed them inside, only to find you walking in at the same moment. 

“Hey, honey.” He greeted, for your ears only, he hoped. “My interns just did an intervention on me” 

You stopped and looked up at him, concerned. “What about?” 

“They think I am sexually harassing you.” 

You laughed.

“That I am abusing my power as Chief to harass you knowing you won’t report me.” 

“Mmmm” you tapped a finger to your chin, “perhaps I should report you” 

Robby’s face fell. But you continued. 

“Loosing your license might be the only way to stop you from working your ass to death.” 

He let out a full, unguarded laugh. “Yeah? And what would I do without a job?” 

You offered him a smile; a cruel, calculating curve of your lips. “Be a trophy husband, of course.”

You winked and walked into the ED.

tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics

[rawme-price]

Thinking about ghost and gaz who, due to trauma and personal reasons, are both strictly tops, right?

Usually they make it work. Toys, mutual masturbation, jerking eachother off. Sure, with the random libido spikes it's a challenge, but nothing two SAS soldiers can't handle.

Sometimes, though, that craving for a nice warm hole to fuck just gets to be too much. Which leads to a pair of the hottest men you've seen hanging around the back of your local bar.

This is a practiced song and dance for them. Ghost far more particular about partner but lacking the social finesse, he points to people he wants and let's gaz do the rest.

Really, kyle has you the moment he leaned one shoulder against the wall, semi-caging you in with that warm smile. The heated kiss was just a bonus on top.

You'll only make the connection that they're married when kyle pulls ghost in for a kiss over your body. The fat underside of his cock rubbing over your tongue, ghost's cock buried deep in your hole.

You twist, desperate to see them, to soak in that genuine love you only receive fractions of. It's wet and messy, the scars on ghosts face dripping more spit onto your back than anything. But kyle only presses further, moaning against his husbands skin.

Afterwards, when you feel like your joints may give out and at least ten percent of your weight is cum, they'll pull you in between them with a content sigh. You'll drift off to bed between two lovers without feeling like a brick wall.

In the kitchen, far before you wake, you'll miss the conversation ghost and gaz have about a more permanent third.

[rawme-price]

People don't believe you when you tell them you're a wolf hybrid, not that you don't expect it.

After all, you're a low-presenting hybrid. Lacking really any hybrid characteristics besides your instincts. Something that used to bother you, being the odd one out in a high-presentation family.

Nowadays, it only makes you cock your head at gaz in an imitation of your brother's with their ears "what do you mean you've got a proper wolf on the team?"

"Ghost, our wold hybrid," gaz shrugs all casual, even a bit braggy "not sure he'd like you going around claiming to be one, though."

You doubt that, Given you still smell like a wolf. All hybrids have a certain smell to them that's hard to cover all the time. "Where is he?"

"Probably in the gym– what– hey!" Gaz makes to grab your wrist, then seems to think better of it. Some newbie getting chewed up by ghost is none of his concern...he'll make an effort to keep your blood inside after a few weeks. "...don't be an idiot!"

The gym is empty this late into the night, most lights off except for the section by the punching bag. There, you spot him.

As it turns out, ghost is the highest presentation wolf you've seen yet. He's also in horrible condition.

Matted fur, ears pinned back. You're sure his tail aches to move with all the knots pulling at skin, and by the way he holds himself you wonder what else hurts. You don't get to inspect further, because the second you step closer a deep growl bursts from his chest, eyes catching on you.

It's so sudden you instinctively back off, head tilted back, whining the best you can. Not for the first time, you wish you had proper ears and tail to convey what you mean. Instead, you resort to your voice and whisper "sorry, sir. Just wanted to introduce myself. I'm....I'm the new wolf on the team."

The growling continues for an excruciatingly long moment, warning or show of power you don't know. But between one breath and the next you're being shoulder checked by a body much bigger than yours, stumbling embarrassingly far.

"Stay away from my pack, runt." Ghost glances back at you over his shoulder.

The intimidation is ruined by a better view of those mats, of the claw marks barely peaking out from his shirt. He just looks...bad. unwell.

You wonder why no one's helping him, if he claims them as a pack. You wonder how much you'll have to sacrifice to help him. Christ, that poor lonely wolf in you can't tell danger from opportunity and just wants to bond with something like it.

...decision made, you slink to your barracks and resign yourself to observe ghost for a few days before making a move.

[lackadaisies]

childhood bestfriend!ghost who's totally gross and youʼd neever ever be attracted to because he's like an older brother to you, that's practically incest, you swear! childhoodbsf!ghost who graduated hs before you and made a big deal about picking you up from class and driving you around town because it made him feel proud and more capable (while your friends tease about being picked up by an 'older guy', but you swear it's not like that), and is later your senior in college so ofc he takes it upon himself to take you to your first frat party. he's perfectly acclimated with the roughhousers and buzzed his hair a year into college, a world apart from the snooty freshers in your year, but he boasts you as his prodigal childhood friend like it's take-your-kid-to-work day. that's my baby. don't even think about it, she's practically my baby sister. i love her like a sister, he announces with an arm hanging around your shoulders obnoxiously while you cringe away from the too-hard kiss to your cheek. he scents you like an animal warding off hostiles and everyone can smell his cigarettes and aftershave on you.

childhoodbsf!ghost who you say “ew, ew, ew” to and call him gross while he jerks off on your face like some perv.

your face is screwed up in a frown and your feigned annoyance somehow makes him harder. you're utterly out of your depth, cringing at the feeling of his cock in your hands (barely able to link your fingers around his girth) and refusing to meet his eyes. simon doesn't take offense; you just need some 'brotherly' love to ease you into this. to teach you that it's perfectly natural, nothing to be ashamed of. don't be scared to touch it. it's not ew, baby. it just shows how good you make me feel. i mean, who better to teach you than your one and only big brother? you don't really understand the logic—you aren't particularly good at this, but all it takes is your face to get him off.

a/n: may or may not add onto this.

stepbro!simon

[lackadaisies]

childhoodbsf!ghost who forces you to stay so, so quiet when he fucks you while your friends are home, saying you wouldn't want them to hear how good big bro makes you feel, right? quiet as a mouse, kiddo. only, you know it's because he's too possessive to let anyone else hear what you sound like in bed. to him, you're still his baby and he'd be damned if anybody started getting ideas about you. he definitely isn't the type to kiss and tell--prefers to keep things sacred because it's like keeping a piece of you to himself and himself only.

he promises it'll just be a quickie before the guys arrive, but then you hear the muffled click of the front door and his roommate brings everyone pouring into the flat while you're still pinned between the mirror and simon's torso. you flinch with simon fully sheathed inside of you at a loud hammering on the bedroom door, before someone hollers, “Come on out, man! You jerking off in there?” you scowl at an unbecoming remark simon makes about the recipient's no-doubt lovely mother in response, but rather than giving him a piece of your mind as you're so tempted to, your grievances are quashed behind the palm of his huge hand.

childhoodbsf!ghost who holds your sopping folds open in front of a mirror to watch your cunt suck him in as his hips stab in behind, thrusts only getting harder, deeper, with an urgency to finish inside you as time runs out. calls you his baby while he's at it. he's almost obsessive about it—the idea that you're his. the pretense that you share the same blood is part of it; no one else knows you better, nothing else can replace your bond. it's a heady thing. well, you can't deny it, you practically were born together.

childhoodbsf!ghost who's never deterred by your embarrassment—haplessly covering your bits with your hands and trying to clamp your trembling legs shut—because his favorite girl has nothing to be ashamed of and he absolutely has a kink for treating you like you're perfect and pure while he gets to be the big, bad wolf.

he's only aggressive about it—fingers digging in a little too hard, big arms practically smothering you and all—because he can't get enough of you. needs to be inside you—literally and figuratively.

[mistandmarigold]

I'm obsessed with the idea of reader who's part of tf14 and John Price going undercover as a new married couple in the neighborhood to investigate some terrorist or national threat or something.

It's odd considering your age gap. He's 38 and you are 25. But it was you and him who had done the most undercover work. Ghost had next to no experience in it apart from mandatory training, Gaz was a horrible actor, and Soap was a bit too good of an actor. Way too exaggerated in his speech and movements. He's a dead giveaway.

So, it was you and Price.

You definitely got some odd looks from your new neighbours when the two of you moved in. A few different couples and families came to greet you to which you would flaunt your ring and hang out of Prices arm. Absolutely enamored by your new husband.

"We're just back from our honeymoon! We can't wait to start fresh here, it's such a lovely neighbourhood. Where's the closest grocery store?"

If it were up to you, you wouldn't be so bubbly and ditzy, but Laswell insisted on that sort of personality. Apparently the wife of the guy you're after has a similiar personality and loves flaunting her relationship.

Therefore, you and Price obviously have to be as affectionate as possible at all times.

Random kisses while walking past their house, his arm around your shoulder, you insisting he carry you around when your feet get sore from your heels.

It was when you were out "gardening" (you had no clue how to garden) that she finally approached, insisting that you and John were just the cutest couple she had ever seen and that you absolutely had to go to their annual summer barbeque.

Of course when you were at that barbeque you and John had to run off to the bathroom. No of course you werent going in there at the same time! Its just a coincidence that you both had to go...

What a coincidence also that you couldn't get the zipper of your dress back up. John just had to go in and help you with it.

Yeah, you two made out in the bathroom like a bunch of horny teenagers but who could blame you? You were newly weds! And you obviously had to keep up the act.

And yes it was necessary for you both to sleep in the same bed every night, pressed close together with very minimal clothing. You never know who's watching.

It's necessary to act as in love as possible. Even when you're alone. All for the sake of the mission, of course.

—————

A/N: I kinda liked this lol should I expand on it? Turn it into an actual fic? Now I have the thought in my head I lowkey want to🫣

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dragonfly 5

Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.

Character: Frank Castle

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Part of the Trailer Park AU

Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️

"This one's about dry." Frank turns over the white-washed box. "Think you could add something. I dunno... Flowers? Dragonflies?"

"Grandma likes ladybugs," you suggest.

"Ah, course. You'd know best." He nods as he bends his arm to scratch his shoulder. The movement makes his chest bulge and for a moment, your gaze catches on his black chest hair.

"I can try." You hang your hand and trace the lines of your hand.

"Sure. While you're at it, maybe I'll fix up some lunch. Been at it all day." He grabs the tin can of paint brushes and puts them close to you. "You like burgers? Make em myself. Frank's special."

"Oh, um, I can eat at home..."

"Nah. You're workin' hard. You let me take care of ya." He drawls. He looks down and puts up his thumb. "Like ya did me."

You smile. Maybe you did help but you also hurt him first…

You nod. “Thank you, Frank.”

“Nothin’.” He says. “Anything you need, you tell me.”

“Okay.” You lower your head again and search through the can of brushes and the little pots of various shades of paint. Some are dented, others are missing labels. 

He lingers for a few seconds before he walks away. You peek up without lifting your head. You watch the firm muscles in his back shift as he strides. You swear, every time you look at him, he’s bigger than before.

You find a shade of red and set to work painting circles along the boards, speckling them randomly. The screen door whines and snaps. Frank comes out with a tray loaded with fixings. He goes to the grill on the other side of the lawn and lights it. You try not to get distracted but notice the apron tied around his naked torso.

You refocus and outline with black and add some dots and bits of white, little antenna too. You listen to Frank work as the smell and sizzle of cooking meat fills the air. He growls now and then as he lifts and closes the lid at intervals.

He approaches as you scratch your cheek. You look up at him sheepishly.

“Sugar, what d’ya like on your burger? Don’t got too much. BBQ sauce, mayo, honey mustard.” He offers.

“Just mayo…”

“You want some cheese? I can melt it on for ya?” He suggests.

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” You grin. “I love cheese.”

“Heh, good to know.”

“Got one cookin’ up for granny too. Don’t want her to feel left out.” He intones.

“That’s… really nice.” You say.

“Hmm,” he stares at you then bends down. He reaches for you as you lock up. He rubs his thumb coarsely across your cheek. “Got somethin’.”

He shows the black flecks of paint.

“Oh,” you grimace and use the backs of your wrists to wipe your cheek. “Sorry.”

“Nah, you look good either way.” He says. “I like that shirt. It’s real cute on ya.”

You look down on your collared shirt with the multicolored stripes.

“Thank you. It’s… old.”

“Fits ya nice,” he winks and stands straight. You read the front of his apron stretched across his firm pecs; ‘Your opinion isn’t in the recipe.’ It’s kind of funny.

“Almost done,” He says. “Good thing,” he slaps his stomach. “I’m starvin’.”

He backs up and returns to the grill. You look down and put the lids back on the paints. You go to the hose like before and rinse the brushes. You put everything neatly aside to let the box dry in the sun.

“I’m gonna wash my hands.” You say.

“Sure, should be soap by the sink.” He says.

“Oh, I was gonna go…” you point weakly over your shoulder.

“Nah, it’s closer.” He points with the spatula. “Go’n.”

“Thanks,” you squeak and flit for the front door.

You enter and make your way to the sink. You turn it on and use the unbranded lemon dish soap to scrub off the paint as best you can. Your finger is still tender from the splinter.

You look around for a towel and stop. There’s a single magnet on the fridge with a little not. There’s a scribble of a dragonfly beside the words, ‘don’t let it fly away.’ Hm. That’s… motivational, you guess.

You put the towel back on its hook and go outside again. Frank has a burger on a paper plate. “Got ya all served up, sugar pie.”

You glance over towards your trailer. “Do you have grandma’s? I could take it over.”

“I’ll get it. You sit and eat while it’s hot.” He shoves the plate at you.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You take the plate. “Looks good.”

You sit on the step and balance the plate on your lap. Your stomach growls. You hope he didn’t hear that. Kinda sounds like one of his grumbles.

“I’ll be back, sug.”

He marches off with another plate. You watch him cross the threshold between the lawns and approach your grandma under her umbrella. You hear their voices, not their words. He offers the plate and she hesitates. She takes it and shews him away.

He returns with a chuckle. “You’d think I’d offer her a dog’s dinner.”

You frown. “I’m sorry.”

“For her? Don’t be. She’s too old to learn manners.” He shrugs as he grabs his own plate. “Sometimes, you just gotta accept that other people’s actions ain’t your own.”

You purse your lips and hum. “I guess.”

“Well, dig in. Is it good?” He insists with a dip of his chin.

You take the plate in one hand and lift it. You hover it close and pick up the burger. You take a bite. It’s delicious but you’re also starving. You chew and nod, gulping before you muster a reply.

“Very good. I like it.”

“Emm,” he nods and bites into his own. BBQ sauce dips down his fingers and sets it down. He licks his lips and swallows down his mouthful. “Be nice if I had a set, huh? Chairs and a table? Something pretty. What d’ya think?”

“Oh… sure. Yeah.” You agree.

“You know, I was thinking…” he pauses and licks and sucks the sauce from his fingers, dragging his thumb along his lower lip before taking his burger again. You’re sweating but the sun’s behind the clouds. “You might do me a favour and help me pick a few things.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, I gotta make a trip into town, y’know?”

“Well… I guess… we’ll see.” You hide behind another bite of beef.

He purrs and digs into his own. You chew quietly and he swallows first. “It’d be real nice. Drivin’ with someone ‘side me. Been a while.”