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kakujis · 11 months

Text

do you love me?;

tokrev ver.

synopsis: you/they wake them/you up at 3am.

ft + wc: isagi yoichi, michael kaiser, oliver aiku. around 2k

warnings: gn!reader, no set timelines, pet names, situationship (oliver) extremely! soft! oliver!!, slightly angsty (oliver), slight jealousy (kaiser), kaiser's is suggestive, none really for isagi! aaand that should be it!

a/n: i finally finished something!! i've been in such a rut not only with writing but with reading. TnT. hopefully i can write more once my semester is finished! anyways, i wrote oliver's in basically one sitting kicking my feet n screaming. also ily to zen cus i dropped like the entire fic in their dms LMFAOO. and ily to su for proofreading for me!! hope u enjoy ♡.

isagi:

you always saw the twinkle in isagi yoichi’s eyes when he talked about soccer. it was cute, charming, and part of what attracted you to him. when the two of you finally started dating, soccer was very much a part of your lives. you’d pop in at practice whenever you could and much to his delight, you’d even try to learn about his idols and the game.

when you studied it on your own, it was fine, you could go at your own pace. but when isagi was there, it was a little different. he always had so much to say, so many techniques and teams to go over. he was like a walking soccer encyclopedia and you appreciated it, even when it got a little overwhelming.

but tonight, as he talked your ear off about noel noa for the nth time, you found yourself dozing off. the black haired striker’s eyes were glued to the match he was playing on the tv, every so often rewinding or slowing down a play to explain it. you tried your best, really, to stay awake but it was nearing 3am and soon enough yoichi was speaking to himself.

“man, that was sick!” he exclaims. he’s about to ask your opinion when he finally looks back to see your head in your arms, asleep. “…oh.”

he rouses you out of sleep, shaking your shoulder gently. when you awaken you’re met with his pouting face. you blink off the drowsiness, rubbing your eyes. “sorry i dozed off…” you reach for the remote, but he stops you. “yoichi?”

“do you love me?” you’re caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice and the intensity of his gaze.

you nod, “of course i do.”

“say it.” it’s not uncharacteristic for him to be intense at times, but the glint in his eye is something you usually only see when he’s playing. you didn’t think you’d see it now and it’s a bit amusing.

“i love you, yoichi.” you say, a smug grin on your face as you poke at his pouty cheeks. “aww, are you upset?”

snapping out of it, he waves your hand away, slightly turning while his cheeks blush bright red. “…no.”

“my baby,” you coo, continuing to reach over and squish his cheeks, “i’m sorry for falling asleep, yoi.”

“it’s okay…” he mumbles, enjoying the attention, “i didn’t realize you were so sleepy.”

“well, it is 3am…” you giggle, pointing to his alarm clock.

it’s cute how fast his head whips around to look. “oh… my bad.” he apologizes, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“don’t worry about it,” you shrug, before getting up and pulling at his hands. “let’s go to sleep, yeah?”

but isagi pauses, conflicted, before glancing back at the tv. “… just one more play?”

“yoichi!” you whine, the idea of cuddling with your boyfriend in bed being extremely appealing.

“please?” he pleads, hands clasped, and you sigh, giving in to his doe eyes.

“fine. one more. that’s it and then we’re going to bed.” you say, settling down next to him. but if you’re being honest, you’re never immune to isagi yoichi.

the light in his eyes as he rambles and talks to you about his favorite thing always overwhelms anything else. you love him, wholly and fully. and maybe that’s why you don’t mention anything as one play turns to two, which then turns into the entire match. not a single word escapes you as he loads up the next game, telling you “this next one is insane.”

it’s isagi’s turn to fall asleep and as the sun peeks over the horizon, you press a peck to his cheek as you wrap a blanket over his shoulders.

“good night, yoichi.”

kaiser:

michael kaiser was many things, first and foremost a soccer player, secondly, a striker with a god complex and most importantly, your boyfriend. well, perhaps most important to you and although you’re mostly able to cast aside that doubt to love him fully, there are still moments when you just have to hear it.

it’s 3am and kaiser’s in deep sleep, evident by the subtle snores coming from him. in contrast, you’re fully awake and sitting next to him, one finger trailing the expanse of his skin, from the curve of his cheek to the line of his jaw. he stirs slightly, but nonetheless stays asleep and that annoys you.

“michael,” you whine, prodding at his cheek, “do you love me?” his eyelids flutter, face contorting to the singsong of your voice.

“huh?” he responds, eyes opening and brows furrowing into a scowl you continue to prod. he grabs your hand, pulling it away from him. “what is it?”

“do you love me?” you repeat, happily humming at his pretty face.

he tsks before grumbling out a “nein.” he huffs before turning over.

you pause, before scowling yourself. “what did you just say?”

“nein.” he reiterates, closing his eyes. “goodnight.”

you scoff, before shaking him again. “hey… seriously!” but it’s useless. kaiser’s decided it’s time for bed. truth be told, you should probably get some sleep too. but it’s annoying when you do feel like a side character in his story and not his co-lead. fine, you can be petty too.

you round up your pillows, sighing and making sure to climb over him as you get off the bed. he catches your wrist as you try to leave, brow arched.

“where are you going?” he asks, confused.

“the couch.” you deadpan.

“why?”

“i don’t wanna sleep next to someone who doesn’t love me.” you pout, hugging your pillow tightly.

“it was a joke, liebe.” he sighs, pulling you down back into bed. “of course, i love you.”

“hmm… you’re just pacifying me.” you say, hoping he’ll get the hint and finally give you some of the affection you’ve been craving.

and he does, rolling his eyes before pressing a deep kiss to your lips. he makes sure to give you a few more afterwards, your giggle floating around his ears. “happy now?”

“very.” you smile and he smiles back, but you can’t let him think he’s won just yet. “hey, i have a joke too.”

“yeah? and you think it’s better than mine?” he teases and you grin even wider, nodding excitedly. “i’m all ears.”

“okay. make sure you listen and like, really listen.” you command and he nods, moving his ear closer to your lips. “you’re a better player than isagi yoichi.”

his face falls immediately and you burst out laughing, pushing off of him and grabbing your pillow again. you figure after your little stint, you’ll seriously be sleeping on the couch.

“super funny, right? i should be a comedian.” you muse, before leaning down and giving him a peck on the cheek. “good night, emperor.”

you turn to leave again, but kaiser’s quick to pull you down and underneath him. you yelp as he straddles you, pinning your wrists above your head. he’s frighteningly close, the tips of his blonde and blue hair hovering over your skin.

there’s one thing about him that you don't know and it’s that he’ll never admit how soft you make him, how it’s actually he who melts at the sound of your voice. how it’s him who wants to hear nothing but endless praise from you, so maybe he did get a little mad at that joke.

“m-michael?” you squeak, squirming under his hold, “what are you doing?”

“what do you mean? i’ve gotta remind you who the best striker in the world is.” he states and you recognize that look in his eyes. you didn’t think it’d rile him up this much.

“babe, it was a joke!”

he barks a laugh as you squirm harder underneath him. “it’s gonna be a long night, liebe.”

oliver:

“hey oliver, do you love me?”

perhaps not the best time to ask, neon bright 3:00 AM displayed on your alarm clock lets you know that. but still, the beating of oliver aiku’s heart that drums through your ears prompts you to ask anyway.

he’s asleep, or so you think, and shirtless, with the press of your cheek against his chest, his skin feels warm. shyly, you stay looking at the wall, sometimes trailing down to his limp hand. meanwhile, your fingers ghost over his skin, writing little “i love you”s and infinity signs like an incantation or a spell.

“dumb question,” you continue, “i know you don’t.” you give a small smile, it’s how the situation between you two works. you can sleep together, hold hands, maybe even call each other ‘partners’, but you never breach that threshold. he’s always just out of reach.

but oliver is awake, eyes stirred open by the figure eights you’ve been writing on him. he’s been listening to you the entire time, eyes blinking up at the ceiling.

“well… in case you were wondering, i think i love you,” you confess, your heart thumping wildly, “like a lot, actually. do you… think i’m stupid?” you pause, before opening your mouth to say that he doesn’t have to answer, but oliver cuts you off.

“not really.” he says, the hand that was resting on your waist, starting to stroke your skin.

you freeze before pushing yourself up and off of him. “hey! h-how long have you been awake?”

he smirks and you hate the way your heart flutters, “a while,” he sits up, “hey, i love myself too.”

you deflate a little, it’s too much of the same, the same jokes and the brushing off of feelings. but you should know this by now, that he doesn’t love you. “yeah, just not me.” you look away, wishing he would lie to you just one time. “i should go-“

he reaches over, grabbing your chin between his fingers and leveling your gazes together. “i never said that.”

you blink, wide-eyed and you’re not sure what to do or even what to say. and while you’re sure your heart is beating so fast you swear he can hear it, you’re also emboldened, mustering up the courage to ask, “never said what?” but your voice comes out small, whispery and featherlight.

“that i don’t love you.” he says. he doesn’t break eye-contact, pretty two-tone eyes locked on yours.

you can’t help your emotions, the way they swell up in you overwhelmingly, as if you’re drowning in them.

“do you love me, oliver?” you’re too happy to be embarrassed by the break in your voice when you say his name, too fixated on the way he touches you so gently. it’s like he can’t hurt you now, no matter what he’s done before.

he nods, the hand on your chin moving to cup your cheek as he strokes his thumb reassuringly over your skin. he catches the tears that fall, thinking that it’s much better to see you happy cry than when he does something stupid.

“could you say it? please?” you sniffle, placing a hand over his, keening into his touch.

he gives a breathy laugh out of nervousness, before he clears his throat and says it, loud and clear. “i love you, y/n.”

you laugh through your tears, relieved, because all the time you spent wondering was okay and the wait was worth it. the way it rolls off his tongue is so natural and so warm it has your head spinning.

he brings up his other hand, wiping away at the tears that continue to fall. “c’mon baby, you’re gonna cry all night?” he teases, squishing your cheeks between his hands.

“‘m not dreaming?” you mumble, shaking your head, “this is real? you really love me?”

maybe when you wake up in the morning it’ll be different. maybe he’ll be back to the same old oliver, the one who deflects and dodges all your questions. so maybe it is a dream. but, if this is a dream… do they always feel so good? and is it possible to stay asleep?

he hums, before asking, “does this feel real?” as he leans in to press a kiss to your lips. it’s sincere and authentic, the kind that makes your heart bloom. he pulls away, but only slightly to rest his forehead against yours. you nod and he grins, “good.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock x you #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku x reader #isagi yoichi #michael kaiser #oliver aiku #pibby writing

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sepherinaspoppies · 5 months

Text

hunger - michael gavey x reader

summary: the things Michael does for a crunchie bar.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, mentions of oral m receiving, oral f receiving, fingering, overstimulation, f squirting.

wc: 2,366

masterlist

notes: my first time writing for Michael lol. yes I did watch the movie and im still appalled by it (too much dick). like all of us, I wish Ewan had more screen time on this cause I felt pretty bad for Michael. he just wanted a friend 😩. I plan on writing another fic about him but when? idk I have too many wips

She uses the pad of her thumb to collect the line of cum that had trickled down the corners of her lips. Bringing the digit back into her mouth to suck off the pearly white liquid, all while seductively gazing at the disheveled boy that sat on the edge of her bed.

Michael let out a breathy moan, feeling his softened cock rousing back to life as he watched her throat swallow every bit of him again. She hums at the taste, salty with a hint of caramel from all those fucking crunchy bars he devours everyday when she’d seem him in class.

She brings herself up from the floor, her knees starting to recuperate from the carpet digging amongst her skin. Standing, she begins to thread her fingers through Michael’s soft sandy hair, appreciating the silkyness of it and the faintest little whines that emitted from his lips before tugging his head back rather abruptly.

“Would you like a taste of me, Gavey?” She asks, even though she knows the answer. It was why they were here, settled at her dorm.

Michael nods zestfully, his eyes trailing to her covered core as if he was already undressing her with his eyes. She grabs his hand and doesn’t fail to notice it was a bit clammy with nerves, and it almost made her feel slightly bad about continuing but the way his blue eyes darkened when she directed his hand toward the hem of her floral dress, made her think differently.

His fingers work at lifting up her dress. A deep shade of crimson floods his perfectly sculpted cheeks as he awkwardly and neatly folded her dress on the side of her nightstand. She giggled at his adorableness, she wasn’t as gentle as he was with her clothing. After, when they made their deal about what they wanted from each other, she clawed out his clothes and scattered them somewhere across her room, having no regard for them.

Once she made quick work at getting rid of her bra, Michael’s eyes widened in amazement as if had just received the perfect gift he always wanted. His fingers twitched, longing to touch what was right in front of him but she knew deep down he was holding himself back.

“I-um- I don’t know what to do” he admits sheepishly.

She knows this, having it heard and confirmed by Felix and Oliver when they were at the pub with a group of their friends.

She gives him a reassuring smile before straddling his lap, “I’ll teach you”

Michael’s face reddened even more if it was possible. His gaze lingered on her lips, then a back up to her eyes giving her a silent look for permission to kiss her lips to which she nodded fervently.

He wastes no time to crash his lips to hers, leaning his head forward to deepen the kiss. She moans, unsure if Michael knew how to kiss but even then she was willing to teach him if it need be. She moves her knees to get closer to Michael, her bare breasts scraping tightly against his chest as she wraps her arms around his neck desperately needing him to be closer than they already were.

She whines softly into the kiss as she swipes her tongue over Michael’s bottom lip. Michael moans in response, parting his lips open to let her gain access and she seizes the opportunity to dance her tongue against his own. Michael furrows his brows in concentration, taking mental notes on how exactly she liked to be kissed by the way he strokes his tongue synchronously with hers and the soft little moans that follow out of her lips.

She pulls away, a hint of chocolate and mint lingering on her lips, as she yearns for more of him between her legs. She almost wants to continue kissing him as she watches Michael’s blue eyes slowly flutter open and his lower lip curling into a pout, mewling at the loss of contact.

“We can kiss more after, if you want. Right now, I need you to return the favor” She pants, out of breath. Michael mends his pout into an eager smile that makes her chuckle. For such an arrogant know-it-all he sure had a way of being cute.

She lifts herself up by the help of Michael’s shoulders, crawling over the middle of her bed to rest her back against the duvet. “Ready?” She asks, wiggling her brows enthusiastically, already feeling giddy deep in her stomach.

Michael nods as he slowly adjusted to sit between her legs, his curious eyes never leaving her damp covered center, his pink tongue sweeping over his lips quickly practically already tasting her.

“Take of my panties, Gavey”

She hears Michael audibly whimper as his quivering fingers hook to the waistband of her underwear, sliding it off and causing her to release a shudder over the coolness of his fingertips.

Michael brushed his fingers against the garment of her underwear, studying it before he brought it to his nose, deeply inhaling the juices that were caused by being in the mere presence of him, from having him inside her mouth, around her hands, his kiss…

There was something so hot and erotic about it, seeing the guy who always picks on her for not being as smart as he was, sniffing her juices like he was a starved man. She moaned at his actions even more so when he quickly bent over the bed and stuffed her underwear into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, probably saving it for later.

She bites back a protest. Those were her favorite pair but she supposes she can spare them for now.

Michael resumed his previous position in between her thighs. This time his face laid just centimeters away from her glistening core. She can feel his hot ragged breath fanning over the little patch of curls above her cunt, and very faintly she can hear Michael murmur “christ” under his breath.

She props herself on her elbows, “Give me your hand” Michael releases another shaky breath before he allows her to direct his hand to cup her mound.

“Do you feel how wet I am for you, Michael?”

Michael groans, desperate for some friction he grinds his cock on the bed. He can feel it. He can feel his hand soaked with her arousal. Michael wants to pull back and lick everybit clean off his hand.

“That’s- that’s my clit” She informs Michael with a strain voice as she runs his index finger through her folds. Michael stares at her engorged bud, having remembered studying it from his anatomy class and how it brought him great curiosity. Now, he was face to face with it and nothing could prepare how much excitement it brought him.

“The clit is very important. It’s where most of our pleasure comes from. Just pay adequate attention to it and gently circle it-”

She isn’t sure of the noises that leave her mouth, only feeling Michael beginning to circle her bud in a manner where not even most guys she’s been with have done so. It’s unhurried, unsure and gentle but it’s enough for her to feel waves of pleasure up her spine and her toes curling against the duvet.

“Oh! Michael” She moans, arching her back and unintentionally caging Michael’s head between her thighs.

Michael pulls his finger quickly like lightning away from her bud, his face showing a bit of concern. “What? What’s wrong? Was this not to your liking? I can try-”

“No, no. You’re doing great, really. I-I just, well, I like it and I meant it in a good way” She reassures him with a smile, a slight warmth shoots to her cheeks.

God, was she blushing at Michael fucking Gavey? Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan or the agreement!

“Oh, I see” Michael smirks before lowering his head, “Can I use my tongue?” She almost wants to desperately scream ‘YES’ and grind herself against his face but she instead nods and that was enough of a response for Michael as he flattens the tip of his tongue where her clit was.

Her back arches again, instinctively, feeling Michael’s tongue circle her bud and sweep through her folds all while he keeps his lustful gaze on her, watching the way her face contorts into different forms of pleasure and the audible moans and gasps he hears when he flicks his tongue in a rhythm he notes she likes.

Michael soon also finds himself moaning at the way she tastes. It was a flavor so sweet. Sweeter than the chocolate of his crunchy bars he so religiously ate. How could he ever tire of her taste?

Her chest begins to heave, her stomach feeling fuzzy and tight. She was nearing her first orgasm in weeks.

But then suddenly something unexpected happens. Michael hooks her thighs under his arms, bringing her cunt closer to his face. His red and swollen lips closed in around her clit, tenderly sucking. His actions along with the vibrations of his moans, sends hot shocks of pleasure that she feels the band in her stomach about to snap.

“Michaelllll. I’m about to-to cum” She cries, feeling orgasm seconds away from releasing.

“Really?” Michael mumbles with an exciting look in his eyes. She hums, her hands no longer fisting the duvet but instead gripping Michael’s hair.

Michael continues to lap at her core at the same rhythm he notices she likes, working his tongue quicker until he feels the meaty flesh of her thighs close in on his head and tremble.

“Michael! Yes! Yes!!!” She chants so loudly that both her and Michael know everyone in the dorm floor would listen. She couldn’t bring herself to care about everyone listening. The genius math nerd in all of Oxford just gave her the best head in the world.

Michael drinks in her release and this time he is able to pinpoint what flavor she reminds him of.

Honey.

She mewls softly. Her body feels weak and tired like she had just ran the longest marathon in her life. “So good, Michael. You did such a good job” She praises, giving the cunt-drunk man between her thighs a lazy smile as she brushes the damp hair away from his face.

A blush creeps into Michael’s cheeks, a sense of pride fills his senses. He knows he wants more now that she let him taste her. Michael supposes she could give him another taste to satisfy his hunger. She was right there for the taking. Why not?

“What are you doing?” She curiously asks, peering over as Michael dips his head again making her eyes widen in amazement.

“Michael, wait. We agreed just… Oh fuck!” Her back arches, hands gripping her breasts and a series of gasps leave her lips as Michael redoubles his efforts and works his tongue at an incredible speed that makes tears leave the corners of her eyes over the sensitivity.

Michael was getting skilled at this. Too skilled with tongue.

The thin metal of Michael’s glasses dug at her thighs, his face tightly pressed at her core as he growled devotedly. Had she just accidentally created a feral animal? Fuck.

This time she feels herself ascending closer to her peak more than usual. Her legs involuntarily begin to tremble and her mind feels fuzzy as she has no more strength to fight the waves of pleasure Michael was awarding.

“Michael” She cries, unsure why.

Michael, however, lost in his pleasure instinctively comes up with an idea. He unhooks one of his hands around her thigh and brings one of his fingers toward her entrance, plunging inside her walls in and out and curses at the way she clenches around his finger.

“No, no, no. Stay” Michael mumbles as her hips buckle away from his ministrations.

This was all getting too much for her. But she does what she’s told and stays and her body violently trembles one last time until she feels the pressure deep in her belly explode and her vision going absolutely blank.

Has she died and gone to heaven? Cause fuck!

She doesn’t seem to remember how to breathe or pick up the surprise yelps from Michael. She was absolutely drained and spent.

“Are-are you okay down there?” She asks, panting, gathering whatever strength she had left to peer down between her thighs. Michael’s round blue eyes look up at her in shock. His face, coated with much of her juices. Even his glasses had not been spared. A palm sized wet patch soaked her bedding.

Did Michael fucking Gavey make me squirt?

“I’m sorry that's the first time that ever happened to me. Wait here, let me get a towel to clean you up” She stammers as she begins to crawl out of her bed but Michael’s hand wraps around her ankle, preventing her.

“No need. I quite liked it” He blinks as cleans his face with his fingers, licking away her arousal like the embarrassing thing she did not happen.

He plops himself next to her on the bed, landing with a heavy thud. “So” Michael trails with a smirk, his head resting on his elbow. “Did I earn my reward?”

She scoffs playfully. How could she forget their deal?

She was walking to her class earlier on the day when she spotted Michael pouding and cursing at a vending machine for eating the last cash he had on him. She evilly laughed at him before she nonchalantly walked over to the vending machine and purchased the last two crunchy bars while waving it on his face. Truthfully, she did not find chocolate as pleasing as he did. Michael had scoffed before he followed her like a lost puppy, telling her he’d pay her back the next day. A wicked plan forged inside her head in a way he could pay her back.

“Here” She slams the two golden bars against his chest after she retrieved them from her bag. Michael smiles and mutters a ‘thanks’ as he unwraps his treat and brings her body to rest against his chest.

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @smayhem @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @imsoshygirl

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#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey #ewan mitchell

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abibliophobiaa · 9 months

Text

Summary: You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

mini series masterlist

next chapter

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warnings: alcohol; smut; unprotected p in v; unplanned pregnancy and associated symptoms; major miscommunication. eddie munson x afab!reader(7k words)

——

“You’ve been staring around for hours. No one is catching your eye? Not even slightly? You’re not doing brain surgery, you’re just trying to get your toes wet.”

You knew this. But the music had been too loud, the room too heated, your body tucked away against the bar as you sat beside your best friend, sipping on a watery margarita that the ice had long since dissolved into.

All around you people bobbed and swayed to ‘Monster Mash.’ Cliche by all means, and yet it felt fitting when you appraised the crowd once more and noted the mummy dancing with his zombified partner. Further out you caught a werewolf in a particularly compromising position with a vampire, and a group of clowns crowded together hosting what looked to be a meeting.

“What about that Westley guy?”

Right — the one everyone had been talking about all night. The man who had the nerve to dress up as the direct counterpart to your own costume. With a huff, you hiked your leg up, crossing one over the other against the stool. The red dress around you shifted and moved, fingers reaching to adjust the belt around your waist.

“I haven’t seen him.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “For all I know, he doesn’t exist.”

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——

let me know what you think! 🩷

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction

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knavves · 11 months

Text

˖ ࣪ ꒷ ONLY YOU, MY GIRL ꒦

꒰੭ featuring — michael kaiser.

synopsis : kaiser thinks you look so cute resting beside him, he can't help but stuff you full of his fingers.

wc: 1.2k ノ cw + tw: nsfw (18+). fem reader. somnophilia. groping. fingering. use of pet names. nipple play. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms.

his knuckle glides across your cheekbone, hand morphing to cup your cheek. the rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains perfectly illuminate the features he traces over with his thumb.

you're still sleeping, chest rising with even breaths and the occasional soft snores sounding from you. waking up to you sprawled out so prettily beside him every morning was a blessing in his eyes. everything about you is so captivating to him, you had such control over him even while you were in a deep slumber. his hand barely grazes your skin, drawing over the remnants from last night that were scattered all over your neck and collarbone.

he explores your body further, following the curve of your body and squeezing at the plush of your ass, parts of you he's roamed with his rough hands time and time again. touches that were seemingly pure quickly formed into something much more sinful as he moved lower.

slender fingers hook on either side of your panties, making quick work as he slipped off the fabric and carelessly tossed them to some corner of the room. they only served to hinder him anyway. he doesn't waste a second before the pad of his thumb is reaching over to press into your clit, rubbing soft circles onto the bud. his eyes scanned you for any reactions, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips seeing your body twitch at his ministrations.

the slick pooling in between your legs was increasing by the minute, your arousal coating him as he ran a finger over your folds. one of his fingers eases into your hole causing your sleeping body to jerk slightly at the intrusion, he gently shushes you and strokes the back of your head until your breathing relaxes again. he didn't want to rouse you just yet.

his teeth catch his bottom lip to bite back the groan that's bubbling in his chest watching your cunt greedily suck in a second one of his fingers. his cock is swelling in his pants at your soft whimpers as he pistons his fingers in and out of your cunt, uncaring of your juices cascading down the rose thorns etched into his pale skin. you grind your hips to meet each movement of his fingers, so desperate even though you were asleep.

"so needy.." he mutters but mostly to himself as you can't hear him anyway. loud squelching noises echo in his ears as he picks up the pace, fingers reaching places you could never yourself. you gasp as you near your high and your thighs tremble, threatening to trap his hand where its nestled between them. he doesn't let up, though, only pressing his palm into your sensitive bud, curling his fingers deep inside your sopping pussy.

your eyes flutter open when you gush all over his hand, the lingering effects of your slumber still weary on you as you focus your gaze on your lover. "michael?" you say almost breathlessly, tone drowsy which he lightly chuckles at.

"good morning, angel. look so beautiful." he whispers, deep blue orbs boring into you. you teasingly pout at him, "don't i always?" you quire as your arms slither around his neck, pulling him into a needy kiss. his hands find their way to your waist as smiles against your lips, muttering a quick 'of course'.

"gonna let me fuck this pussy, right? m gonna make you feel so good." he babbles, voice cracking slightly as he ruts his aching bulge against your thigh which he had been neglecting up until now. your head bobs up and down as you quickly nod, whimpering small 'yes's and 'please's. he's clumsy with the way he's fumbling with the waistband of his boxers, letting his cock spring out from it's constraints. he's almost painfully hard, tip flushed a dark red and oozing precum, begging to be buried inside you. he slings one of your legs to dangle around his waist, lining himself up with your eager hole, your simultaneous groans ringing through the room as he pushes his girth into you. he can't wait a moment longer before he's needily rocking his hips against yours. tears glaze over your eyes at the sharp sting through your lower half as he stretches you out, spasming and clenching around him as you struggle to adjust. "s too big.." you whimper but he only wipes away your tears. "you've taken me before, love, be my good girl, yeah?"

these moments with him were so rare. he hates spending time away from you. he's always so busy, only quick sessions before he was off, barely being able to bask in each other's presence in the morning. his teasing and playful persona is less prominent, he's unusually sweet and his words don't have that condescending undertone. he's soaking it all in, dreading when the time comes where he'll have to leave you again.

he grips the end of your shirt and hikes it up, allowing your breasts to spill out. big hands reaching up to knead the soft flesh, rolling your hardened bud in between his fingers. he can't help but to pinch your nipple, adoring the cute squeals that escaped your lips.

his pace is much different from his usual near animalistic thrusts accompanied with a bruising grip. he pulls out, leaving just the tip in before swiftly pushing all of his length back into you, stuffing you to the hilt. your mouth hangs open in a silent moan, the drag of his cock against your walls intoxicating. he's reaching so deep inside you. his cock repeatedly kissing your g-spot with each lazy thrust of his hips.

"feels good, yeah? squeezing me so tight." he grunts, slightly picking up his pace and rubbing figures onto your messy clit in efforts to push you over the edge before he did. it was embarrassing how quickly he could feel his high approaching, you just felt so good. squeezing his cock so tightly fuck he wish he could pound load after load into you but he knew his time was running thin.

"m close! fuck i'm gonna cum!" you're writhing, shaking with the intense sensation building up in your lower region. "go ahead, sweetheart, cum with me." he groans, grabbing hold of your chin to clash your lips together, tongues tangling and dancing with one another's. you clamp down on him, arching into his chest as you release all over his cock that's unrelenting inside you. "that's it, my sweet girl. i got you." the white ring forming around his length and your high pitched moans is enough to send him barreling over the edge, snapping his hips against yours once more before coating your walls with his cum.

the bed dips beside him as he pulls out from your spent cunt, flopping onto his back with his chest still heaving. strong arms pull you into his muscular chest, heart swelling when you giggle at the chaste kisses being littered all over your face. he shivers slightly when your nails rake and trace over the rose chiseled into his neck, "why don't you stay home today, michael?" you purr from where you're cuddled up into him.

"i guess i can make an exception. missed me so much, huh?" he teases, flashing you a chesire grin making you roll your eyes, but you know he's right. "yeah, yeah. i love you, michael." you whisper, barely audible from where your cheek is smooshed against the heated skin of his chest. the arm around your waist tightens as he swoops down to place a kiss to the crown of your head, muttering "i love you too."

it couldn't hurt to miss one day of practice, especially if it was for you.

#🔖: knavves #bllk smut #blue lock x reader smut #blue lock smut #bllk x reader smut #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser smut #michael kaiser x reader smut

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

hotch being protective after a bullet grazes Y/N’s ear causing her ear to bleed and to have trouble hearing??

JJ's talking but you're not listening. Well, you're listening, but you're not hearing. There's a dull ringing in your left ear, brought on by the bullet that had whizzed past it hours earlier. The EMTs had let you go with copious amounts of bandages and a warning to stay away from loud noises as much as possible, but here you are on the jet, straining to hear your teammates converse.

"She said she caught Michael drawing on the bathroom wall," A deep voice from beside your right ear startles you, the only clear words you've heard for an hour. Hotch has leaned himself down to hover beside your ear, lips a centimeter away as he fills you in.

"Oh," You breathe, a chuckle lost in the sound, "Thanks."

"Mhm." He nods once, you know from the way his nose grazes your ear. "Does your head hurt?"

"A bit."

"I figured. Ears are sensitive, when we land you should go straight home and sleep. Set your phone to vibrate instead of ring, and stick it under your pillow. Trust me, alarms won't work."

Your brow furrows, "How do you know so much about this?"

"A while ago," Aaron starts, hesitant, "Before you joined. A bomb went off next to me, and it damaged my ear. The only time I've ever been late to work was because I couldn't hear my alarm."

"That and the time you got stabbed," You grumble, "I never knew a bomb went off next to you."

"It's not exactly small talk," He reaches for your hand, using the edge of his short fingernail to scrape dried blood out of the bed of your nail, a remnant from when you'd grasped your ear after the gunshot.

"This job sucks," You sigh, knocking your head against his shoulder. You've caught Rossi's attention, and he offers you a fond smile while you use Hotch as a pillow.

"It has its drawbacks. How's your ear?" Morgan lifts his chin in your direction, and though you've heard him clearly, you decide to tease him.

"What?" You lift your head from Hotch's shoulder, leaning in like you can't hear him. Prentiss snorts, and you double down.

"How's your ear?" Derek taps his own, and you scrunch your nose.

"Huh?"

"Stop," Aaron chuckles, elbowing you in the side. Derek finally catches on amidst his team members giggles, and kicks you softly under the table.

"It's okay," You groan, burying your face in your crossed arms on the table when JJ leans into your side. One of Hotch's large hands comes up to rub against your back in soothing circles, and the tension in your shoulders loosens.

Conversation resumes after a sympathetic moment of silence for you. You aren't roused from your drowsy snooze when the plane lands, unable to hear the rough rumbling of the engine, but Aaron gets close to your ear to let you know you've arrived.

"Y/N," He brushes hair away from your face, hand heavy on your shoulder, "We're here. I got your bag, can you drive?"

"I'm deaf, not blind," You huff, grumpy when awoken, "I can drive."

"Okay," Aaron chuckles, familiar with your post-nap grouchiness, "Here. Your bag is on the table, okay?"

"Mhm," You nod, rubbing sleep from your eyes as he heads for the door, "See you tonight, Aaron."

You don't need to hear him to know that he tells you he loves you when he steps off the jet, but you see the blush on his cheeks just fine when you return the sentiment.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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crown-ov-horns · 2 months

Text

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

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myesmi · 1 year

Text

GENTLE MOMENTS WITH THEM. 𓂅 ˖ ࣪ ( headcanons )

cw. soft / gentle moments with michael and thomas ( sep ) <3, established relationships, gn! reader, etc.

note. i don’t know, i just really wanted to write headcanons, so this is what i came up with! i was going to do jealousy headcanons, or when the reader gets catcalled or something, but i needed something more simple since i’m dead tired rn.. <3 hope you enjoy! comments and reblogs appreciated!

requests are open. masterlist.

MICHAEL MYERS.

any time spent with michael is generally quiet, mostly due to how mute he is. the loudest he gets is a confirming grunt, or an annoyed huff.

however, on the extremely rare occasion, those quiet moments hold a different atmosphere. almost.. soft, or gentle, in some capacity.

it’s strange to call such a silent, intimidating, stalker of a man ‘gentle’, but in your heart you knew it was his intentions that spoke the words he wouldn’t.

you roused in the middle of the night, lazily sitting yourself up at the sudden appearance of your tall, violent lover. it wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for hours on end and show up in the middle of the night.

he stood in the frame of your bedroom door, mask on, however he stood in a fitting black t-shirt and simple dark pajama pants that you gifted him last christmas.

…he used to sleep in his coveralls, but you quickly forced him to wear some form of pajamas ( obviously after being well established in the relationship where you were able to twist his arm in such ways, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so receptive ).

you barely remember the sleepy smile that formed on your lips, giving michael a little wave before you found him standing at your side where you sat on the bed.

his chest stilled briefly, as if he was holding his breath, and his gaze was directed at you, observing. despite how you couldn’t see his eyes through the mask’s eye holes due to how dark it was in the room ( the only light being the moonlight that filtered through the window blinds ), you could feel his piercing gaze crawl over your sleep-addled features.

and suddenly, one large, rough hand patted the top of your head. his palms were littered with callouses, the meat of his palm below his fingers tenderly ached from how tightly he tended to grip his knife. and yet, his touch was somehow comforting. a sort of prize you thought, as michael wasn’t one known for tender caresses and loving touches.

his large hand drifted from the top of your head to your neck, his fingers brushing along your jugular in a feather-light trail.

and as soon as the soft moment had come, it was gone. michael pulled away, turning and leaving your bedroom. you knew that you’d fall back asleep before he would lay himself down next to you, and you knew he’d be up and gone before you woke in the morning.

but gentle moments like these reminded you of why you fell for the man that everyone else deemed a monster

THOMAS HEWITT.

unlike michael, gathering soft, quiet moments with thomas wasn’t too rare. he was, to you, a texan gentle giant.

however, the real challenge was getting him alone in the first place for more than half an hour.

you understood how important his family was to thomas, and how needed he was around the family ‘farm’. the man had many physically demanding and time consuming daily chores that he carried out in order for his family to live the reserved, happy little lives they did.

and that often resulted in your only shared time alone being when you wake in the mornings and when you sleep during the nights. in short, it wasn’t ideal.

however, being as thomas was completely wrapped around your little finger, it never took too much convincing to have him all to yourself for the evening on certain occasions.

you sat comfortably on the recently repaired front porch, enjoying the humid evening under the slow sunset, able to sit comfortably in the shade of the house as the night started to cool.

thomas wasn’t too far away, and you watched carefully ( and.. enjoyably ) as thomas worked on one of the last tasks of the day. he was slowly cleaning out the large old barn that sat on their property, full of rusted old farming equipment and spare heavy car parts that the hewitts simply did not need any more. and so, he took it upon himself to, over the course of the week, clean out all the junk.

and boy.. was it a show for you. your tommy was by far the strongest man you knew, both mentally and physically. and watching your big texan hunk lift heavy metal parts as if they weighed nothing?

and thomas knew you were watching him. a part of the man enjoyed showing off in front of you. he loved how hot your face grew, how you shifted in your seat, your beautiful eyes staring him down lovingly ( and hungrily ).

you smiled as your thomas finished up for the day and made his way to the porch, wiping his big hands on the front of his work apron to rid himself of the dirt and old car grease. you scooted yourself over, offering him room to sit down on the swing next to you, already having a glass of sweet tea to offer out to him, figuring that he was no doubt breathless from his work, no matter how effortless he made it look.

he took a heavy seat next to you, gratefully taking the tea from your hand, replacing it with his own large hand, interweaving his fingers with your own. thomas was always still shy when it came to you, however intertwining your hands together was like second nature now. it was his way of saying hello.

both of your hands, interlocked, landed comfortably on your thigh. thomas’ fingers were still somewhat grimy, yet it didn’t bother you. you comfortably leaned into his plush side, resting your head against his broad chest, right under his masked chin.

you looked up, admiring his dark locks of hair that framed his face and ever so slightly dipped in front of his dark, lovely eyes. you have a warm smile, before you both simply enjoyed the silence together, staring out at the beautiful texas sunset, knowing that you had no place you’d rather be.

#myesmi writes !!#horror #horror slasher #slashers #slashers x reader #michael myers #thomas hewitt #leatherface #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #leatherface x reader #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre

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wulfhalls · 9 months

Text

barbie movie of all time fr fr 😭 I get why ryan gosling is moving like that now I truly do! it's got everything a ken dance off! a pride and prejudice joke aimed to annihilate every girlie on this website specifically! michael cera but he's ginger! john cena as a mermaid! hashtag snyder cut drag <3! ryan gosling in a fur coat without a shirt on being obsessed with horses! margot robbie ACTING CAPITAL LETTERS ACTINGGG. KEN DANCE OFF!!!!!!!!!!! deprogramming barbies to free them from patriarchal subjugation! beach! jamie demetriou!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! people running in ways u didn't even think possible! america ferrera giving a rousing devastating speech about the horror of being a woman in the real world just trying to exist! so many people on so many rollerblades! PINK!

#KEN DANCE OFF #maybe the funniest scene. like. ever #barbie #barbie spoilers #txt.me #ryan gosling is so. so much

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hawkeyetrained · 1 year

Text

Grandpa

Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Warnings: Dean as a girl dad. Not sure of anything else but feel free to let me know. pregnancy

Daughters name is Olivia

Summary: Dean’s deepest want is for his father to come back. John meets his daughter-in-law and his granddaughter.

Word Count: 2,115

~~~~~~~~~~

I had been out with my little girl, shopping for groceries we needed in the bunker. Mary had been kind enough to make me a list of things she knew we needed along with a few requests from her and the boys. “Cady.” Olivia, my daughter pointed to the isle of candy. “Peas, momma.” She stuck her bottom lip out and gave me the puppy eyes that her uncle Sam taught her.

I smiled down at my little girl. “Ok, but you can only pick one.” I told her and rolled the cart closer so she could pick something out.

About an hour later I had everything we needed and was pulling the Impala into the bunkers garage. “Alright sweet pea, we’re home.” I gently roused my sleepy girl from her nap in the car seat. “Should we go find daddy and uncle Sam?” Her eyes opened a bit and she nodded lazily, reaching her little hands out for me to pick her up. I wrapped her in my arms and propped her up on my hip, knowing the boys would help me gather the groceries later. “Sam? Dean?” I called into the silent bunker as I walked down the halls as Olivia slowly woke up.

“In here sweetheart!” I heard Dean call from the main room of the bunker. The sight before me made my body freeze the moment I got into the room, my hand going to my daughters back protectively.

“Dean?” My hunter stood abruptly from his seat with Mary, Sam, and a man I vaguely recognized. “What’s going on?”

“Daddy!” Liv’s face broke into a vibrant smile, and she reached for Dean. He quickly took her into his arms and gently pulled me to the side of the room, away from the other three.

“So, Sam and I came up with a way to possibly get Michael out of my head. This pearl, it was supposed to grant my deepest wish, and it brought my dad back.” I glanced over my shoulder to the man who sat with his back to me.

“That’s…” I stopped talking, looking back to Dean and our daughter. “Ok. Does he know about Liv and me?” That’s when I heard a throat clear behind me. Dean passed Olivia back to me and stepped around to talk to his family.

“Dad, I’ve got two people that mean the world to me that I want you to meet.” Dean started, holding his arm out for me to join his side. The man at the table, John Winchester, stood with Sam and Mary standing after him. “My wife and our daughter, Olivia.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest looking at the man that raised Dean and Sam. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” I smiled softly. My eyes drifted to the little girl in my arms. “Liv, baby. This is John, your grandpa. Can you say hi, baby?”

She glanced over to Dean first, then reached her hand out to wave at John. “Hi.” Her voice was high pitched and nervous around the new person in her home.

“Hi there little one.” John stepped a bit closer and gave my baby a smile. “Olivia is a beautiful name. I’m so happy to get to meet you.” With those words, my heart swelled with happiness. “Can I hold her?” John looked to Dean and me for permission.

We both nodded and I looked at Liv. “Sweetie, can grandpa hold you?” She nodded her head, the ponytail wiggling, then reached for John. He wrapped his hands around her waist and held her to his chest, smiling the whole time. My arm then went around Dean’s hips as I watched his father with Olivia.

The rest of the day was filled with laughter. Mary and I had taken the chance to cook for all six of us, talking and laughing about everything. Olivia had sat with John for hours, asking him any question she could come up with. But then reality came crashing down on us, dinner was somber in the beginning, the boys and Mary not knowing how to talk. Olivia and I had tried making small talk to begin, but nothing seemed to work, not until everyone decided to make the limited time we all had the best it could be. The Winchester family spent time telling Liv and I stories of their lives that they could remember, embarrassing stories of Sam and Dean, how Mary and John fell in love, when Dean and I got married, Liv talking about her favorite things about her family.

We were all laughing and having a great dinner. Afterwards, Sam and Dean helped Mary clean up, allowing John and I some time to talk. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my boys.” John stated once the rest of the family was out of the room. “I’ve never seen Dean this happy, Sam this relaxed.”

“I can’t tell you how much your boys have helped me. They’ve given me the best life I could imagine. I never thought I’d get married or have my own kid. They make my life perfect.” Liv was now asleep in John’s arms, her head resting against his chest. “I’m so glad she got to meet you, even with circumstances like this.”

John kissed the top of Liv’s head. “I’m happy to have met my daughter-in-law and my grandbaby. I can see the way my son looks at you, and I can tell you he’s never looked at anyone that way before.” Tears filled my eyes and I smiled at John.

“Can I tell you something that no one else knows? Not even Dean?” I leaned forward in my chair.

“Of course.” He nodded, pulling his chair a bit closer to mine.

I took a deep breath and placed my hand over my stomach. “Dean’s going to be a father again.” John’s face broke out into a large smile. “I really hope it’s a little boy. And I would love it if you came up with the baby’s middle name. I’ve already decided on first names. Charlotte for a girl, and John for a boy.” My eyes met his nervously, waiting for his approval.

John seemed surprised with what I said. “You’d really name your kid after me?”

“Yes. Olivia’s middle name is Maryanne, a mix between my mother and Dean’s. Neither of them was around when we named our little girl, but I would love for my next baby to have a piece of their grandfather.”

John was speechless for a moment, looking down at the little girl asleep in his arms. “I’m honored you want to do that. You’re really open to any name I give you?” I nodded to encourage him. “My parents were named Henry and Millie. I’ve always liked Henry for a boy.”

“Then Henry it is. John Henry Winchester, or Charlotte Millie Winchester. I love it. Thank you.” With that, the boys and Mary walked back into the room, sad expressions on their faces.

John stood, gently passing Olivia to me, her head resting on my shoulder with her still asleep. He said goodbye to everyone slowly, taking his time with his wife and boys before coming back over to me. “You keep that little girl safe, and my future grandbaby.” His hand gently rested on my stomach in a way that no one else would notice. “My boys better take care of you, you’re definitely something special.” He kissed the top of Olivia’s head, then wrapped his arms around the both of us in a tight hug, a kiss being pressed to my head as well. “I love the both of you, more than you know.”

“And we love you too, John.” I hugged him back just as tightly as he was hugging me, before letting him go and having Dean’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, my side in his with our daughter between us.

We all had tears running down our cheeks as Sam crushed the pearl and we watched John fade into a bright white light, disappearing from our world. I couldn’t move, how would I explain this to Olivia? Just as I was thinking too hard, the bunker door opened with a loud creek and in stepped Cas. “What happened?” He asked, rushing down the stairs to all of us.

When no one stepped forward, I did, telling Cas to follow me down to Olivia’s room. I laid my little girl in her bed, sitting on the side of it as Cas sat in the armchair. And so, I told the story that I had been told on how John came back, him meeting my little girl, naming the baby I had growing in me without Dean even knowing. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.”

“You and Dean are going to be parents again. That’s amazing.”

A sad smile crossed my face. “Thanks Cas. With everything that happened today, I don’t know how I’m going to tell him.”

“I think you should tell him now. Don’t wait. Let him know about everything you and John talked about, I believe it could help Dean.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Cas.”

“I’ll watch her if you want to go talk to Dean.” Cas offered to watch his niece for me.

I hesitated for a moment but nodded soon after. “Ok. Thanks.” I stood and walked across the hall to the room I shared with Dean, opening the door slowly so I wouldn’t scare him. “Dean? Baby?” I spotted him laying across the bed, one arm behind his head, the other hand holding a photograph of him and his family. “Hi. Can I lay with you?”

“Of course.” He patted the space beside him, inviting me to lay with him. My head went on his arm, and he draped it over my shoulders.

We laid in silence for a while, just admiring the photo he had in his hands, until I broke it. “Can I talk to you about something?” I shifted to look up into Dean’s bright green eyes. “So, I found out a few days ago and I even spent some time talking with your dad about it.” Dean looked at me completely confused. “You’re gonna be a daddy again.” My hand drifted down to the very slight bump where baby Winchester was. “And when I was talking with your father, we came up with two names. Charlotte Millie, and then John Henry, after your father and grandfather.” Dean didn’t speak for a long time, and I was worried that he was mad about the baby, mad that I had told John before him, mad that I didn’t wait for the sadness from today to die down before I told him. My nerves stared to get worse the longer and longer it took for Dean to talk to me, and I stared to think I should give him some space to breathe. “Dean? Are you mad?” I had asked after an awfully long time.

His eyes drifted over to me, and his face seemed to soften. “We’re gonna have another baby?” He mused, his bright eyes slowly growing happily. I gave him a fast nod, completely preparing myself for his reaction, good or bad. “Am I mad? Are you crazy? I’m gonna be a dad again!” He engulfed me in a tight hug, pressing kisses to my neck and cheeks. “I’m thrilled!” My arms clung to him tightly, tears running down my cheeks and a wide smile on my face.

“And are you ok I talked to your dad about names? Olivia is named for our mothers, and I always liked the name John, I hope you don’t mind I talked to him first.” I was rambling now as Dean pulled back to look at me.

“I’m fine that you talked with him. I’m glad you got to meet him at all, and to know that he knows about both his grandkids, you’ve made me an incredibly happy man.” Dean drifted down, his head resting over the small baby bump. “Hi baby. I’m your daddy.” Dean whispered, running his hand up my shirt and over the skin of my bump. “You’re not even born yet and there’s already a ton of people that love you more than anything.” I wiped away a few tears from my cheeks and ran my fingers through Dean’s short hair. “We gotta tell Liv she’s gonna be a big sister.”

A laugh escaped my lips. “And we gotta tell Sam that he’s gonna be an uncle again.” My eyes widened a bit, and I looked down at Dean. “We gotta tell your mom.”

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