#white mug anything can be a tag

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |1: Snowed In|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series summary: In the middle of a New York City blizzard, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen accidentally lands himself on your fire escape–quite literally. When he accepts your invitation to warm up inside your apartment, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows all night with the curious and attractive masked vigilante. He's intriguing, though what you find even more intriguing is his unexpected returns to your window after that night–and his flirting. But when it seems like you're not the only one beginning to develop real feelings, he pulls back and you're left wondering two things: Why did he disappear and who really is the mysterious Devil that you've inevitably fallen for?

a/n: Just a short collection of one shots that I'll update whenever the ideas strike. It'll be told in a style like Falling for the Devil but it won't get nearly as long (unless y'all end up loving it, too). I just couldn't deny giving us all the fantasy of black suit Matt reappearing at your apartment window and all the flirting, sexual tension, feelings, and naughty things that might ensue... The installment list for this little series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer

Picking up the steaming mug of tea you’d just finished making from off the kitchen counter, you cradled your other hand around the warmth of the ceramic and drew it towards your chest as you turned and headed back towards your living room. The small spot of heat against the front of your sweatshirt caused a shiver to run down your spine as your sock-clad feet padded along the cold hardwood floor and back towards your couch. 

It was freezing inside your apartment tonight and the blustering snow storm raging outside in Hell’s Kitchen wasn't helping. Thankfully your office had already announced its closure for tomorrow before you'd finished work earlier this evening. The snow had already started to dump from the sky before you’d even left the office, falling heavy and wild as it accumulated in a cover of white that blanketed everything in the city. It would have been beautiful if you hadn’t needed to walk home afterwards in the frigid mess–especially with the way the large clumps of snowflakes pelted and battered you in the face over and over, the cold stinging at your skin. 

The city was expected to get a whopping eighteen inches of snowfall minimum over the next twenty-four hours, so you were grateful that your boss wanted as little to do with making it into work tomorrow as you did, especially because you couldn’t afford to do anything but walk to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was trudge through all of that mess and slip on a patch of ice, inevitably falling in a massive pile of snow and leaving you stuck in damp dress clothes all day. 

No, you'd rather stay dry and cozy at home enjoying a lazy day off of work.

You were just hoping the power in your apartment building remained intact throughout the fury of the winter storm. You didn’t want to think about losing the heat in your building in the middle of all of this. Another shiver ran through you as you pushed the thought away–hopefully not something you’d need to worry about tonight. 

But since you didn’t have work first thing in the morning, you had every intention of enjoying your night. You’d immediately come home and thrown off your dress clothes before settling on something comfortable–soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt sans bra underneath. Then you’d made dinner and cleaned it up fast before claiming your ‘spot’ for the evening on your couch. Which consisted of both of your blankets and the television remote while you binged a guilty pleasure show that you hadn’t had time to catch up on for the past few weeks. Tonight you were intending to stay up a bit late, cozy up beneath your blankets, drink some hot tea, and lose yourself in the plot and romance of the show before eventually dragging your tired ass to bed in the hopes of sleeping in tomorrow to make up for staying up late. 

Eyes focused on the paused television screen as you moved, you rounded the side of your couch while drawing your steaming mug up to your lips. You sipped at the warm liquid, reveling in it for a moment before you swallowed it down. You could feel it heat you from the inside out as a pleasant sensation washed over you. Your eyes closed briefly for a moment–it was the first time you’d actually felt warm today. 

Opening your eyes, you continued towards the couch and began to lower yourself down onto the cushions while trying not to spill any of your tea from the mug. Just as you were about to sit back down on the couch and cocoon yourself in both of your blankets, ready to settle in for more of your show, something outside the window to your right caught your attention. Your head spun in the direction just as a flash of black dashed past the window and a loud bang reverberated through your apartment. 

A frightened yelp slipped out of you at the sound and you clutched your mug tight to your chest, your heart thudding heavily in terror. Whatever had just literally dropped onto your fire escape had been large, especially with the sound of that impact. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you stared transfixed at the window, almost ridiculously terrified it would be some sort of wild animal–like a bear or a wolf–on your fire escape. 

Though, more realistically considering you were in New York City, you knew it was probably a burglar. Who else would be traversing fire escapes late at night? Especially dressed in all dark clothes? Except…that also seemed a little ridiculous, too. There was a literal blizzard happening outside, meaning everyone would be home. In their apartments. Making it impossible for a burglar to break into anyone’s place unseen. Plus, it was insane outside, what criminal would risk dealing with that right now?

So what the hell had just fallen onto your fire escape?

Another thought struck you soon after and your lips parted in shock at the idea as you blew out the breath you’d been holding. With trembling hands, you very slowly reached out, carefully placing your mug of tea onto the coffee table before you without taking your eyes off of your window. Gradually, almost nervously, you rose to your feet before taking hesitant step after hesitant step forward. Another sharp, surprised gasp flew out of you when you saw the dark figure sit upright on your fire escape, bent in half as if they were in pain. Which made sense, considering the fall they’d just taken.

But your body froze up instantly at the sight of the man dressed in all black bent in half and dusted in white patches of snow. He wasn’t a burglar at all. With the black cloth tied over his head and the form fitting shirt he was wearing, there was absolutely no mistaking who he was. You'd certainly seen enough images of him plastered across the media. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just fallen onto your fire escape.

Eyes widening in shock at the infamous vigilante attempting to pull himself up to his feet, one of his gloved hands holding onto the metal railing of your fire escape, you were suddenly overcome with the urge to check on him. To make sure he wasn’t seriously injured from that fall. 

Without thinking your actions through, you crossed the last few steps to the window and unlatched the locks before pushing it up. The masked figure immediately spun towards you at the sound as a bitter gust of wind burst its way into your apartment, chilling you instantly while those thick snowflakes once again assailed your face. For a moment you locked eyes with him–or at least, it seemed like you did despite the fabric covering half of his face–as your mouth hung open. You suddenly found yourself at a loss of what to say in the moment. And considering the way his lips thinned out along his face and the way he remained silent, he clearly wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with you, either.

Eyes darting down, you saw he had one gloved hand clutching at his right side as if it hurt him. His shoulders were hunched in on himself as his back faced the violent winds blowing snow relentlessly. Seeing him in person for the first time ever–something you’d never expected in your life considering how elusive the media made him out to be–you realized just how thin and unprotective his clothes really were. Especially tonight considering the cold weather. He had to be freezing.

An icy wind whistled loudly, another flurry of heavy snowflakes pelting you right in the face and breaking you from your thoughts. Blinking the snow from your lashes, you finally found your voice. 

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how one should approach the masked man. “I just–just saw you fall. It looked like it hurt.”

He gave a curt shake of his head, wincing before he turned more towards the railing. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied.

Something warm flooded your veins at the gravelly tone of his voice. It suited him somehow, even if it sounded fake. Like he was pitching his voice lower to sound like someone else in order to hide his identity. Not that you'd probably have recognized him anyway. 

With his back partially to you now, especially this close when there was barely a few feet of space between the pair of you, you could see just how incredibly muscular this man was. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, the toned abdominal muscles on his upper body clearly visible even from just his profile. Even the pectoral muscles of his chest were well defined and visible beneath the sheen of black. His arms were thick–far too big for just one of your hands to wrap around. And as your gaze lingered lower, you fought back the thoughts that entered your mind at the sight of how large his thighs were in those tight pants–and how pleasant a profile his ass also had. You wondered briefly if he'd gained all that from working out or if it had more to do with his nightly activities.

Though when you saw him grab onto the metal railing of your fire escape with both of his gloved hands, the movement drawing your attention away from observing him as he attempted to swing himself over it, you nearly screamed as you lurched forward. You lived on the fifth floor, was this man really about to fling himself off of the fire escape from all the way up here? 

But the scream died in your throat the moment he cried out in pain, his feet slipping from off of the railing as he fell back onto your fire escape. He let out a hiss of pain as he clutched at his clearly injured side.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, shoving the window open wider despite the cold and snow and leaning further forward. “You’re clearly not okay. Do you need something? An ambulance or something? Is there someone I can call? Or–or something I can do to help?”

The man rolled off his injured side and onto his back, gradually turning towards you as he lay on the fire escape. You hadn’t expected the amused and pained chuckle he emitted while the snow accumulated on the entire front of him, lightly covering the thin layer of his black shirt. Which you’d noticed had ridden up, revealing a small sliver of skin just above the dark, form fitting pants he was wearing. You tried hard to not keep glancing back at that patch of skin as it slowly rose higher and higher, unsure why you were so distracted by it.

The sound of his amusement soon drew you back to the moment and you cringed. Why the hell was he laughing?

“Are you alright? Did you…hit your head?” you asked him cautiously. “Maybe you have a concussion…”

Another amused sound slipped out of him, but that was quickly followed by a pained groan as he tried to once again rise up onto his feet. “I don’t have a concussion,” he assured you.

“You sure?” you asked, an eyebrow arching onto your forehead as you crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm when you began to shiver from the cold. “Because this doesn’t seem like a funny situation to me.”

“Well,” he grunted out, wincing as he drew back up to his full height, “normally I’m the one offering assistance, not the other way around. So yeah,” he continued with a faint shrug, your eyes once again catching the way he was holding his side, “it’s kind of amusing. In an…irritating sort of way.”

Your heart sank to your stomach at his words. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered, heat rushing up to your face instantly. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I was just concerned–”

He took a half step forward, cutting you off as he waved a hand between the pair of you. He shook his head, letting out a slight huff of laughter. “No, I didn’t mean you were irritating. Just…this situation. The–the snow and the falling part.” In a quieter voice he added, “And having an audience for it.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you stood there studying him for a moment. He was injured and wearing barely anything at all in the middle of a blizzard. He looked like he needed help even if he seemed like the type not to ask for it.

“Do you want to come inside?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. “I mean, to get warm and maybe sit down for a moment? I could call an ambulance or–or a taxi or something to bring you to a hospital.”

Another amused huff of laughter slipped out of him as he shook his head. “No hospitals, please. I’ll be alright. But…if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a moment to warm up.” His gloved hand lowered, pinching a bit of fabric from his shirt as he glanced down at it. “Admittedly this doesn’t offer much protection from the elements.”

You eyed the thin material between his gloves doubtfully. “Doesn’t look like it offers much protection from anything,” you told him.

A surprised bark of laughter peeled out of him, the sound drawing a smile onto your face. You’d made the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laugh. Now that was something you weren’t going to forget anytime soon. He didn’t seem like the type to break character easily.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he agreed, his laughter subsiding.

Taking a step back from the window, you waved a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come inside. “How about you come in so I can close this window and we both can stop freezing?” you suggested, surprised at how bold you sounded considering who it was you were speaking with. “I’m shivering already so I can only imagine how cold you must be.”

You watched as his lips curled up into a charming grin at the corners, just beneath the black fabric of his mask. It was impossible to deny that he had a handsome face–at least, from what you could see of it. You imagined the rest of it to be just as attractive beneath that cloth and a sudden intense curiosity to know what the rest of it looked like overtook you as you watched him carefully climb through your opened window. He moved slowly, wincing in pain as he made his way inside. Despite his tough act, that fall must’ve really hurt his side and you frowned, wishing he’d accept your offer to help. There was no way he was as fine as he claimed to be, surely he needed medical attention.

“Takes a special kind of person to just invite me into their home so readily,” the Devil’s rough tone came out as he turned his back to you, shutting the window after himself. “Normally people prefer to avoid me.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you replied almost instantly.

The window closed with a sharp clack before his masked face turned over his snow-dusted shoulder, his attention fixed on you. “Oh?” he asked curiously, a smirk growing over his lips. “I’m not?”

Your eyes were drawn to his mouth, though it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to look when you spoke to him with that mask covering most of his face. The smirk appeared teasing, and for some reason that had the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You suddenly became very aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your loose sweatshirt and it was now cold in your apartment. Quickly your arms wrapped over your chest, hugging yourself tight. His lips almost seemed to curl ever higher in response.

“I mean, you are ,” you amended, “but to, you know, criminals.” 

You swallowed hard when he remained still, gazing at you over his shoulder wordlessly.There was something almost predatory in the way he was studying you. It was easy to see how this lone man terrified the criminals on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, striking fear into them. He certainly had a presence. Goosebumps rippled beneath the sleeves of your sweatshirt at his continued silent stare.

“Right?” you asked tentatively, voice softer.

His smirk vanished as the other corner of his mouth curled upwards into what felt like a warm smile despite you being unable to see if it reached his eyes. He nodded gently, turning slowly back towards you as he did. 

“That's correct,” he agreed, brushing the snow from his broad shoulders. “I’m only dangerous to criminals. So unless you’re hiding any dead bodies or have some outstanding charges…?”

You laughed, though abruptly you snatched your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet the noise instantly. He was witty and funny. You weren’t anticipating that. Or the way your reaction to his quips seemed to please him, like he was trying to charm you. Which seemed even more curious, considering who he was and what he spent his nights doing. 

“Can't say that I do,” you said. “I'm probably the most boring person in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Well now,” he replied teasingly, “don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you're not taking that title  all by yourself.” 

That charming smile was back on his face and it had your stomach fluttering. Tearing your eyes away from him, you noticed the television was still paused on your show. Paused on a scene where the two actors on screen were clearly about to kiss. Cheeks burning, you hurried over and grabbed the remote from the couch and turned it off. 

“You can make yourself comfortable if you want,” you told him, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your tone. “I've got a couple of blankets you can use to help warm you up.”

His heavy boots thudded with each of his steps as he crossed the room and made his way to the couch. You bent over, grabbing both blankets from your place on the couch where you'd previously been curled up as he passed behind you. The moment one of his cold gloves brushed against your back, you froze.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“No it's–it's fine,” you replied. 

He passed behind you before settling onto the opposite end of the couch from where you had clearly taken residence. You forced a smile onto your face as you turned and leaned over, holding out the blankets towards him. 

Pull yourself together , you internally chastised yourself. Just because it's been a while since you've had a man here doesn't mean you need to react to every little thing. That's not what this is, obviously. 

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the blankets from your outstretched hand. 

You nodded before sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between you and him. Curling your legs up under yourself, you watched as the Devil wasted no time throwing both blankets around himself, beginning to visibly shiver beneath them as he tried to warm up.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?” you asked him.

“No one to call,” he answered. “And a hospital would defeat the purpose of trying to remain anonymous.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you muttered, glancing away and spotting the forgotten tea on your coffee table. “Would you like something to drink at least? Some water or some hot tea, maybe?”

His masked head tilted curiously to the side at your question, a grin returning to his plush lips. “Playing hostess?” he asked. 

“Well I'm sure you've got to be thirsty running around Hell’s Kitchen and fighting criminals all the time,” you explained. “I always sort of wondered if you stashed water bottles around the city or stopped for water breaks somewhere–not where you live, I imagine. Since you're trying to keep your identity hidden.” Your eyes narrowed as you added, “Or do you just let yourself get dehydrated every time you're out? Because that's not good for you, you know.”

The Devil's grin grew wider as he shifted on the couch, facing you even more from his place on the cushions. “Oh?” he asked, curiosity in his tone. “You've thought about me before, have you?”

Eyes dropping down to your lap, you smiled sheepishly as you shrugged. “I mean, I've had some theories circulating about you ever since you kept reappearing in the news,” you admitted awkwardly. “Sort of hard not to.”

“Well now you have to indulge me,” he teased. “Enlighten me on some of these theories of yours.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you continued to avoid his covered stare. “I mean, they're not that interesting…”

“Oh come on,” he tried again. “It's not like we don't have the time. And maybe I can confirm or deny some of them for you. Besides, I admit I’m curious to know what you think of me. Especially being so willing to offer help like you did.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. He looked far less intimidating beneath your blush pink blanket now. What would it hurt if you told him a few of your ideas about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe he might laugh at them, but would hearing that sound again be all that bad? And it truly would be interesting to learn more about the mysterious vigilante, something you'd probably never have the opportunity to do again. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a nod. Straightening up on the couch, you turned to face him more fully. “So I've always thought with the way that you fight that you were trained by some sort of secret ninja assassin organization.”

A hearty chuckle filled your living room at your first theory. The pleasant and resonant noise left you grinning as your stomach fluttered in response. You briefly wondered how often the Devil actually laughed when he was out. 

“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” he responded. 

The playful smile that kept appearing on his face was beginning to further disarm you. You found yourself enjoying his company, soon becoming used to the way half his face was hidden from sight with that ridiculous fabric. And for some reason your unexplainable attraction to him was only growing. 

“Next theory,” he prodded, the smile on his face apparent even in his voice. 

“You're not wealthy,” you stated, leaning forward and grabbing your tea from the coffee table.

“Oh, ow,” he joked, playfully recoiling back from you on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand at him across from you as you settled back into the cushions, mug in hand. “Because you wear clothing that is obviously not meant to protect you very well in a fight,” you answered. “I imagine if you had money you'd have something…nicer. Meant for what you do. And,” you continued, pausing long enough to drink down some of your now barely warm tea, aware of him focused on you, “you protect Hell’s Kitchen. Only Hell’s Kitchen. This part of the city isn't exactly filled with the wealthiest people. And with how dedicated you are to everyone here, I assume it's because you probably grew up here yourself. Most likely still reside here, too.”

The Devil hummed appreciatively when you'd quieted, his masked gaze still on you. You swore you could feel it as you drank down more of your tea.

“You're observant,” he mused. “Maybe I need to watch myself around you.”

A surge of pride swelled in your chest; you hadn't expected his praise. Or the way it would make you feel. And apparently, you'd guessed something right about him. 

“You're also not married or in a serious relationship,” you blurted before you could help yourself, wondering what more you could learn about him.

“Poor and unlovable?” the Devil asked with a surprised laugh. “That's what you think of me?”

“No,” you disagreed, laughing a little with him as you shook your head. “No, but I mean, I imagine you don't have time for someone else. And I figure most people wouldn’t like their partner going out and doing what you do. Putting yourself in danger.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, shifting on the couch and making himself more comfortable. “A partner would certainly be…a distraction. A liability. One I couldn't really afford to have. So no, you're not wrong, I don't have one.”

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with the mug in your hands. Half of you was hoping to hear that he wasn't with anyone–though you refused to admit to yourself why that mattered–but the other half of you had heard the way he'd said that a partner would be a distracting liability and you’d felt a sad pang hit you in the chest. Considering how much he seemed to be enjoying your company when he didn't even know you had you guessing that the Devil was a lonely man deep down. 

But that wasn't a theory you felt comfortable sharing. 

“Any others?” he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on him across the couch from you. His smile had disappeared, his lips now downturned at the corners just a bit. His posture had changed in your silence, the same as his mood, as if he'd picked up on the subtle change in yours somehow. 

Strange.

“I imagine you're the kind of guy who's fridge is always empty,” you answered.

A ghost of a smile reappeared on his face as he huffed out an amused breath. You couldn't fight the smile returning to your own lips at the sight of his again. 

“Well hey now,” he countered lightly, “there's usually beer. Sometimes orange juice and eggs.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. “Who'd have guessed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is just your average bachelor?” 

“Average?” he repeated in mock offense, his head tilting to the side. “I'm just average now?”

Quirking a brow at him in a challenging manner, your own head cocked to the side. “Maybe tell me more about yourself and I could say otherwise,” you boldly teased back. 

“Well obviously,” he began, grinning at you in a way that had your body heating, “I can't exactly do that now can I? Defeats the purpose–

“Of remaining anonymous,” you finished for him. “I've picked up on the importance of that.” 

A silence soon settled between the pair of you, one that slowly began to cause your nerves to grow with the way he kept smiling at you. Once again you desperately found yourself wanting to see the rest of his face, curious to know just how handsome he really was under that black mask. Though you settled for studying what you could see, your eyes tracing the soft curves of his pink lips, noticing the way they very minutely twitched under your scrutiny. Eventually your gaze dropped down, following the hard lines of his stubbled jaw. As your eyes trailed further down, they lingered on the part of his neck that wasn't covered by the blankets he’d wrapped around himself for warmth. A heat burned in you as the urge to reach out and just touch him, just to see if he was real, suddenly grew within you. It didn't help that it almost felt like you could feel the weight of his own eyes fixed on you beneath the mask, once again making you very aware of your lack of bra beneath your sweatshirt.

Catching your lip between your teeth, you noticed the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Had he been having similar thoughts? Observing you, too? 

Inhaling a sharp breath through your nose at the idea, you knew you needed to stop this line of thinking and stop it fast. There was absolutely no way the Devil would be interested in you. Certainly not like that. That was absurd.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, trying to calm your pulse. “If your fridge is empty all the time I'm guessing you could use something to eat.”

“I mean, I suppose if you’re–”

He stopped short the exact moment that the lights died, throwing the pair of you into almost complete darkness. You sucked in a breath, turning to look out the window just to your right. It was eerily dark outside, a sight that was rare in the city. Even the buildings across the street had been thrown into darkness. There was nothing but the howling wind and snow outside.

“Guess it was too much to hope the power wouldn’t go out in this mess,” you breathed out.

“I suppose so,” he replied, his tone just as soft.

Reaching blindly forward, you set your almost empty mug onto the coffee table before you. For a moment you reached around on the surface until your fingers brushed against your phone. You picked it up and unlocked the screen, grateful for the bit of light it shed in the dark as you turned on the flashlight function.

“So I can’t offer you a nice cooked meal without power,” you told him, rising to your feet, “but I can get you an apple and a couple of protein bars? If you’d…like?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it,” he said.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who does so much for the rest of us,” you told him, maneuvering around the couch and navigating your way to the kitchen by the light of your phone. “I’d feel awful leaving you hungry and dehydrated.”

Wrapping one arm around your chest to try to fight the chill that had been steadily creeping into you, you headed towards a cabinet near the sink. Reaching up, you grabbed a glass from out of it before taking a moment to fill it beneath the faucet before setting it along the countertop. Then you plucked an apple out of a fruit bowl on your counter, taking a moment to rinse it off first. The moment you’d turned off the faucet you heard his voice from across the apartment.

“You’re cold.”

For a moment you found it odd how his words hadn’t come out as a question but more of an observation, though you quickly shrugged the strangeness of that aside. You set the apple down on the counter beside the glass of water before sliding a step to your right and opening up another cabinet.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you answered, trying to shine the light from your phone into the cabinet to read the labels on the boxes. “I wasn’t the one out in that snowstorm wearing barely anything at all.”

“You say that like I was out there naked.”

His voice had unexpectedly come from just behind you this time and it jolted your heart in your chest instantly. His sudden proximity mixed with his word choice had you startling on the spot. Your hand that had been about to pull the box of protein bars out of the cabinet accidentally bumped it instead, causing the entire box to slip off of the shelf. But before it could tumble to the floor and spill its contents, a black gloved hand darted out beside your face, catching it before it had barely fallen six inches. 

You stood there rooted to the spot, his hand just brushing your arm as his held the box of protein bars. The hair on the back of your neck had risen, aware that he was standing barely a foot behind you now. Slowly, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your pulse quickened further at how close his face was to yours. He was looking at you, too. Or at least, he was facing you. Eyes dropping down, you couldn’t help but notice that mouth of his again. 

“I apologize,” he said, your eyes watching as his lips moved. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be. I just wanted to give you one of the blankets. No sense in me using both when you’re cold.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to form any other response.

With his attention still on you, he reached up and slid the box back onto the shelf. Then he seemed to take a purposeful step back from you, his lips set in a straight line. You wondered what was going on in his mind right now, because you were sure there had to be something. Had he felt the tension you’d just felt? Or were you just ridiculous and overly hopeful?

And why did it even matter? You were never going to see this man again after tonight anyway.

Blinking a few times, you returned your attention to the shelf. Reaching up, you slid your hand into the box that had nearly taken a nosedive to your kitchen floor and pulled out two protein bars. Keeping your eyes actively focused away from the Devil nearby, you closed the cabinet and slid a step back to your left, grabbing the glass of water in your hand with your phone and the apple in the same hand as the bars. Though before you could turn around, you felt something gently drape over your shoulders. Looking down, you noticed it was the pink blanket he’d been wearing.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “there’s no sense in me using both.”

“Right,” you whispered, pulse pounding in your throat.

Turning on your heel, you stepped past him and made your way back to the living room by the light of your phone. This time you heard the heavy steps of him following after you. You assumed that was intentional.

“So why were you out in this blizzard tonight anyway?” you asked him, making your way around the couch. You hoped having something to talk about would distract you from whatever it was he kept stirring inside of you. “Surely there aren’t a lot of crimes being committed in this weather?”

The Devil let out a light laugh as he accepted the offered glass of water and food from you. One of your brows quirked curiously onto your forehead at his reaction as you sat back down in your original spot on the couch. Though you noticed as he took a large drink from the cup while lowering himself onto the cushions that he’d sat closer to you than before. You watched as he ripped open a protein bar and tore off a large bite next, but he didn't answer until a moment later when he’d swallowed the bite down. Internally you noted he must’ve been hungrier than he let on with the way he was devouring that bar and you’d wished you’d had more food to offer him with the power out.

“You’d be correct,” he told you. “And yet I still stupidly made my way out into this storm tonight in the hopes of catching a lead on something. Instead all I got was my ass frozen and my side bruised.” 

You watched as he took another large bite of the protein bar, chewing it almost contemplatively as his head canted to the side. You could still see him in the beam of light from your phone which you were still clutching in your hand. Somehow this lighting made him even more appealing as it cast sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Though I suppose unexpectedly meeting you was a highlight,” he added, causing your cheeks to flush. “But you know, you never did give me your name.”

“Well you never exactly gave me yours,” you immediately quipped back.

Those beautiful lips of his curved upwards yet again as he chewed the last bite of the first protein bar. What you wouldn’t give to see if that smile had reached his eyes.

“Alright, point taken,” he replied. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you focused on your phone. If you kept the flashlight running the battery would die in no time. And who knew how long the power might be out for, you might need it later. You supposed you didn't need it on just for a conversation.

“I’m going to turn the flashlight off on my phone for now, if that's alright?” you told him, fingers darting across the screen to do just that. “Might need the battery on this later.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, sounding as if he was chewing another bite of food. “I don’t need it.”

He’d made the comment just as you’d leaned forward to set your phone back onto the coffee table, but you’d paused as the words processed in your mind. Your eyes narrowed again as your mind raced. Something about the way he’d said that sounded as if it had another meaning to it. But before you could put too much thought into it, he’d changed the topic.

“You’re still cold,” he pointed out. “That blanket alone isn't helping.”

Brows furrowing together as you slowly sat back, you wondered how he could possibly know that. The pair of you were in almost pitch black again with your phone flashlight off. It wasn't like he could see you and you hadn't been shivering, though there were definitely goosebumps dotting your skin. How could he possibly know? 

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket you had on tighter around yourself. “It’s bound to get colder here with the power out now.”

“And with how long you had your window open earlier,” he added. “The temperature is going to drop in here faster than it would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

You sighed, frowning in his general direction. “So much for being able to help you warm up,” you muttered. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured you.

It felt as if he was shifting on the couch nearby. Your brows knitted further together as you tried to make out what he was doing through the dark. All you could see was a faint mass of black that seemed darker than the rest of the blackness. Then moments later you felt a blanket being draped over your lap. 

“No, uh uh,” you said, shaking your head and immediately grabbing the blanket. “There’s two blankets, we can clearly share.”

“You’re freezing,” he countered. 

“And you’re not cold?” you shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve already been far kinder than I deserved this evening,” he replied.

You grabbed the blanket in your hands and stubbornly tossed it back in his general direction. An audible sigh sounded through the darkness to your left.

“You know I can just leave, right?” he told you. “Which would leave you with no reason to not use both blankets.”

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound of his voice. “But then you’d be allowing more cold air into my apartment, which would only make the temperature drop faster in here,” you argued back. “Then I'd really be cold.”

He breathed out a laugh and you imagined the smile on his lips at the sound. You smiled triumphantly back at the dark shape of him because you knew you had a good point. Even though really, you could just layer on more clothes.

“Okay,” he relented. “That’s true. So how about…we share?”

The smile on your face quickly disappeared at his suggestion. Mouth dropping open, you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. It took you a few seconds to regain the ability to respond.

“Share?” you asked.

“Body heat would certainly keep us both warmer,” he answered. “So would sharing two blankets instead of using only one.”

“Oh, uh, well,” you stammered, your mind racing at the thought of your body pressed up against his. “I–I–”

His deep laugh rumbled towards you through the darkness, the sound causing your lips to clamp shut. 

“I’m not suggesting anything immoral,” he assured you. “Simply a possible solution to the very real problem of us freezing in here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to leave?”

“No!” you exclaimed.

Immediately your eyes widened in horror at how quickly you’d responded to that. And judging by his chuckle, he’d also noticed, too. Your face scrunched up as you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so eager to keep him here in your apartment.

“Well in that case, we could share the blankets and our body heat,” he suggested again. “Because the temperature has definitely dropped a few degrees already and it's only going to continue if the power stays out.”

Nervously your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You were trying hard to control the racing of your heart, positive he could hear it with how hard it was beating now. Of course you weren’t going to pass up a chance to basically cuddle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for warmth during a snowstorm. You just needed to find a way to not sound so eager to accept his offer first.

“I suppose you…have a point there,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “That’s–that’s usually what people do in survival situations. Use their body heat to keep warm.”

An amused huff came from him and you realized he’d scooted even closer to you on the couch. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you felt his thigh bump against yours.

“So are we in agreement with sharing both blankets, then?” he asked.

“That–that appears to be the most logical solution to the problem,” you answered. “So yeah, I guess we…share the blankets.”

Despite the lack of light, the Devil seemed to move with ease and fluidity through the darkness, something you were paying close attention to as he gently sidled his way up against the side of you, managing to wrap both blankets around the pair of you. All the while you’d sat pin straight on the couch, aware that he was flush to your side from your shoulder all the way down to your knee. You clasped your hands in your lap, unsure of where else to place them. Truthfully, you had to admit you were already much warmer like this, with his body heat enveloping you beneath both blankets.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone far gentler than it had been all evening. “Because that's not my intention.”

“No,” you answered with a light shake of your head. “You're not.”

He chuckled softly, his body shaking yours slightly with the movement. Your head turned towards him and you wished you could see at least the part of his face that was visible right now.

“Then why are you so tense?” he questioned. 

“I'm not tense!” you lied.

He laughed again, this time louder. The movement jostled you somehow further into his side, though your hand flew out and landed flat on his very solid chest as you tried to stop yourself from falling further into him. Your eyes widened in horror yet again, but before you could push yourself away you felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders and allowing you to sink even more into him. Heat was very much creeping up your neck and reaching your cheeks now in embarrassment. 

“You're very tense actually,” he teased. “If you're uncomfortable I can move, but we aren't going to be sharing much body heat if you don't actually sit next to me.”

Slowly you removed your hand from his chest, lowering it to your lap. Though with the way you were sitting facing partially towards him now, your knuckles were brushing against his thigh. 

“I am not tense,” you grumbled. “And you aren't making me uncomfortable. This is just…awkward. I barely know you and you don't know me.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “How about since you've guessed a few things about me, I think it's only fair you tell me a few things about yourself now.”

“I told you I'm not very interesting,” you reminded him.

“Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “I think I'd like to decide that for myself.”

Biting your lip, you turned your burning face and buried it into his shoulder, glad he couldn't see how nervous he'd suddenly made you. It was hard to tell if he was flirting with you or if that was just his vigilante persona–when he wasn't beating people, of course. 

With your nose pressed against the fabric of his shirt, you noticed he smelled surprisingly good. There was the hint of his sweat, but there was also a faint clean detergent scent. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, inhaling a deep breath in. Even though he was still a stranger and a vigilante, he seemed kind and safe so far. And he also hadn't thrown you off of himself for getting even closer to him, either. Maybe you should just do what he seemed to be doing: relax and enjoy the unexpected cuddles tonight with an unexpected acquaintance. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you whispered, eyes still closed as you focused on his scent.

Eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself waking from a deep, comfortable sleep. Though your eyes instantly snapped closed against the bright light that immediately assaulted them. Slowly you blinked them back open, trying to adjust to the surprising sunshine pouring through your living room window. Gradually you began to push yourself upright, realizing you were laying with your head on a couch pillow, both of your blankets snuggly wrapped around you. For a moment your face twisted into a look of confusion as you hesitated, staring down at the two blankets. Why had you been asleep on your couch?

But then flashes of last night came back to you. The masked man falling onto your fire escape. The joking and constant banter between the pair of you. Darkness when the power went out and the feel of his warm, muscular body wrapped around yours as he tried to keep you warm. The scent of clean detergent and his sweat. The feel of his spandex shirt against your fingertips and your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Had that all really happened? Or had you just fallen asleep on your couch and dreamt it?

Your attention shifted towards your coffee table and your sluggish brain processed the sight of your almost empty mug of tea, left abandoned all night, and an empty glass of water. Pushing yourself the rest of the way upright on the couch, your head turned over your shoulder. The lock on your living room window was undone.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really had been in your apartment last night. Which meant the pair of you really had cuddled together for warmth when your power had gone out. And you really did meet him. At least, somewhat.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out in awe. “He was really here.”

But just as the rush of excitement at meeting someone you’d always secretly admired filled you, it quickly vanished. Because you must have fallen asleep on him sometime last night when the pair of you were talking, and then he must’ve slipped out of your apartment before the sun came up, probably when the power had come back on. Which made sense, considering he wouldn’t want to be seen sneaking back to his own apartment in such a conspicuous outfit. 

But what was upsetting you was the growing realization that it wasn’t just the first time you’d met him, but it would most likely be the last. And you’d gone and fallen asleep through part of that meeting.

Stupid stupid stupid.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock series #matt murdock #daredevil

[diordeer]

౨ৎ LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER [01]

“it's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter. it's never over, she is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever” - jeff buckley (smau)

↳ CHAPTER ONE PREV | NEXT

CONTAINS charlie bushnell x fem!reader CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BOOK THREE, this is a bit shorter bc i cant do much drama in the comments considering they dont know eachover yet

DESCRIPTION reader plays as artemis in season 3 of percy jackson (can we pls pretend artemis is in an older body), and also does ballet .. there is no specific face claim but she is white with blonde hair

TAGLIST @amoreva @liviessun @reet8713 @m00ng4z3r @tortured-poets-depxrtment @izuoyarmin @perseus-jackass @poppyflower-22 @pleasingregulus @balletfilmss @bowerfeithwk @tomblythsslut @mysterioussmae @niktwazny303

Liked by leahsavajeffries, dior.n.goodjohn and others

yn.ln life rn 🩰

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user1 did u guys see the percy series post??

↳ user2 omg shes playing artemis!!!!

user3 ur account is so pretty

↳ yn.ln 😘😘

user4 i cant wait for artemis and zöe they are my favs!

↳ user5 i dont think i will be able to deal with her death!

user6 omg AND ariana greenblatt?! we are getting fed!!

Liked by walker.scobell, iamcharliebushnell and others

Percyseries joining the cast of season 3 of ‘Percy Jackson & The Olympians’ are yn.ln and Ariana Greenblatt, as Artemis, and Zöe nightshade

Ln’s Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, is a daring and brave warriors who leads the group of her ‘Huntresses’.

Greenblatt’s Zöe Nightshade being one of those, as a loyal lieutenant. She is a determined, yet stubborn character, who leads the quest in saving Artemis.

tagged yn.ln, ariana_greenblatt

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user1 OH MY GOD ?!?!

user2 the hunters of artemis are my roman empire

user3 the artemis and zöe we deserve!!

dior.n.goodjohn excitiinggggg

Direct Messages:

Dior: heyy yn!

You: hi!

Dior: i was just wondering if u wanted to meet up with a few of us before filming? Like to meet eachover ☺️

You: omg obviously!! When?

Dior: maybe this weekend? Its not everyone, like just me, charlie, walker, and aryan, i think leahs busy not sure tho 😞

You: alr!! Ill check if im free!

Liked by iamcharliebushnell, leahsavajeffries and others

yn.ln had so much fun meeting everyone 😋

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aryansimhadri THAT MUG OF ME?! UNCALLED FOR!

↳ yn.ln you posed for it… all i did was post 🤷‍♀️

leahsavajeffries i cant believe i couldnt make it!! argh im so upset, i have to meet up with u soon!

↳ yn.ln ikkk 😖 give me a date and time ill come at ur will

user1 how is luke still alive this man is invincible

↳ user2 are we complaining tho 🤷‍♀️ like anything for more charlie screen time lets be real

dior.n.goodjohn already missing u 😖

↳ yn.ln im suffering withdrawal!

walker.scobell that food was banging

↳ aryansimhadri i want it again NOW!

user3 i love how she just met them and they already seem so close

↳ yn.ln who said that? I literally hate them all

↳ iamcharliebushnell yeah this girl is the bane of my existence, i saw her and instantly knew i didnt like her

↳ user3 exactly my point!

#charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #smau #social media au #aesthetic #charlie bushnell #in the know #x reader #artemis #ariana greenblatt

[roosterforme]

Playing From the Rough | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley agrees to play in a charitable golf tournament as long as you tag along. When he tells off a professional golfer for being rude and then beats him at his own game, Bradley braces himself for the consequences. But it's you the professional decides to take it out on. Guess he didn't get the memo: don't mess with the Bradshaws.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, mentions of smut, mentions of blood, non consensual touching

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Beautiful banner by @mak-32

"Come on, Rooster. We need a fourth golfer," Bob coaxed, handing Bradley another beer at the Hard Deck. "It's a foursome, not a threesome. And it's for charity."

Bradley sipped the drink and thought about how he'd have to spend a whole weekend day away from you, and he really just wasn't feeling it. The two of you were enjoying that newlywed bubble you'd been living in. Recently, Saturdays had been reserved for sleeping in late, walking the dog, and fucking. 

"Wow, I guess Bradshaw just hates charitable events for children's hospitals," Jake drawled, sipping on his glass of bourbon. "Come on. Be a sport. Payback and Fanboy are deployed. We need one more to make a team."

Bradley sighed. "Let me check with my wife."

"Bring her," Coyote said, lining up a shot at the pool table. "We get two extra tickets. She can drive a golf cart and drink beers all day if she wants."

Bradley cocked his head to the side before he turned to look at you and Nat taking shots up at the bar. "Who else would come?" he asked the guys. "With the other extra ticket?"

But Coyote had followed his gaze. "Give it to Nat. They'd have fun."

"They can be our cheerleaders," Jake said with a smirk.

Bradley snorted. "Don't hold your breath. I think drinking, heckling, and hitting us with the golf carts would be more their speed."

------------------------

"Roo."

Bradley woke up to you pushing your fingers back through his hair, and he groaned. It was just before six in the morning, and you were rubbing yourself against his leg and kissing his neck. He realized he had an erection before he could even remember what day it was, and then he groaned louder.

You and he had to be at the gold course for the charitable fundraiser in about an hour. Bradley wrapped his hands around your waist. "We need to get up, Baby Girl."

"No," you whispered. "You need to fuck me. I'm so horny."

"Shit," he sighed, glancing at the time on his phone. "We can't. We'll be late."

"Roo!" you whined, thoroughly unaccustomed to being told no when it came to anything, but especially when it was something you wanted in bed. Bradley was weak for you in that way.

"I'll make it up to you later, after I'm all sweaty and you've had even more time to get wound up," he promised, squeezing your ass. 

You moaned softly next to his ear. "You better. I want it twice."

"Three times," he replied with a smirk as he got out of bed. He watched you get dressed in a little tropical print pleated skirt and a sleeveless white golf shirt. And nothing else. "Are you planning on wearing any underwear?" he asked, following you into the bathroom.

"No," you told him casually, bending over at the sink to wash your face. He could see your bare pussy. You were doing this intentionally to mess with him. This is what he got for telling you no sex. "Fuck."

When he came up behind you, clearly having a change of heart, you stepped away from him and said, "We don't want to be late." He watched you walk back into the bedroom with your chin in the air. Oh, he'd get you good later.

Once you were holding two travel mugs of coffee and Bradley had his golf bag, he followed you out to the Bronco. He tossed his clubs in the back and then buckled your seatbelt. He let his palm rest on your thigh as he leaned in to kiss you. 

"You're going to look so pretty sitting in the golf cart and cheering for me," he said, trying not to laugh. 

"If anything, you're my trophy husband," you replied with a laugh as you kissed his scarred cheek. 

"I love you," he promised before closing the passenger door and heading out. 

The weather was perfect, the sky was blue, and when you and Bradley arrived at the golf course, the others were already there. The four of them were wearing matching golf shirts emblazoned with Top Gun on the back along with white pants. Bradley wasn't the best golfer by any stretch of the imagination. He usually just tagged along because it was fun, and today was no different. They were raising money for a local children's hospital, and some of the kids were present. 

Bradley smiled at the children who were waving to them after they got checked in. "They'd probably love some pictures with you guys," you whispered, running your hand up Bradley's bicep. 

"Nah," Bradley replied. "There are some TV stars and musicians here. I don't think they care about us."

But you pushed him and Jake toward the kids, and their little faces lit up. Soon Bob was handing out some pins with wings that said Top Gun, and you took pictures while the kids asked questions about aviation.

Bradley ended up sitting with a little girl named Abigail who asked him a million questions about his Super Hornet, but he didn't mind. He loved kids. But it was almost time to get started, so he stood and gave her a high five. And he posed for one more photo that you took before he headed to one of the golf carts. 

"That was sweet of you to pose for pictures with the kids," you told him as you slipped into the driver's seat. 

"It was sweet of you to take all the photos," he replied, sitting next to you and kissing your cheek. 

"Ready?" Coyote asked, taking a seat in the back. Bradley watched Nat tear off in the other cart with Bob and Jake barely hanging on. You followed them to the first tee at a much slower pace, and Bradley was happy to see that there were more kids among the spectators. 

He played the first few holes pretty well. Surprisingly, he was keeping up with Javy and Jake. You and Nat were half watching and half laughing with some drinks in your hands, but Bradley just wanted you to have a good time. 

And you were definitely making sure he was having a good time. Whenever he met your gaze, you ran your fingers up your bare thigh or licked your lips. He was probably playing so well because he knew what was in store for him later. Probably a blowjob to start, but you'd definitely let him finish in your pussy. When he checked the time on his phone, he saw a text from you.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I'm really horny.

He groaned. You were hot for him and texting him from twenty feet away. He texted you back before tucking his phone away so he could tee off.

Behave, or I'll spank you.

Bradley thought he could hear you moan from the golf cart. But that sweet sound was soon drowned out by someone else.

"Jesus Christ. I told him to fuck off! He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. And his golf swing looks like a piece of shit, too." 

It was a guy about his age, swearing up a storm in front of all the kids. Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist in his glove. Sure, he could appreciate the subtle art of the f-word, but not in front of families with kids representing the charity! There was a time and a place. Like bullshitting at the bar or whispering dirty stuff in your wife's ear.

"Rooster, you're up," Javy called, and Bradley rolled his shoulders and walked away.

But this prick was still running his mouth at the next hole. Bradley didn't know how he got unlucky enough to have to play next to this idiot, but he couldn't take much more. And when he looked up and saw Abigail and her parents, he decided that was enough. 

"Hey man, do you mind?" Bradley asked him, and then he was met with cold, gray eyes. 

"I'm sorry, but who the fuck are you?" the prick responded, sizing Bradley up.

"Someone who's sick of listening to your mouth," Bradley replied without hesitation. This guy was handsome and smug, and Bradley couldn't stand him. "This is an event for children. There are kids everywhere. Cut it out with the foul language."

Bradley turned and walked back toward the golf cart where you were laughing with Nat when Jake jogged up next to him. "Dude, what did you just say to Hunter King?"

"Who?"

"You were just talking to Hunter King. He's a super famous pro golfer!"

Bradley turned back to see that he was still being glared at. "I told him to shut his mouth and stop swearing in front of all the kids," he told Jake.

"But that's Hunter King," Jake insisted with wide eyes. 

Bradley shrugged and said, "I don't care who he is. He's being rude." Then he took a quick sip of the beer you were holding before handing it back to you with a kiss to your forehead. 

"Ready to go to the next hole?" you asked, brushing the hem of your skirt a little higher. 

"I'm ready to take you home," Bradley replied, squeezing your perfect thigh. 

"Gross," Nat complained, climbing out of the cart and heading to the other one. You and she drove the four of them to the next hole, and Bradley saw that Hunter King was right there as well. 

"Go get a hole in one, Roo," you told him, rubbing high up on his thigh and brushing his cock. 

"Baby Girl, I'm gonna teach you a lesson later."

"Ohh," you crooned. "Will you teach me how to hold your club?"

"If you're good," he replied, climbing out of the cart with a shake of his head. Bradley watched Hunter King play par on the hole, and then it was his turn. Bradley drove the ball with a nearly perfect swing, and the ball landed on the green.

You and Nat were both cheering for him, and the kids in the area all looked delighted as well. Nat drove Bradley over to the green to putt while you waited with Bob and Jake. And to Bradley's surprise, he came in at one stroke under par for the hole. He just did better than a professional golfer. And now Hunter King looked even more pissed off.

"Good," Bradley muttered to himself, bending to get his ball out of the hole. "That's what you get."

And then Bradley beat him on the next hole. And the one after that. 

"Wow, Rooster," Nat said, rubbing his shoulder. "I had no idea you'd be this good. Jake tells everyone how terrible you are."

Bradley rolled his eyes as you walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist. "You're doing better than Javy, Bob and Jake," you informed him, clearly impressed. 

"It doesn't matter," he replied. "It's just for charity." But he was still shocked when he finished in third place overall. Hunter King finished in fourth. 

Bradley went over to congratulate the first and second place finishers, but he was cut off by Hunter. "Good game," Bradley managed through clenched teeth, holding out his hand. But the other man didn't shake it. Instead he smiled in such a way that made Bradley feel very uneasy. 

"Are you married?" Hunter asked him.

Bradley's brow scrunched up. "Yeah," he replied.

"Which one's your wife?" Hunter was nodding to where you and Nat were standing in the sunlight. You looked beautiful, the golden glow illuminating your skin as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. With one hand planted on your hip you tossed your head back and laughed. You were his wife. His perfect wife. 

"You know what?" Hunter replied. "It doesn't matter. I'll take real good care of both of them."

"What?" Bradley asked, but as soon as Hunter headed your way, someone was trying to pull him aside for a photo with the other winners. When he turned back, all he saw was you and Nat being led away with Hunter's hand on your lower back.

---------------------------

"Ladies."

You looked up into a pair of soft, gray eyes and were met with a brilliant smile. "My name's Hunter, and I'd love to take you on a tour of the VIP tent."

"Sounds swanky," Nat replied, smiling at him.

"Oh. It is. I promise," he said with another charming smile. "Let's go."

You looked back to see that Bradley was absorbed with a photography crew and some of the kids associated with the charity. You tried to wave to get his attention, but you supposed it didn't really matter. You wouldn't be gone long enough to even need to grab you phone from the golf cart. 

Then Hunter's hand came to rest just above the swell of your butt, and you thought your eyes were going to bug out. As he nodded at the security guard watching the entrance to the VIP tent, you slipped out of his grasp. 

"Welcome, Mr. King," the guard said with a smirk. "Two guests with you?"

"That's right," he replied with a laugh. He was annoying, but the inside of the tent was incredible. It looked more like a small arena inside. There were people checking out golf simulators and waiters walking around with drinks. You watched Hunter grab two bottles of champagne from a large ice bucket. 

"This way, ladies," he said, and you took Nat by the hand before she could wander over to the simulators. Hunter looked at your joined hands as you both followed him, and he muttered, "That works for me, too."

You pulled Nat a little closer as the three of you ended up in a secluded area. After he popped the first bottle of champagne, he handed it to Nat. "A whole bottle?" she asked. "Thanks, Hunter."

Then he popped the second one and gave it to you. "Drink up."

His fingers lingered on yours as you said, "I love pink champagne. My husband buys it for me all the time."

Hunter's eyes appraised you, lingering on your lips and chest. You were suddenly very aware of your lack of underwear and peaked nipples. "Oh, you're married?" he asked casually. "Was he the one who finished in the top three?"

"Yes! He placed third," you told him before taking a sip of the expensive champagne. It was delicious, and Nat had already finished half of her bottle. You kind of wanted to share your bottle with Bradley, but you also kind of wanted to ditch it and leave. 

"You like to play golf?" Hunter asked, completely focused on you now. 

You shrugged. "I haven't played much. I usually just hang out in the golf cart when I go."

"Your husband won't let you play?"

You rolled your eyes. "I can assure you that I do whatever I want."

"I love to hear that," he laughed with a smile. "And I think you want to try out one of the simulators." 

You noticed that Nat had already wandered away to one of the booths. "Just for a minute," you agreed.

Then you listened to him explain how the simulator worked. It was a small booth, and you would wear a virtual reality mask. It looked just like you were really on a golf course. 

"Let me close the door for you," Hunter murmured next to your ear. "So you can get started."

He closed the booth, and it took you a few seconds to realize he was still in there with you. Because when you bent a little at the waist, you bumped into him with your butt. 

"You need a little help with your posture?" he asked, wrapping his hands around your hips from behind. In an instant, you knew you were rubbing against the zipper of his pants, and his left hand was skimming over your skirt right where your little rooster tattoo was covered by the thin fabric. 

You gasped when his hands slid a little lower. You had no underwear on, because your main goal of the day had been to tease Bradley. But now Hunter was the one almost touching your bare skin. 

"What the hell?" you shouted in the small space, whipping off the mask covering your eyes and spinning around. "What the hell is your problem?" You watched his face as you pulled your right hand back. He looked alarmed, eyes wide and hands held up in surrender as your palm made contact with his face.

"Ow! Fuck!" he screamed. Somehow you managed to slap his cheek and also hit his nose with the heel of your hand at the same time. It started gushing blood onto his pale blue shirt, and he tried to pinch the bridge of his nose to get it to slow down. 

"I'm married, and you're creepy!" you informed him loudly, shoving past him to get out of the simulation booth. "Come on, Nat," you called, taking her hand again.

"Why are we leaving? I didn't finish my champagne!" she complained. So when you walked back past the ice bucket, you gabbed a new bottle for her and a second one for yourself.

"Hunter is a creep," you informed her as you made your way to the tent exit. But Hunter was hot on your heels and reaching out for you.

----------------------------

Bradley saw you go inside the VIP area, but he got pulled aside for some group photos. He knew the kids, including Abigail, were waiting for more photos as well, but he quickly excused himself to head after you.

"That son of a bitch," he muttered to himself as he approached the security guard. Hunter King was mad that he told him to shut his mouth, and beating a professional at his own game really hadn't helped Bradley's cause. And he just knew Hunter was going to try to take it out on you and Nat. 

He started sweating. You were all horny and wound up, and you had skipped underwear to mess with him. And now the guy who was pissed off at Bradley was probably inside pawing at you. And you weren't answering your phone. 

"Whoa, hang on," the guard said, sliding into place in front of the entrance just as Bradley got there. "This area is off limits for you."

Bradley grunted. "My wife is in there."

"Good for her," he replied with a shrug of his enormous shoulders. 

"You don't understand. She's with Hunter King."

The guard had the audacity to smirk at him. "One of those two attractive women? I'm sure she's having a great time with Mr. King."

What was that supposed to mean? Bradley had to close his eyes and silently count to ten. "I just need to pop in there, and then I'll be right back out."

"Absolutely not."

Bradley ground his molars together before he managed a very insincere sounding, "Please?"

Then the security guard laughed at him, and Bradley contemplated trying to shove this guy out of his way. He had about a hundred pounds and four inches on Bradley, but it would be worth the pounding to make sure you and Nat were okay. Just as he was working himself up to do it, he caught sight of you heading his way, dragging Nat along. You emerged from the tent looking unscathed.

"Hi, Roo," you said sweetly, gripping a bottle of pink champagne for some reason. You wrapped your arms around him, the cold condensation from the bottle pressing to the back of his neck. 

"What's going on, Baby Girl?" he asked, still completely bewildered as you kissed him. "Where's Hunter King?" He was pulling you a little closer, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

But Nat started laughing. "You don't need to worry about your wife. Cheers," she said, holding up a second bottle of champagne before popping the cork.

You whispered, "I love you," against Bradley's lips just as he saw Hunter come storming to the tent entrance with blood all over his shirt.

Bradley took your face in his hands. "What happened? Why is he covered in blood? Did he try to hurt you? Or Nat? This is all my fault for telling him to stop swearing and then beating his score." Bradley could feel his pulse quicken, feel his brow crease in concern, but you were smiling.

"He's a creep. I told him I was married, and he still tried to touch me, but I'm pretty sure I broke his nose."

Bradley shoved you gently away from him, ready to beat the ever living shit out of both the security guard and Hunter King. He watched Hunter's eye grow wide as he clenched both hands into fists, but then you were in front of him again. 

"Roo! It's okay!" you promised, pressing the champagne bottle to his chest and pushing him back. 

"It is not okay," he growled, letting you push him a little further away from the tent. "I'll rip him in half."

"Roo! Right before I saw you, he tried to grab me again. I told him I'd call the cops if he didn't match the donation that was being made to the children's hospital." 

"Match the donation? That's like four hundred thousand dollars," he replied, looking at you with surprise. "You just got Hunter King to make a personal donation of four hundred thousand dollars?"

"Yep!" you replied, pressing yourself to the front of him. "I sure did. And I got him to say it in front of one of the charity's coordinators. I also insinuated to that coordinator that perhaps Mr. King shouldn't be allowed to spend any time alone with women in the VIP tents in the future. And that maybe he should be removed from the circuit. Now let's go home, pop this delicious bottle of pink champagne, and celebrate your third place victory!"

Bradley was still gaping at you before he scooped you up into his arms. He was careful to keep your butt covered with one big hand as you kissed his face while he glared past you at Hunter King until the other man slinked back into the shadows where he belonged. 

"You're such a badass," he told you suddenly. "I'm so impressed by you all the time, Sweetheart. You don't even need me."

"No, I don't," you agreed with him, kissing his cheek and trailing your lips back to his ear. "But I really, really want you."

"Let's go home," he grunted, carrying you to one of the golf carts. "I just want my bed, my wife, and the expensive champagne she stole from the VIP tent."

-----------------------------

Don't mess with the Bradshaws! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #roosterforme #playing from the rough

[lilsocksiswriting]

Teacher's Pets

Fandom: JJK

Paring: Professor!Geto X Reader X Incubus!Gojo

Summary: The classic spell gone wrong that ends the reader being Professor Getot's pet Incubus' next meal.

Warming: NSFW, Darker Content, dub-con, no beta, minors DNI

Tags: College AU, student-teacher relations, fingering, praise, dirty talk, cum play, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral, size kink, double penetration, anal, squirting

Word Count: 7.5K

You only performed the silly ritual with your friends so that they would let you go home. You were all from pregaming at their house, laughing as they got ready for a night out, but you had no intention of being out on such a chilly and dreary night after a long day of classes. 

You have every intention of spending the evening at home under your heated blanket with Animal Crossing and a big mug of hot chocolate. Your English Lit professor was not a part of these plans, but here he is sitting in the middle of your living room sofa with his legs so invitingly spread. 

“P-Professor Geto…h-how did you get into my apartment?” you demand. The shake in your voice gives away how unnerved you are to find your professor has broken in.

Professor Geto lays his head against a closed fist and gives you that smile that makes him known as one of the more easygoing professors on campus. He is one of your favorites who had made reading those long classics printed on Bible-thin paper enjoyable. So enjoyable that you are currently taking him for the fourth year in a row.

He was also young, the youngest in the English department to be precise. The proximity age,  good looks, and charm made a lot of the freshmen develop some sort of crush. You were not an exception to this. However, this infatuation with Professor Geto never went away after freshman year. You are ashamed to admit that scene you have walked in on is the beginning of a fantasy or two that keeps you up at night trying so hard to bring yourself to an orgasm.

But it was never enough. Your fingers could never quite reach that spot, you could never rub your clit in just the right way. It was so embarrassing and strange to be thinking that you can’t make yourself cum while a professor has broken into your apartment. 

“I had a friend's help, one that has been just dying to meet you.” 

Snapping his fingers, a sudden presence looms over you. A tall white-haired man stands just behind you in nothing but a black blindfold and matching collar around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

“Isn’t she just a cutie drenched in that sweet smell of need?”

Need? Need what? You gasp when the man pulls you back into his chest. You can feel his hardened cock sandwiched between him and your back.

“Is that so Satoru? That does make sense. Desire will make us do just about anything after all.”

Satoru nods eagerly, “Out of those mortals she was the one that was marked. So needy and desperate to cum because she can’t do it herself.”

“Oh, “ Suguru coos and his voice is dripping with a faux pity, “you poor thing.”

“H-how,”  you bite your tongue so as to not reveal such embarrassing information about your….troubles.

“You look a little confused Y/N, allow me to explain what’s going on and what’s going to happen. It may be hard to believe but this is  Satoru, “ He pauses and pats his thigh, which looks so sung in those dark slacks. 

 Your foot moves to step forward, but the professor isn’t calling to you.

A black wisp of smoke passes you, the weight of Gojo’s body against your back disappears and he reappears at Professor Geto’s feet. He sits there on his knees, hard, dripping cock on full display, like a loyal dog with a black leash now attached to his collar. You feel a tinge of jealousy somewhere deep in your chest at how happy and content Satoru looks.

“And he’s, my incubus. Now at the time, I’m sure you and your friends were completely unaware that the little ‘get lucky’ ritual you all performed was actually a marking ritual and it looks like it marked you to be my succubus’s next meal. So, you’re going to let Satoru here fuck until his full and satisfied.”

Satoru for his part looks so docile smiling at you, but there’s just something about him, an air he has that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Like at any moment the demon is going lounge at you.

You swallow and look between your professor and his ‘pet’ babbling, “But…I- I didn’t know. How could- when? I-I mean we did that like what? An hour ago?”

“No excuses. This is your doing and you’ll be fixing it whether you like it or not,” The sternness in his voice leaves little room for argument.

“Why me though?” your voice is getting higher as the panic rises.” We all did the same ritual together. We all wanted to ‘get lucky’. So why was I marked”

“Oh, that’s because Suguru’s got a big fat-hng!” Suguru shuts the demon up by pulling his leash taught.

“Because Gojo desires what I desire,” He supplies little of an actual explanation.

Suguru then lets the back leash be turned into smoke, thin whisps falling between his fingers before dissipating into nothing. The demon’s blindfold follows suit revealing a predatory pair of shining blue eyes.

 You have no time to dwell on the warmth that Suguru’s words leave in your stomach. Their meaning is just on the tip of your tongue but is forgotten under Satoru’s gaze.

“She looks so cute blushing Suguru,“ the demon wines,” Please I'm dying over here!”

“Well Y/N? Are you going to let Satoru sit here and suffer?”You swallow thickly. Satoru did look pitiful down there. His cock flushed red and drooling. Aching for soem of relief. He’s so desperate that he jerks his hips into the air as if that would help. It was arousing. And your professor sitting on your living room sofa, legs spread wide and welcoming with that lazy smirk was even more arousing.

The sick thing is that the thought of laying down and letting this stranger rut his hips into you like a dog in heat while your favorite professor leisurely watches does cross your mind and does make you feel hot. But, there’s a single thread of logic that pulls you back to reality.

 Your professor broke into your apartment with some…some demon who he wanted you to fuck in front of him. Ok, that still sounds a little hot- no! This was all wrong. This was a crime. This was….This was…

You take a step back and Suguru’s face falls. He warms you, “Now, now Y/N you wouldn't want me to sick him on you, would you? I can’t be held responsible for anything he does if I have to.”

“Bu-but I don’t mean…I didn’t think that it was real. I-I just wanted to go home.”

“Excuses, excuses,” he tsks.

You take another step back. Suguru nudges his sleek dress boot against Satoru’s naked thigh and the demon attacks.

In the blur, you are on your hands and knees, a firm hand pressing down on the back of your neck keeping your face smooshed into the carpet.

“Aww listen to her wine~ ain’t she such a cutie?”

With his free hand, Gojo pulls down the cotton shorts and panties down to your knees.

“Suguru! Suguru! look! She’s got a little wet patch on her patients already,” your face burns as the demon excitedly points out the dark patch on your underwear.

“Looks like she’s been hiding some things from us. You should  know now Y/N that you can't hide anything for Satoru.”

You feel a hand creep further and further up your thigh. No, not there, don't touch there-

“Fuck you sound so good whining,” Gojo comments as his fingers slip between your slick folds, “And you’re wet already. Bet it was all those dirty fantasies about your English professor running through your pretty head when you came back to see him here.”

How did he know that? You can’t dwell on the question too long because Satoru is pushing two slender fingers into you.

“And what are these dirty fantasies of Y/N’s about?”

You do your best to shake your head and plead to the demon, “P-please don’t-oh god!” your own moan cuts You off. Gojo's fingers are slipping in and out of you. Going deeper than your fingers could ever reach.  They Curl into spots that make you tremble and forget how to string words together into coherent sentences. 

“She’s got such a filthy mind,” He begins revealing all your dirty secrets while fucking a third finger into you. ”Wants you to fuck her pretty much everywhere on campus. Over the desk in your office, down on her knees letting you fuck her throat in the most secluded parts of the library's old wing, letting you fuck this soaking cunt  in front of the whole class to show them who she belongs to. Fuuuuck, what a lewd girl you are.”

In the position the demon has you in you can’t see Professor Geto squeezing the outline of his hardened cock through his slacks.

“Go on,” Geto demands.  

“And you like it messy don’t you cutie,” Gojo laughs spreading his fingers apart making your toes curl at the feeling of being stretched open even more, “You can drop the sweet and scared virgin act. I know you want to be drooling all over Suguru’s cock, want your spit and his cum to be dribbling down your chin. You want Suguru to use that heavy, beautiful  cock of his to paint your face and tits. Y/N here thinks about getting to go to your office first thing in the morning just so you can fuck this sloppy cunt full of cum and walk around with a cute little jeweled plug keeping it all in for the whole day. Doesn't that sound so nice Suguru?”

“We’ll see how things play out Satoru. Now come on, don't play with your food.”

You are flipped over onto your back. Gojo makes quick work of throwing your shorts and panties to the side. You are left in nothing but the cropped hoodie you wore to your friend's place. Since the pre-game took place at her apartment just a few floors below, you had not bothered with a bra.

From this new position, Satoru looks down at you with the hungriest look in his eyes and a big smile plastered across his face. Craning your neck to escape his hungry gaze you see an upside-down view of your professor working on unbuckling his pants.

Gojo, wanting all your attention, gets it by slapping the head of his cock against your slick clit. 

“You hear that cutie?” and yes you do hear the wet slapping noise you two make. Each time the tip slaps against your clit it sends a pleasurable little shock through your body. 

Then he starts rubbing his erection between your folds, using your wetness to coat it.  His hands yank your hoodies up over your plump breasts. You whimper as his hands run back down your sides and grip your hips. 

“W-wait- don’t!” but you plead goes ignore as Gojo pushes himself inside you. 

Your back arches and your eyes roll back. Gojo feels so good, he’s going so deep, hitting all the right spots that are making your jaw tremble, it was like his dick was made for you. 

“S-see? Doesn't that feel good? You feel so good squeezing around my cock. You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You can try and d-deny that all you like,” he begins slowing rolling his hips into yours, “But the way you’re suckin’ me in right now. Your body can't lie to me Y/N. I know how much you crave to be fucked until you can’t think. You want to be nothing but a  fuck toy for your favorite professor.”

You whimper and turn your head away from him.  The demon was right about everything. You love this. Your body is thrumming with lust and pleasure that you have been craving for weeks. But you never wanted it like this!

“B-but this is so wrong~,” you say as tears well up in your eyes, and his pace picks up.

“Shhh, shhh, there's no need to cry like that baby. Just listen to yourself,” Gojo soothes cupping your cheek so that your eyes stay on him. 

With a little hiccup and a sniffle, you obey. You don’t have to strain your ears much to hear the lewd noises you and Gojo’s bodies make. You moan,you sound so wet, and it feels so good.

You can tell yourself that this is wrong, but you can’t deny how the incubus’s cock is making you feel.

Suguru has fished his hard-on out of his pants and is now slowly stroking himself to the view before him. His incubus rocking his hips into your squelching cunt.  Each time Gojo thrusts into you your tits give a little bounce. It's quite a sight to see his favorite student getting fucked by his favorite pet. 

‘Mabey Satoru is on to something. We both have become lonely.’

“S-satoru! s-slow down, s’too much” Your senses become muddles with ecstasy and pleasure.  Your morals are slipping away from you too fast.

The demon laughs at your pathic pleas, “Slow down? But your body is loving this cutie. Fuck, fuck fuck, that’s it.  Feels so good squeezing around my cock. Gunna milk me dry if you keep this up.”

Your back arches to the carpet again and your eyes widen. No way that you were about to cum on a stranger's cock while your English professor watched stroking his own! And so quickly! Holy fuck, the upside-down views of Professor Geto jerking off his thick cock is mouth-watering.

Your orgasm crashes over you. Your skin becomes flushed with a delightful tingle and that knot that kept tightening in your tummy just snaps. You can’t think about anything else but the way that your wall is molding perfectly to his cock.  A thick viscous warmth floods your cunt as Satoru’s hips press against yours.

“That’s that’s it cutie. yesyeysyes,” Satoru chants in a tight voice.

He doesn't pull out until your body feels like putty in his hands.  Thighs twitching from the aftershock is the first of many mind-blowing orgasms to come. In your post-orgasmic state, it is easy for the demon to pick you up off the ground and set you between his legs. Your back sags against his bare chest.

As you come back down to your senses the incubus pulls both your legs over his thighs. Your face becomes flushed red all over again as the demon spreads you out in front of your professor.

Said the man stopping stroking himself, settling his hand around the base of his cock. He doesn’t want to cum yet. You’ll be taking his cum tonight, all of it. 

You try to look away from Professor Geto’s intense stare but  Satoru grips on your chin between his fingers, keeping your head forward. You wine in protest and squeeze your eyes shut as the demon begins to play with his own cum seeping out of your hole.

“St-stop-ah! Please th-that’s”

“It’s what cutie?” Gojo teases smearing his cum between your fold,” it feels good?” he gathers some of the milky white substance between his fingers and pushes it back into you,” It must feel good within how you’re clenching around my fingers.  Feel like the horny thing wants to be filled with a cock again.”

“Is that so Satoru?”

“I'm sure of it. She’s still drenched in that smell. I think she just needs some reassurance. You just need to relax Y/N we know exactly what you need and what you want,” Satoru curls his fingers inside you right over that spot that has you throwing your head back with a gasp. “But you are fighting it with those pesky morals. Come on now, just let’em go Y/N.”

The incubus words are doing something to you. Suguru knows what the succubus is doing, he can sense the magic coming off his breath causing you to grow unfocused again. Not enough to make you lose track of where you are or what’s going on, but enough to make you crave another orgasm.

The demon nuzzles into your neck and continues to enchant you with his words and slender fingers,” Don’t deny yourself this Y/N I know how much you need to feel good, and Suguru and I are here to help. You just got to relax, that’s it, relax those muscles for us. Let yourself feel good yea?”

Watching you relax against Satoru as he lazy pumps his fingers inside was a scene that Suguru could watch for hours, but some other parts of him can’t wait. 

“Y/N, come here,” he patted his thigh just as he had done with Satoru. 

The succubus lets go of you so you can crawl on your hands and knees to your professor. His incubus takes a moment to enjoy the view before crawling after you. You sit on your knees between the professor’s spread legs, still with that red blush across your cheeks. By the end of the night, they’ll fuck that shyness right out of you. He is sure of it. For now, he wants to see how obedient you can be. 

“Suck it,” he demands softly, angling the head of his dick towards your mouth. 

Suguru lets off a shaky breath as you take him into your mouth. From behind you Satoru’s darkened eyes watch you slowly slip more of Sugur's thick shaft into your mouth.

You've never had anyone as big as  Suguru so of course you struggle.  A firm hand running its fingers through your hair and another pair massaging your ass keeps encouraging you to keep going. 

His praise is just a bonus,”That’s it, shit look that Satoru. She's so determined.”

“Turns you on, doesn't it?”, the demon asks knowing the answer but wanting to see your reaction to your dear professor confirming it.

“Yes.” With your nose finally nuzzled snuggly against the thick patch of hair between his legs you moan. Finally, finally, you're seeing Satoru’s and Suguru's side of things. Realizing that they are here to make you feel good so the demon can have his fill of your sweet energy.

You pull back quickly and cough, gasping for breath. But you are so determined to please the English professor that you take  His cock back into your mouth pressing your tongue into the underside of his shaft this time. 

“Look like Satoru was spot on about you, “ Suguru groans. “Acting like this is all sorts of wrong, but when it comes down to it you are such an obedient little slut for us.”

He watches you experimentally bob your head, catching on quickly. Who knows that timid, studious girl who sits in front of all his lectures but barely says a word could suck dick so good?

His eyes flutter close enjoying your mouth bobbing and slobbering all over him. You get into a steady rhythm, drooling all over his cock making the process of slipping him down the back of your throat easier. 

His eyes snap open when you begin to gag. Your throat constricts around him and thank God you pull off of him or else you’d be gagging for different reasons.

You scramble to brace your hands against Suguru’s big thighs and whip your head to look over your shoulder. Satoru smiles innocently at you as he rolls his hips into you again.

“S-Satoru! I-I can’t suck him off with you d-doing that ~”, your head collapses against Suguru’s leg as the demon fucks into your messy cunt making your legs feel like jello. 

Suguru’s hand slips from the top of your head  to cup your cheek to have you look up at him. You look beautiful with your ruddy cheeks, short breaths, and blow pupils. 

“You can too baby,  you're such a fast learner after all and so eager to please.” that seemed to be all the encouragement you needed because you took him back into your mouth. Suguru lets out a long breath, “Atta girl.”

Your rhythm becomes unsteady, and you are still gagging every now and then, but it is just as good if not better. Suguru’s combs back your hair to keep it out of the way of your pretty lips warped around his cock.

As Satoru takes you from behind, he leans over to talk into your ear, “Now try hollowing your cheeks, yea just like that. fuck, you’re a natural at this” he cuts his eye to Suguru, “ We have to keep her. She’s barley done this before you know. She’s read some dirty fanfictions, watches porn, had a few akwrad times, but has barey evrer tasted dick like this  until now. “

No, not this again. You didn't quite like how the demon could work his way into your head and find out all your secrets. You can't object this time with your mouth already occupied, but you can groan around Suguru’s cock and wiggle your hips. Satoru laughs, griping you tighter so you can’t wither around much as he sinks his cock  back into you.

“She's so embarrassed Suguru~” he teases, “She doesn’t want you to know sad her sex life has been until now. Just some flings here and there, awkward grouping, and pathetic dry humping in a Honda Accord. She's the only person who ever made herself cum before me, well before she hit this dry spell that’s made her so desperate for pleasure. Oh fuckfuckfuck.  Y/N  we’re going to ruin this pussy. Shit, she's so excited for that Suguru.”

 You pull back to catch your breath, burring your face in Suguru’s clothed thigh as Satoru pounds into your tight cunt. The words were spot on but still embarrassing to hear out loud. Suguru for his part thinks your reaction is cute and funny. 

“Now now, “ he turns her head up to look at him “No need to be embarrassed.  You want to feel good right?”

“Y-yes, but-”

“No buts then. Just be a good girl, do what I say, let Satoru feed on you, and you’ll feel so good you’ll lose your God damn mind OK.”

Oh, did sound good. Too good to be true  And it was still wrong. But you couldn't say no to the idea of being used by the two men. Let them fill just about every hole you have with their cum. Getting to cum so many times that you might lose count.

“Ok.”, you answer them opening your mouth wide for Suguru to slip his fat cock back onto into. 

“yesssss,“ Satoru hisses, “she’s thinking about letting us use her like our cute personal sex toy.  Wants us to  cum inside her, doesn't want to waste a single drop.”

You moan around Suguru’s cock confirming that yes, you want both their cum, you need it. You need to feel your English professor fill your mouth and his demon fiils your cunt again. 

“That’s such a good girl,” Suguru groans, hands coming to comb back your hair so he can get a good look at you, “Gonna be a good girl and take everything we give you?”

 You do your best to nod. 

“She does sound like a keeper Satoru .”

“I-I told you.”

You continue to bob your head. The repeated assault on the back of your throat causes tears to collect at the corner of your eye. Even though it’s uncomfortable and going to cause your throat to be sore tomorrow you keep going. You want to feel your  English Professor’s cum shooting down the back of your throat. 

“Shit, that’s it, baby, that ittttt,” with his other hands Suguru  reached out for the demon, “Satoru come’er,”

Looking up Suguru grips the back of his head and pulls Satoru into a hungry kiss. He pushes you down on his cock making you gag more. You don’t mind it though, the sight above and the grunts from Professor Geto as his cum spurts down your throat is more than worth it.

Suguru pulls away and looks down at you. He feels you swallow around him trying your hardest to swallow every single drop of his cum, but some still manages to slip out of the corner of your mouth. Luckily the incubus is still there behind you, steadily thrusting his cock into you. He dips down to lick the cum dribbling out of your mouth.

“Poot thing, you cummed too much Suguru”

The Professor was quiet for a moment, thinking over what the Incubus had been hinting at tonight, “She’ll learn to take it all like a good girl in time. “

Satoru moans giddy, “She will, and I’ll teach her all there is to know!”

Satoru was still hunched over you as you pull off  Suguru's cock gasping for breath. You don’t get a chance to catch it Satoru pulls you into the same kind of messy open-mouth kiss you were seeing above. He can taste Suguru on your tongue.

When he breaks away you still gasp for breath and it’s such a sight. A  shiny string of spit connecting your swollen lips, your eyes too big and dazed, your face full of want, fuck,  you’re perfect

“You ready to cum again cutie?”

You nod eagerly, pussy clenching around his dick.  Satoru let's go of your chin and snake hands down between your legs. His finger home in you your clit and starts to rub vigorously back and forth over it.

Your eyes go wide and it's like something suddenly snaps. If not for Suguru’s leg you probably would be face down on the floor right now. You collapse against your professor who’s already caught on to what his incubus wants from you. He’s pretty sure this will be the first time that you’ve ever squirted.  

Sugar is no help to you. He lays his arms across the back of your couch and enjoys the look of panic that crosses your face. 

“W-wiat !” You get a little bit of strength back and use it to try and escape Gojo, but it's useless. Feeling the pressure continue to build in your stomach only makes you more frantic, ”I need a time-out! Hnnn~p-lease, i-i need a bathroom break or i-i’m gonna”

The demon doesn't stop his assault. Big fat tears of embarrassment well up in those pretty eyes of yours as you feel the release coming and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

You cry as Satoru's cock counties to drill into your gushing pussy. He fucks you through the blinding, mind-numbing orgasm while chasing his own.  Slurred cruces mix with your name bubble from his mouth, and he empties himself inside your cunt again. 

“Shit,“ Satoru breathes. He pulls his hand to his mouth and licks your wetness from his fingers, ”She so good. I am so glad you marked yourself for me cutie. Couldn't think of any other mortal I'd want to fucking ruin.”

Your mushy brain barely registers anything the incubus is saying. It’s still clouded by feeling dam good and just having cummed so damn hard. You can feel how the demons are still plugged inside you and hard. Eventually, you begin to feel other things, like the button of Suguru’s slacks digging into your cheek and the wetness coating your thighs.

‘Wow’

“D-di I just squirt?”

​​ 

You can't believe it.  You’ve ever seen people squirt in porn and you thought it took some sort of special skill set to do so. 

“Mhmm, “ Satoru  hums,  “And I bet it felt as good as it looked.”

You bashfully nod, “it did.” 

You shift your knees, the carpet beginning to leave a scratchy red imprint on your skin. Doing so reminds you of the pulsing  cock still inside you. “H-how are you still hard? We’ve done it twice already.”

Satoru laughs, oh he has so much to teach you, “Because I’m still hungry for you.” 

“Y/N,  baby, come up here to get off your knees. You look like you are getting uncomfortable in this position.”

You nod and though Satoru’s pouty about it he pulls out and helps you crawl onto the other’s lap.

With Satoru’s help, you pull your last article of clothing off. In front of you Suguru’s eye level with your titis and can’t keep his eye off them. You shiver as his fingers glide over the soft flesh then flick one of your nipples making it pebble from the harsh treatment. He hums approvingly.

Ok, that was pretty hot. Even hotter is the dark and hungry way that he stares at you. Behind you, Satoru's hands guide you down starting from your shoulders then past your elbows, and stopping at your wrists. You squeak when he wraps one hand around your writs and pulls them towards his cock still hard and slick from your pussy.

 With your breast now pressed even further in his face Segura cups one of your supple breasts in the palm of his hand. He runs a thumb over your pebbled nipple. Your breath catches in the back of your throat. 

You straddle the professor’s leg. His hard-on presses into your tummy making you moan wantingly.  Suguru smiles softly. All it took was a good fucking and your putty in their hands. 

“Oh, not expecting them to be so sensitive?” Suguru teases with that easy smile of his.

You nod your head. Since when was your home this cold? Or was it the man- the demon behind you? The one who is occupying himself by leaving sloppy wet kisses along your neck.

Another mouth, Suguru’s,  is suddenly on you as well. He takes a nipple into your mouth and sucks, hard, causing a moan to be ripped from you. Suguru doesn't leave out your other tit from his attention either, squeezing and pawing at the fat. 

You find yourself rocking your hips back and forth, the rough material of his slacks providing only some relief to the aching between your leg that has flared up again. 

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Satoru whispers against your ear.

His hands move to your hips now,  holding them and guiding them in a steadier rhythm. It wasn't as hard or fast as you had in mind, but you can feel so much more. The incubus knew exactly what your body needed, more so than you apparently. 

“It’s s’good S-Satoru, but…I want more,” there is still a hint of that downright adorable bashfulness, but the two can tell you lust is overcoming you and you become their shameless little whore. 

Suguru pulls away from the boob with a wet pop, “Insatiable, she’ll fit right in.” Then begins giving the other the same treatment.

You whine, leaning back more, and shove your chest further into the professor's face. The demon’s voice behind you only drives you closer to cummign again, all over your English professor's nice dress pants. 

“Look at him Y/N, his cock’s already hard for us again.  So flushed and drooling just for us, for you. You know how long he’s wanted to bury it in this sweet cunt of yours?” to be the malevolent demon he is  Satoru slips hands hand down the pinch of your clit as you roll it against Suguru’s thigh.

“Satoru, “  he warns the demon. 

“What?” Satoru begins to lightly rub the sensitive nub as if to say he is sorry. “If you get to know all  of Y/N’s dirty thoughts about her favorite English professor she should get to know what you think of your favorite student.” 

When Suguru doesn't have a reply to the demon he continues, “He loses it when you wear those cute skirts and baggy cardigans. Loves thinking of how your titis fit so snugly in those tank tops.  He Imagines just yanking them down and getting these perfect tits to flop out. And you’re not the only one who fantasizes about fucking in a lecture hall. He wants to watch you go down on your knees in an empty classroom. Take these tits and squish them around his cock. You stay down there like a good girl while you let him cum all over your face.”

Your moan is high-pitched, and another orgasm is building up in your groin. How many would this make now? You‘ve already lost count.

“You like that?” Satoru asks you and you nod. 

“M’gonna cum again.”

Suguru Chuckles, ”We can tell. Look at  the mess you’re making baby.”

When you look down sure enough there was a  dark patch where your pussy is grinding back and forth. Normally you would have hid your face in embarrassment, but if you can't keep track of how many times you’ve cummed how could you find the will to be embarrassed?

“Why don’t you go ahead and cum for us again baby, go on. Let us see that pretty face again, ” Suguru commands.

 You don't have to be told twice. On his word, you feel your body tense. You have to grab onto the professor’s shoulders just to hold yourself steady as an orgasm shudders through you. You look absolutely amazing cumming. Suguru leans back just enough to really get a good look at you. Your chest rises and falls with one big breath after the other. Your nipples are perked. Your body is obviously overstimulated at this point.  Your drolling, eyes glossy with unshed tears, and pupils blown wide.

“That’s it, atta girl,” Suguru praises you.

You fall against Suguru’s chest feeling spent from benign brought to one orgasm after the other. Satoru’s hand groups at the supple flesh of your thighs meaning that it isn’t over yet A small sound akin to a whimper comes from you. It wasn’t that you were opposed to more, but you’re not sure that your body can handle it. 

“Tapping out already?” Satoru asks and you  nod, “Well that's too damn bad, there is no tapping out in this situation, did I fuck  you so good that you forgot?”

Oh, oh no. “I-I don't think I can go one though.”

“Aww, I don't care,” his voice is lowered to some darker and greedier, ”You're the one that performed that ritual, and you know you have to face the consequences of those actions.”

You whimper again because he was absolutely right, and your body was too tired to fight him on it. You have been marked, the incubus was going to feed on you until he was full, and by the looks of things Satoru had a big appetite. 

There was also your English professor and his hungry eyes and those fantasies that his pet shared. Said man lets you lean against him and catch your breath. He almost feels bad, almost. The way your body looks with you overstimulated and so fucked out that you have a hard time catching your breath was just so addictive. He could look at you all day on this. 

“Oh, you wanna know  what just popped in his head?” He doesn’t wait for a response,  “He wants to tie you up in some pretty ropes and put a wand to your clit and just sit back with a nice drink and watch you squirt and cum for hours.  How does it sound cutie?”

You moan. You’re not sure what a wand is,  but you can tell from context it's some kind of sex toy. A sex toy that the professor you’ve been crushing on wanted to use on you for hours on end? Along with arousal, you feel a warm feeling flutter in your chest and smile goofily. Your professor likes you. 

“Aww look at that, “ Suguru cups your cheek as a signal that he wants you to look at him.  You push on his chest and sit up on his lap.”Whatcha smiling for a baby?”

“You like me,” you answer. 

He chuckles combing your hair back to get a look at your love-drunk face. Maybe they should stop soon. You look so far gone already,” Yea baby  I do like you, and Satoru likes you too. Was that not clear before?”

“Mmm, maybe?” you giggle. 

“You look so beautiful drunk off our cocks  cutie. You want more of them?” Satoru asks kneading your ass cheeks. 

“Oh god,” you huff.  You feel so good but it’s too much, you don't know if your body can handle all this attention at once.

The demon behind you giggles, ”Aww, cutie, there isn't a god here tonight. Just a sorcerer and his demons.

There was something off about that sentence, but your fuzzy head can’t connect the dots. 

“Would you like that cutie? You wanna work with me to make Suguru feel good?”

Now that you understand and nod eagerly looking down at the inky hair your fingers are interned with, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Then why  don't you ride that thick cock of his?”

At the suggestion, you're already pawing at  the professor’s hard cock. When did he get so hard again? Or was he still hard from the last time? You couldn't tell what time was anymore.

Somehow you managed to line himself up with your messy entrance then slowly start to sit down. Fuck, he was big.  The fat head of his cock already felt like too much. Your little whines from the painful could make Suguru cum  on the spot right then and there if he wasn’t putting so much effort into not cumming. He can't look away from your contorted face as you continue to take more of him.

Then finally, you let out a heavy breath fully seated on Suguru’s lap. You feel so dazed. He’s all the way in and you can feel every inch of the man in every spot inside you. Just having him inside you feels like you’re going to cum. 

“Good girl,”  he purrs rubbing his palm over your abdomen. Pressing down and groans because he can feel his aching cock under his hand. “Took me so well all by herself, fuck you’re so beautiful like this baby. Gonna stuff you full of my cum sooner than I thought. “

“We,” Satoru corrects from behind  spreading your cheeks apart,” because while you get to fuck that perfect cunt, I get this cute little ass all to myself.”

You yelp feeling something cool slip between your ass cheeks. It's a struggle but when you get a glance over your shoulder you see a long string of his saliva dripping down from Satoru’s mouth. Your eyes widen in what might be the horror or a residual wave of embarrassment. 

“S-Satoru i-i’ve never done it this way  before.”

Suguru’s fingers under your chin draw your attention back to him.  His smooth smile is intoxicating just like the incubus’ words. 

“Now come on baby, yes you can. “

“But all at once?”

“We know you can. And you wanna feel good right?” Satoru asks right by the shell of your ears. 

While you shiver under him Satoru strokes his dick, spreading his precum down the shaft.

“I do.”

You can't see him, but Suguru can see the excited, borderline feral look in his eyes. He licks his fangs, long ones that you might be too far gone to feel pierce your skin, and continues his magic onto you, he places his hands back on your ass, “And you want you to make us feel good?”

“I do.”

“And I can taste that want rolling off you in waves cutie.”

With just the slightest roll of his hips, Suguru has you moaning his name and collapsing back into his chest. Suguru himself moans feeling you clench around him even tighter. 

Satoru crowds further over you like he’s closing in on his prey.

“You wanna taste it Y/N? Do you wanna be like me and be able to taste the feelings you feel right now and see all the naughty things going through our professor’s head?”

You’re not thinking straight You’re so cock drunk  that you don’t see the glaring red flags of what his words imply. You just know that yes,  you do want to know what  Professor Geto t really thinks of you. 

“I do.”

With a  thrift thrust, you feel another cock enter you. Both you and Satoru moan. You felt full before but now you felt absolutely stuffed with one cock stretching your pussy and the other stretching your ass. How did he slip so easily inside you? How could you still think at this point?

“S’much,” your words feel heavy on your tongue. 

“And it's not even all of it,” Satoru says putting your body at ease, “We haven't even started to fuck you yet cutie.”

A guttural moan is ripped from you as both men began fuck your holes. The world fully falls away at this point. Suguru’s grip your hips moving them how he wants to. His feet are planted firmly on the ground so he can fuck up into you. Behind you and in the same tandem that Satoru fucks your ass as his own hands grope your breasts.

“Oh fuck…c-can feel. Ahh~” Your hand's fists Suguru’s nice dress shirt. It wasn't fair that he was the only one that got to be dressed. Your struggle to breathe each time you feel, yes feel,  the heads of their dicks connecting inside of you your breath hitches in a little hiccup. It's adorable. Satoru looks forward to experiencing more of these cute reactions.

Suguru swallows and looks down at you in awe at how you can take them both. He can feel your drool seeping into his  dress shirt and the way you clench around him. You won't last long like this. 

“Satoru if you’re going to do it, do it now.“

“Fuck fuck, fuckI I know.  Fuck she feels so good Suguru,” the demon moans and whines.  Suguru is the only one not drooling now. 

Your professor’s pace becomes more brutal making your moans higher and louder. His demon follows suit. His hips loudly smack against your ass with enough force to make your cheeks jiggle. Below you, there is the lewd squelching of Suguru driving into you. 

Satoru pushed up on your tits so that your back is flushed against his. Now you can't hide your face anymore. And what a face it is. 

Your jaw snaps shut when Satoru brings his fangs to your neck. Your teeth clack together, and a hiss of air is pushed through them. It hurts a lot more than you think it should.  The pain spreads from your neck to the center of your chest. 

“S-S’toru,” you weakly protest.

The demon unlatches his mouth from your neck. He looks ethereal to Suguru. At the call of his demon's name, his gaze shifts to Suguru just as the man pulls him into another sloppy kiss.  When the two pull apart both of their mouths are now smeared with your blood.

Satoru smiles and then turns his attention back to you. Your next to get a sloppy open-mouth kiss that you greedily accept.

You're about to cum again, you can feel that familiar pressure building. Satoru can taste it in the air. He savors inklings of another orgasm from you. They can feel the way you pathetically roll your hips trying to meet the brutal pace he’s set that’s become more erratic. 

Satoru pulls away and you stare into the wild eyes of the demon  “You about cum pretty girl?”

 You weakly nod watching as he bites his lips hard enough to draw a fat drop of blood, he picks it up.

“Then cum with us, join us, yea?”

“Yes, yes, yes~” you catch as the pressure bursts, and you see nothing but darkness and stars. 

“Shit, Atta girl, fuck goanna milk me dry,” Suguru’s hold on you becomes bruising as he thrusts up once more and buries himself into your tight heat, and empties himself inside you.

Satoru crashes his lips against you once again, slick tongue slipping into your mouth that fills with a copper taste. The demon’s hips staling flush against your ass. 

Your eyes roll back, and you let this new darkness consume you. The world is still for a moment. The pleasure courses through you. God, it feels like it’s never going to stop. Your mind starts to fade. You try to cling to these new sensations that are barely there but eventually, you get pulled away in unconsciousness. 

The two men lose their breath as they fill you with their cum and your body greedily squeezes every last drop. Once they grow soft they gingery pulling out of your limp body. 

Satoru is hesitant to break the scene,” Is she?”

Sugar nods looking at your unconscious body in his arms,” Yea.”

The demon laughs, Oppsie~”

“How long until the transformation comes to fruition?”

“A while, a few weeks Mabey, “he soothes your hair,” But she’ll feel her first hunger for sure.”

“Hmm,  you know  your venom.”

“Oh, I know, poor thing, but when her first hunger hits  she’ll instinctually seek you out, master.”

The Sorcerer hums, “Won’t that be interesting?”

#jjk #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto smut #gojo smut #jjk suguru #satosugu #privet stacks

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

[celenawrites]

₊˚ෆ soulmate au, wherein you get to see the world through your soulmate's eyes and experience what they're feeling at that moment

awful editing(no beta), a lot of pov shifts, loads of grammar mistakes, description of violence, smut below the cut. 

just an idea i have been marinating in my drafts this month. 

MDNI.

the first time Simon Riley realizes he has a soulmate, he's 24 and well on his way to becoming a lieutenant. it's an early winter morning, filled with white fog and chilly breeze that seeps through the balaclava he wears while off duty. he's in the cold, congested room that has been assigned as his office and he's trying to catch up on the stack of paperwork that had accumulated while he was risking his lives on the front-line just to feel something.

the scene shifts with a few gradual blinks and he realizes he's not in his office anymore.

he's she's standing in the kitchen, brewing up a cup of tea while humming an old melody. he's awfully out of place here, and he almost thinks his mind is tricking him with a sudden daydream and then she pours out the tea into a green mug, and exits the kitchen - finally sitting down in what he assumes to be a living room.

she turns on the tv to watch some melodrama he doesn't know, as she carefully blows onto the mug to cool down the steaming liquid before carefully taking a sip. he feels the green tea trickle down his throat, warming him from inside. he can feel the cushion behind her back and the glasses that rest on the bridge of her nose. he can feel the tag on her shirt scratch the nape of his nick uncomfortably so.

the scene is serene and unfamiliar and he feels out of place - it is homely and clean and pure, not tainted with blood, violence and avarice. it is uncomfortable for him to watch her be good and domestic and kind, almost feels like he doesn’t deserve it after the life he’s led. and yet, with time, seeing the world through her eyes is warmly welcomed after a dud of a day doing what he's best known for - being a ghost.

and he almost feels sorry for her, whoever she is. he’s sorry for the man he is, for the soldier he is. he’s sorry that she gets a one-way front ticket to seeing him kill people without remorse. 

most of all, he’s sorry she had to end up with him. 

for you, seeing the world through your soulmate's eyes has been nothing short of a grim nightmare. every time you'd shift, you'd almost pray to God and cross your fingers to avoid seeing any of the gruesome scenes that he encountered almost on the daily. you cannot see his face, but you can feel how heavy the protective gear is against his body, how taut his shoulders are and you can feel the synthetic fabric of the gun strap dig into his shoulders and chest. you feel his hands touch the steel barrel of the weapon and your blood runs cold. it’s not long before he’s aiming the said gun at a man before shooting him dead without hesitating. the first time you witnessed him doing something this abhorrent, you ended up having a panic attack - still able to feel the weight of the gun in your hands, convinced that you’re the culprit who shot someone in cold blood. 

it’s not long before the scenes you witness through your soulmate’s eyes follow you even in your sleep. you’re taking melatonin, chamomile tea, antidepressants - anything to help you cope with the fact that having a soulmate like him means being haunted by gruesome visions for the rest of your life. it’s not long before your co-workers comment on your baggy eyes and frail health - even uniting together to urge you that taking a break would probably do you some good, but you turn them all down with a gentle shake of your head. 

and then, you meet Soap through him. scottish, demolition expert, part of the military. wild mohawk, likes to draw, always the victim of your soulmate’s dry jokes. Gaz - british, a sergeant, youngest of the lot, always willing to help, but has enough snark to keep up with Soap about the most ridiculous of things. and Price - captain of his team, with impressive mutton chops and loud sneezes. 

you see them relax around each other, see them drink tea, see Soap and Gaz banter and compete with each other at the training grounds - and this change of pace is far more welcomed than seeing people die on the battlefield. 

and then there’s him, a pariah. everyone he comes across calls him ‘Ghost’, which just sounds ridiculous. no one knows anything about him, but there are moments when you are where he is and you see Price’s eyes twinkle with something - but your lack of physical presence always hinders your curiosity about the subject. no one has really seen his face, and you fear that you’d never get to know the man who’s destined to compliment you in all aspects of life. 

there are moments though, when sharing vision and emotions with you, gets awfully overwhelming for him. it takes a lot to get a man of his stature to waver in his step, but you do that job perfectly. he sees you one day, in your bed with soft satin sheets failing to cover your body. he sees your hands trail down your body and his breath hitched when he feels you play with your cotton panties - before sliding them to the side and rubbing soft circles on your clit. he swears under his breath, trying to hold onto his sanity as it slowly slips away from him when you use your other hand to tease your nipples with skittish touches. it’s not long before Simon has locked himself up in the bathroom stall, using his hands to relieve the tension he has all because of you - matching his rhythm so that he comes at the same time as you. 

he wonders if your hands would feel softer. if you’d kiss him before begging him with those doe eyes to make you feel good. if you’d tell him that you love him. if you’d love him enough so that he can be anew  - without his past dragging him through the mud. 

if you’d lose yourself to him and let him piece you back together with the adoration he carries for you. you’re practically a stranger, and yet you’re the only person who can get to him. 

divider by @/cafekitsune

#call of duty #cod:mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty smut #soulmate au #char.simon ghost riley #celena.writes

[ghulehunknown]

Mistletoe’d: Papa Emeritus III x F Reader

“Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (coming soon!)

**WARNING - NSFW CONTENT - MDNI**

Summary: After the Ministry Christmas party, you join Terzo in his bedchamber for some festive activities.

CW/Tags: characters drinking alcohol, established relationship, clothed female nude male, blowjob, penetrative sex (P in V), condom use, cunnilingus, face-sitting, face fucking

Word Count: 4381

Available on AO3! Primo | Secondo | Terzo | Copia

Author’s Note: This is the third day of the four-part series XXXmas at the Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia - please read their works too!

Happy Hornidays! ❄️

xoxo, the Naughty Ghulehs 💋

Primo | Secondo | Copia

A HUGE thank you to AlexandrMcQueer on Twitter for the accompanying artwork! Check out the full NSFW version on her account.

Tonight was finally the night of the annual Ministry Christmas party, and Christmas Eve. Papa needed your help to pull everything off, so all week you were scheduling with the bakers, the cooks, the cleaning crew, and decorating.

But after this evening, you could relax. Well, aside from tending to Papa’s needs and making sure the ghouls didn’t get too soused that it ruined their unholiday in the morning. But after the party, you could enjoy the festivities.

Everyone began milling about and socializing in the main hall, picking at the large charcuterie spread and ladling punch or eggnog into glasses. It looked like everyone from the Clergy was there. Even Imperator and Nihil showed up, though they did not seem too sociable, seating themselves at a table in the corner. Primo immediately sat himself in one of the few chairs scattered around the hall with a large mug of something warm.

Suddenly the ghouls began whooping and you turned your head to see Terzo enter in a lavish looking Santa suit - it was made of crushed red velour with flecks of red sparkles and appeared to be trimmed with white feathers.

“Nice suit, Terzo,” you quipped, eyeing him up and down as he approached you.

“That’s Papa Claus to you, principessa,” he said with a snarky grin and giving you a smooch on the lips. “And you’re Santa’s little helper.”

That you were. He’d ordered you the shortest green elf dress, although the skirt was more like a tulle tutu. The outfit was a whole ensemble, complete with an elf hat with ears, pointy shoes with bells on the end, and candy cane patterned tights. You felt ridiculous, but ’tis the season.

Everyone was in their best holiday attire - anything from ugly Christmas sweaters to formal wear. The ghouls were all dressed in elf costumes, with the exception of Dew, who was dressed as Rudolph - an antler headband fitted over his mask and a red nose strapped to the front of his mask.

Cardinal Copia was wearing an old Saint Nick red and gold cloak over his red cassock, and a poorly made attachable white beard. Secondo was dressed in an all black 3 piece suit that had a subtle fleur de lis pattern, and was chatting with one of Primo’s ghouls.

The night went on, and you were actually managing to have fun. The ghouls turned one of the snack tables into a flip cup station (much to your dismay as you shuffled the catering staff carrying fresh trays of food back into the kitchen) and several of the Siblings started Christmas karaoke, with a very drunk-looking Copia taking the lead.

Terzo flitted between you and the rest of the guests, chatting with various Clergy members (and skillfully dodging Imperator each time). He snuck up behind you, squeezing your ass.

“Make sure these old fucks are having fun, eh?” he said lowly in your ear, nodding backwards to the senior members of the Clergy.

“And just how am I supposed to do that?” you said, one eyebrow raised, his hand still under your skirt.

He winked at you, handing you a bottle of opened bourbon before cupping your ass cheek in his hand and rubbing it. “We’ll cheers soon, then I can have you all to myself.” He leaned in closer to whisper in your ear. “Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”

He clapped you on the ass then darted between people again. “Everybody - eggnog!” he shouted towards the crowd, raising his arms up. He was herding everyone to the center. You thought you might die on the spot from your cheeks burning red, but everyone was paying attention to him - thank Satan.

As everyone poured themselves another glass and gathered, you went around and splashed a bit of bourbon in everyone’s cup.

“Some bourbon for your eggnog, Cardinal?” you asked Copia, approaching him with the bottle.

“Eh, none for me,” he said, hiccuping and covering his glass. “It’s strong enough as it is! I’ve had th-three already.”

“It’s nonalcoholic, Cardinal,” you responded, blinking at him. He looked puzzled and walked away.

You made your way over to Primo who was almost snoozing in his chair. “Papa Primo?” you asked, holding the bottle out, gesturing towards his half empty mug. You weren’t sure if he was dressed like Scrooge on purpose or if those were just his pajamas but he mumbled something that sounded like “Bah,” and shook his head swiftly, the tassel at the end of his nightcap swinging around.

Everyone was standing in a semicircle around Terzo, who for once seemed just slightly lost for words. “Well, uh - shit,” he began, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd. “I do not know what else to say, other than it’s been a fucking great year. We had two fantastic tours, and we’ll be continuing into next year… I, eh - met someone very dear.” He glanced at you briefly before continuing. “We won a motherfucking Grammy…!”

The ghouls whooped and cheered while the Siblings and other Clergy members clapped. You glanced over in the corner. Even Imperator seemed pleased - maybe.

“Sì, sì it has been phenomenal. You should all be very pleased with yourselves. So pleased in fact I think you should all celebrate, in eh, whatever means you choose to do. And if I do not see you all before the New Year, have an unblessed holiday. Now, we toast! Tomorrow morning we will celebrate our Savior’s birth. But for tonight, we sin.” He held up his glass and the others did the same. “To Lucifer!”

“To Lucifer,” you said, chiming in with a chorus of voices. You swallowed your bourbon-eggnog concoction - mostly bourbon by your heavy hand, you found as you winced slightly, the liquor burning down your throat. You didn’t drink much and this was your first holiday gathering at the Ministry. Next month would mark your first full year here, and the first time you laid eyes upon him - your Terzo.

“Eh, see you next year, Papa!” piped up Copia, still hiccuping as he nodded and ducked out of the crowd. You smiled at the Cardinal’s little joke. Terzo stopped in his tracks for just a moment and acknowledged Copia before walking away.

He rolled his eyes as he walked towards you then his face brightened. “Hello,” he said, standing very close to you.

“Hi, Papa,” you said, smiling at him and holding up the last bit of bourbon, swishing it in the bottle. “Saved the last for you.”

“Mmm,” he said, leaning in to kiss you. “How much? I need to keep my stamina for later.”

You took a swig and shuddered - Satanas, you still couldn’t drink straight liquor. “Not much now.” He chuckled at you and took the bottle from your hand, knocking back the rest. You coughed a couple of times and reached for some party punch, completely forgetting the one you reached for also had alcohol and coughed again.

He patted you soothingly on the back and asked, “Are you okay, tesorina?”

You nodded, finally grabbing the nonalcoholic punch and chugging some.

“Will Papa have to take care of his little elf this evening?” he said, trailing the back of his index finger over your cheek.

“No, Papa,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ve barely had anything.”

“Good. I have a surprise for you tonight, amore.”

“Hm. Any hint?” you asked coyly.

“Not a fucking clue. Come to my room in five minutes just as you are.” He picked up a handful of hard candies from the snack table and popped a few in his mouth, staring at you while walking backwards a few paces before turning around and heading down the hall.

You continued to mingle with the other Siblings, trying hard to conceal your blushing cheeks but to no avail.

“Someone’s excited about something,” one said.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured.

“Come on - spill!”

“Well, Terzo and I -”

“Terzo?” said another.

“Oooooh!” the others said in a singsong tone almost in unison.

“He said he has a surprise for me, in his room.”

“So you graduated from office visits to home visits now?” asked the first Sibling, looking impressed.

“Well…I’ve seen his bedroom a few times,” you said, not willing to divulge the full truth just yet. You’d been spending most of your nights in his room and sneaking back into the Siblings’ quarters early in the morning. Even though each Sibling had their own room, you knew your Sisters would hear the door to the suite open.

“I think this is the most serious he’s been with anyone,” said the second Sibling. “I’ve been here a few years and usually he’s done with his fling after two months. But you’ve stuck around.” You shook your head, not willing to believe this hype only to be let down. You just wanted to live in the moment and enjoy what you had with Terzo. “You should go - you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

You smiled and bid your fellow Siblings goodbye as they all made lewd gestures to imitate various sex acts and waved you off, wishing you luck.

You walked down the silent and dark corridors, passing ghouls and Siblings alike shrouded in the shadows to have their midnight dalliances, no doubt egged on by the holiday cheer and the alcohol. You smiled, thinking about not having to hide in a hallway like when you first started dating him. Now you had his entire bedroom to have your sultry romps.

You opened his door and walked into his Papal suite, the familiar lush decor and smell of mahogany filling your senses. You passed by the small and elegantly decorated Christmas tree by the fireplace. You wondered just what his surprise might be when you saw him propped up against the wall, a rose in his mouth and —

What was that?

He was dressed in his Santa jacket and hat, with nothing else on - save one thing. Your eyes trailed along his upper body then snapped to what was in between his legs. On the end of his throbbing hard cock was some mistletoe, tied around his shaft by a red ribbon and a little gold bell below it. He waggled his eyebrows and at the same time isolated his pelvic muscles to make his cock bob up and down, tinkling the bell.

“How long have you just been standing there all hard waiting for me?”

His face fell momentarily and he took the rose out of his mouth. “I thought you would like it.”

“I do!” you said, suppressing laughter as best as you could while stepping towards him. You held onto the lapels of his jacket and leaned in. “I do.” He smiled again, a smug look of satisfaction washing over him.

“Good,” he said, handing you the rose. “Because you’re going to get stuffed and glazed just like Secondo’s honey ham.”

You bit your bottom lip, smiling. “But I don’t think it’ll be quite as delicious as you, amore.”

“It should be. I’ve been eating a lot of pineapple for this.”

“Really? Then I’ll have to taste it for myself,” you said, feeling the heat pool at your core.

He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you deeply, slipping his tongue in. You weren’t sure where to place your hands so you held onto the rose with one hand, the other in his hair. He swiftly brought you closer to him, his quivering cock poking at your thigh under your tulle skirt.

“Mm!” you said, surprised at feeling his hardness brush against you.

“Well,” he said, pulling away to look at you. “It’s not going to kiss itself, tesoro.” He twitched his cock again, making it bob up and down and wagged his hips side to side, making it shake the other direction and sounding the bell.

You eyed him slyly as you bent down, gently falling to your knees before him and placing the rose on the floor. You took his cock in your hand and began stroking his length, eyeing the perfect pink tip at the end. Each time you stroked him, the bell would chime.

“Oh cazzo,” he sighed, leaning his head back, his lips parted.

You flicked the tip of your tongue against the head of his cock and watched his abdominal muscles contract. He was like putty in your hands.

“You like that, amore?” you asked teasingly, his shaft in your palm.

He glared at you from the corner of his eye. “Stai zitto,” he said through moans as you continued to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. But you could swear you saw a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth as he said this.

You closed your eyes as you took his entire length in your mouth, sliding him in and out and clutching onto his hips. The little leaves on the mistletoe tickled your nose each time the bottom of his cock reached your lips.

Clink! Clink! went the bell each time you slid him in and out of your mouth.

He started to whimper and moan quietly, his eyes closed in pleasure. His hand was on the back of your head, gripping your hair tighter the faster you went. At one point he began thrusting into your mouth, probably no longer able to contain himself.

Clink! Clink! ClinkClinkClinkClinkCLINKCLINK

“Mmm!” you mumbled around his cock as the greenery around his member assaulted your face over and over, scratching your nose and cheeks a little bit each time. CLINK.

Your eyes welled with tears as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly. CLINK. At this point you were hardly doing any work, just kneeling there and being used as a vessel. CLINKCLINK

“Satanas you’re going to make me cum like that,” he panted as he continued pushing his hips into your face.

You smiled around him - well as best as you could - and brought him closer by gripping his ass cheeks.

“Ah - cazzo!” he exclaimed, suddenly pulling out of your mouth and panting.

“Terzo?” you asked, trying to look up but you were unable to as his hand remained on your head as he used you to prop himself up and regain composure.

“I can’t cum too soon and ruin the evening, no?” he said, standing up straight and helping you up off the floor. “Not when I haven’t even taken care of you.”

You kissed his laughter lines around his mouth as he spoke, his Papal makeup smudged from your kisses earlier. “You always take such good care of me.”

He turned to face you and held you in an embrace, kissing you passionately again, his hands roaming all over your body. He began to massage your breasts through your costume, building the arousal between your legs even more. Your breathing quickened as you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck this fucking blouse,” he said breathlessly, breaking away and tearing at the front of your green cardigan, the buttons flying across his floor - eliciting a ‘Shit!’ from you. “Mmm!” he mumbled, kissing you again, pawing at your chest.

He fumbled around your back at your bra clasp, unhooking it after a couple of tries. You urgently slid the straps off your shoulders and tossed the bra to the floor. He bent down to take your nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around it and sucking. He alternated, pinching the other one between his fingers.

“Oh Terzo,” you sighed, running your hands through his hair, fiddling with the silver strands peppering his raven hair. He’d never admit to it, but you saw the box dye left on his bathroom counter.

Instinctively you squeezed your legs together, alleviating some of the need to touch yourself. You felt your heart race and a shiver run down your spine.

“Fuck me, please Papa,” you sighed, breath trembling.

“Mm?” he said, glancing up at you between your breasts with a glint in his eyes. He kissed all over your chest, up your neck and finally, your lips. “Is la mia principessa ready for her Papa to fuck her brains out, hm?”

“Yes Papa, please,” you said, still in a breathy whisper. “Fuck me.”

He nodded his head towards the bathroom and glanced over. “Go get a condom and meet me in bed. I’ll get the lube.”

“Why are there none in our nightstand drawer?”

“‘Our?’”

“Shit. You know what I meant.”

He grinned. “Ti stai dimenticando? We used them all last night and I didn’t have time to take some more out.”

Slightly embarrassed at your gaffe, you made your way into the bathroom and started opening drawers. “Where did you put the box?”

“Bottom drawer!” he called out.

Did he think differently of you now? Would he think you were too presumptuous and want to call the whole thing off? Or potentially, were you just overthinking things as usual? “Found it! Oh fuck, shit!”

“Sorella?” He sounded concerned and rushed over to find you on your hands and knees kneeling near the toilet.

“Almost got it!” You had dropped the roll of condom wrappers behind the toilet and had wedged yourself between it and the vanity. “Help me, Terzo!”

“Ah, I see now,” he said slyly. “Call for me in a panic just so you can entrap me.”

“What? Terzo, no, I really do need help, I drop- ”

“Sì, I can help,” he said, kneeling down behind you, his cock right up against your ass.

“It’s just, argh!”

“Argh!” he imitated you, running his hands all along your body.

“It’s right there I can’t - reach - !”

“Has anyone told you how sexy you look with your ass in the air in candy cane tights?”

You rolled your eyes but you knew he couldn’t see. “Er, no - um, thank you. But I dropped the condoms behind the toilet.”

He craned his neck to see. “Ah. This is quite the pickle we are in. You with your hand behind the toilet and your ass against my cock.”

“No, I believe it’s your cock against my ass.”

“What am I to do, tesorina? What should a Papa do when finding his lover in a compromising position, hm?” He leaned down and trailed kisses along your back, momentarily freezing your arm from the continued search of the condoms.

“Fuck…” you whispered, feeling his mouth move further south and his hands finding their way around your waist.

“What’s that, bella? You think Papa should fuck you? You called me in such a panic earlier that I did not bring the lube…mmm, what should we do?” he said, kissing you just above your ass. “Is la mia principessa ready?”

Your body ached with desire. You needed him inside you. He trailed his finger along your tights-covered behind, poking around where your entrance was. “Darling, I think your tights are just a little wet. Let’s see just how wet you are inside.” He gripped the fabric and you heard it ripping apart.

You let out a surprised gasp as the chill air hit your warm, now exposed nether regions. He entered you with a finger and your body shuddered against him as you whimpered quietly.

“Oh yes,” he said in an amused tone. “You are very ready.” He slid out and up to your clit, playing with it gently as you moaned and rocked your body back and forth to feel the friction against his fingers. “So responsive. Una così brava ragazza.”

“Please, Papa,” you said under your accelerated breath. “Please fuck me.”

“Don’t worry amore,” he said, reaching over you and grabbing the sleeve of condoms that you were having trouble getting just moments before. “I will.” He tore off one and ripped it open.

You readjusted yourself on the tile floor so you wouldn’t bang your head against the toilet or the side of the vanity as you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and the clinking of the little bell still attached to his dick.

“Oh FUCK!” you both said in unison as he entered you. He slammed into your dripping cunt with such ease, you felt him bottom out immediately. The tingle of the mistletoe against your clit heightened the sensation.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! In and out, in and out. You both moaned each other’s names in pure, unadulterated passion.

“Ah - merda Sorella, you turn me into a teenager again. Fucking on the floor out of sheer desperation for one another.” Now he was so deep inside you the bell muffled against your body. CLUNK. CLUNK. CLUNK.

“So - mmm! - you’re d-desperate for me?” you said teasingly against the cold tile.

“La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca.” With that he fucked into you so hard, so fast, you couldn’t say another word. He pushed your head against the floor roughly, your cheek pressed against the cool marble so hard you could feel the grout indent. He nearly knocked the breath out of you as he hit your g-spot perfectly each time, a relentless grip on the back of your head.

“Ohhh - !” you moaned as he rammed into you over and over. CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKCLUNK. He was thrusting faster, riding out his orgasm, his nails digging deeper into your hips.

“Fuck - I’m going to - cum - Sorella - !” He pounded into you, tapering off his speed as he came, his cock twitching a final time before he slumped over your back, breathing heavily.

“Satanas,” he breathed, his chest heaving wildly as he pulled out, your body shuddering under him at the loss. You heard the snap of latex and the condom hitting the trash can liner.

You turned around and sat down, leaning against the toilet. You watched him untie the mistletoe and take it off, tossing it aside. “So how was it, with that?” you asked, nodding towards the discarded plant.

“Honestly? It was a little itchy. It might just be a novelty.” He tossed himself on his back against the floor. He looked at you, his chest still rising and falling from being out of breath. “How was it for you?”

“Honestly? It was a little itchy,” you repeated. You both smiled and laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Come here Sorella, I did not intend to leave you wanting. Hop onto Santa’s lap.”

You crawled over to him and straddled his lap, gazing into his eyes.

“What do you want this year for being such a good little girl?” He asked, caressing your arms and looking at your breasts before flicking his eyes up into yours.

“I want…endless kisses…and a mind-blowing orgasm,” you said, leaning down to kiss him.

He returned the smooch. “Mm, I did not know a present for you would also be a present for me. Come closer and sit on Santa’s face…that’s it, Satanas yes please.”

You moved up his body until you were straddling his face, then delicately lowered your body on him, doing your best to move your skirt out of the way.

He sputtered, spitting out the tulle from his mouth and pulling your hips towards his face again. He batted at the layers of fabric, cursing in Italian, before finding your cunt.

Your eyelids flitted closed as your lips parted in a silent “oh.” He took your clit in his mouth and sucked on it between his lips. He alternated between that and flicking your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. You looked down to gaze in his eyes but his face was completely hidden under a green tutu.

You began to buck your hips against his face as he used the flat of his tongue, building up the friction and feeling yourself closing in on orgasm. He switched up and deepened the suction on your clit, flicking his tongue against you simultaneously.

“Oh fuck Terzo - fuck, I’m so close!” You rocked back and forth as you pinched your nipples, heightening the sensation.

His fingernails dug into your hips again as he sped up his ministrations. Grabbing ahold of your waist, he slid you along his mouth faster and faster.

“Oh, Terzo!” you cried out in ecstasy, trembling on your knees above him as you came hard and fast in his mouth. He didn’t let up the motions or the intensity until you pulled away, giggling from the overstimulation. You climbed off of him and sat down next to him, both smiling at one another.

“How are you feeling? Good?” he asked, stroking your thigh.

You nodded your head. “Yes, very. But can I lay down next time? I’ve been on my knees an awful long time.” You both laughed.

“There’s Papa’s little hoe hoe hoe,” he said with a devilish grin. “Of course, amore mio. Anything for you.”

You held onto his hand, playfully caressing all his fingers. “It’s been a very good Christmas so far,” you remarked.

“Mmm. And you haven’t even opened your presents yet.”

“There’s more?”

“What, you thought this was it? No Sorella, go look under the tree.”

You eyed him suspiciously as you stood up, legs still a little shaky. You walked out of the bathroom and into the living room.

You hadn’t noticed the presents under the tree earlier, but there were a few. A lot, actually. Somehow even your gifts for him were under there. One of the ghouls or housekeeping staff must have moved them for you.

One caught your attention - a gold envelope poking out from the middle branches of the tree. You reached inside the tree, accidentally sending the package spilling onto the floor. Two plane tickets splayed out on the floor.

You picked them up in wonder - your name was at the top of one, and his on the other. You walked in a daze over to him.

“You did not truly think I would leave you with just my cock for Christmas, did you?” he said, following you out of the bathroom and now leaning against the wall. “I love you, principessa. I call you princess because to me you are. My sweet little thing. I want to give you the world, my world…would Italy be a good start?”

You flung your arms around him, tears in your eyes. “Yes, Terzo. I think that will be an amazing start.”

[Stay tuned for a continuation of this story!]

Italian to English Translations

(la mia) principessa ((my) princess)

tesorina (little treasure/darling)

amore (mio) ((my) love)

cazzo (fuck)

Stai zitto (Shut up)

Ti stai dimenticando? (Are you forgetting?)

Sorella (Sister/nun)

bella (beautiful)

Una così brava ragazza. (Such a good girl.)

merda (shit)

La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca. (My little devil girl thinks she’s so smart, eh? It’s time you shut your mouth.)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my future works!

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus x reader #ghost band smut #terzo #terzo fanfiction #terzo x reader #papa terzo x reader #terzhoe #terzo smut #ghost band fanfiction #HappyHornidays #XXXmasAtTheMinistry #the band ghost fanfiction #Ghostmas #MerryGhostmas #MerryGhostmas2023 #holiday smut #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo my beloved #terzo fanart #papa emeritus smut

[mochamvgz]

the first snow (with you)

; enhypen x reader

; genre: headcanon, pure fluff, established relationship

; warnings: none

; 1k words

; tags: @inkelea @bunreis @sobun1est @aylin-hijabi @kbookshelf

heeseung

we all know he's a huge sleepyhead so ofc you woke up first. you staggered out of bed, rubbing your eyes and looking out the window. you caught sight of the blanket of snow enveloping the earth and suddenly you were wide awake.

“hee!! it snowed last night!”

“huh? 5 more minutes..” he groggily muttered in his sleep.

after a decade of trying to shake him awake, you finally got his attention when you said you'd make him hot chocolate if he woke up, which made him sit upright, tangled up in the blanket. can't blame the guy though, i mean, who can resist a steaming mug of hot cocoa?

jay

when I tell you this guy plans out the entire day while you're in the shower and doesn't waste a minute. he takes out the time you'll need to get ready of course, even goes as far as to pick out your outfit and helps you dry your hair and prepares breakfast while you do your makeup! (is he available on amazon??) he remembered you mentioning wanting to go out sledding with him when it snows once so that was first on the agenda, obviously.

later, you asked him if he would like to do the snowman dance challenge with you and he said yes before you've even finished your sentence. this was your first snow with jay and needless to say, it went beyond anything you'd imagined and left you feeling utterly awed.

jake

the two of you were out for a walk after dinner. you sat down on a bench for a minute to take a break and suddenly he exclaimed, “darling let's go to the namsan tower!” naturally you were a little puzzled due to his outburst but he seemed persistent.

“please we have to go! i just checked the weather forecast and it says it might snow tonight!” that got you up on your feet in an instant.

namsan tower is the highest point in Seoul and an ideal spot to visit for the first snow of the winter, there is also cage-like thing for love locks (please look it up idk how to describe it T.T)

you make it just in time as the first fluttery white particles descend from the sky. “quick! make a wish!” you giggle at jake’s enthusiasm and join your hands to make your wish as he does the same. there's no way you're going back home without attaching a love lock for you and jake.

sunghoon

he's absolutely overjoyed about it. this means he can take you ice skating!!!

“but hoon, i don't know the first thing about skating! what if i fall flat on my face?” you whine, but he shuts down your protests and reassures you that he's got you and you have nothing to worry about. it didn't take long for you to cave and the next thing you know, you're renting skates.

you soon find out that you are, by no means, a natural at the activity. your balance isn't the best and you come dangerously close to face planting a few times but your ice prince manages to catch you each time.

of course sunghoon can't resist showing off a little once you decide you've had enough and opt to watch him from the sidelines.

sunoo

snowman! snowman! snowman!

sunoo has been talking of wanting to build a snowman together ever since the day after thanksgiving and cannot wait for it to snow. looks like today's his lucky day. he wastes no time getting both of you dressed in warm clothes and getting supplies for the snowman (buttons, scarf, hat, etc) and drags you out of the house.

this was your first time making a snowman so your first few tries weren't anywhere near successful but you had the framework for a formidable-looking gentleman on your 5th try. sunoo happily claps as he surveys the frame and gets to work scouring for twigs for its arms as you give it facial features along with a scarf and hat so your new friend doesn't get too cold. sunoo inserts its arms in and you couldn't be more pleased with the result.

jungwon

he insisted on staying indoors where it's warm but you convinced him to go out for the winter carnival, eventually. how could he say no to you? as you're walking around the food stalls munching on a corn dog, jungwon squealed out of the blue, startling you. when you asked him what's wrong he said he felt something cold and wet land on his nose. without a word you took his hand and broke into a sprint, pulling him along to the ferris wheel.

“what…are you..doing?” jungwon lets out while panting, trying not to trip. you asked him to wait and make a beeline straight for the ticket counter, leaving him to catch his breath.

next thing jungwon knows, he's on the top of the ferris wheel with you as a flurry of snowflakes rain down. you pull him into a kiss and his boba eyes widen at the abruptness of it, he eventually melts into it. this is definitely going to be one of his most memorable moments with you.

niki

splat!

a gasp left you as a snowball landed on the side of your face, catching you off-guard. you look up to see the culprit snickering. “so that's how you wanna play nishimura? it's on”

you reached down to scoop a handful of snow, shaping it into something like a sphere and launched it at your boyfriend. the battle only ends once you hold up your arms in surrender. riki first bumps upwards into the air as a gesture of victory and runs over to pull you into a hug. the air is filled with your laughs.

“did i go too hard on you?” he quietly asks and only once you reassure him that you're okay does he let go.

“can we make snow angels now?” his face lights up at that.

“thought you'd never ask, m’lady” goddamn it not that smirk! you end up writing your names together in the snow in between the imprints of your snow angels later.

; note: ty @euncsace for the niki snowball fight idea! i hope you like it! exams are creeping up so y'all might not hear from me as often, might even go on hiatus but i'll try to clear out the reqs in my inbox before that!

© mochamvgz on tumblr | all rights reserved | do not copy, repost or translate

#—mochamvgz #k-films #kbookshelf #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen drabbles #enha x reader #enha fluff #heeseung fluff #jay fluff #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunoo fluff #sunoo headcanons #heeseung headcanons #jay headcanons #jake headcanons #sunghoon headcanons #jungwon fluff #jungwon headcanons #niki fluff #niki headcanons #first snow au #enha drabbles #enha headcanons

[euphoricfilter]

can u write bully ☺️

“𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧”:

pairing: bully! kim taehyung x stalker-ish f! reader

genre: strangers to ??? || smut || non-idol au

summary: taehyung was probably the prettiest man you knew, though you were a little too shy to approach him first. however, it seems you may have caught taehyung’s eye, and his obsession with you may rival your own for him.

word count: 3k

tags/ warnings: self-depreciation, jealousy, stalker behavior, humiliation but reader kinda has a humiliation kink so it’s fine, kind of tsundere taehyung, dom! taehyung, sub! reader, sir kink, spitting in mouth, dub-con, exhibitionalism, dacryphilia, unprotected sex (this is fiction don’t be stupid), dumbification/ degradation manhandling, creampie, cum play, briefly mentioned nipple play, they do other stuff in public that i would gauge my eyes out if i ever saw, luckily this isn’t real

notes: not so much bully, more mean dom taehyung who won’t admit he likes our dear reader but he’s also kind of an ass. if anyone you like treats you like this then run please :’)

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Kim Taehyung was the prettiest man you knew.

You’d been working at the quaint little coffee shop for a couple of years, Taehyung joining only months after you had. Many shifts shared together, evenings spent in each other’s silent company before one of you would lock up for the night.

Taehyung was perfect. A god amongst humans. Sculpted by the heavens’ best artist to make sure that every crevice of his body was beyond ordinary human beauty. He was a vibrant rose that had bloomed on a dead bush. A fleck of vibrant paint on an otherwise white canvas.

You think Taehyung was more the moon rather than the sun, a little too ominous, and all too mysterious for him to be the sun. His aura more the night sky than the day where grey clouds could cover his beauty, where little specks of stardust surround him like a halo wherever he walks.

Your favorite thing about Taehyung was his hands. How elegant they were. How they held the handle of a mug as he brewed a coffee, how his lithe fingers sweep his bangs from his eyes as he steams milk; how those same pretty fingers wrap around your throat when he gets mad. Or his hot touch after his hand collides with your cheek. Painting them to match the pink evening sky.

It had started out as an innocent crush. The new barista who had the attention of man and woman alike, both customer and employee of the cafe.

It had started with you stealing short glances in his direction. Watching as he wiped down tables, and smiled at girls whose figures were better than your own. Smiles that you wished were pointed in your direction. But you suppose pretty men went for pretty people, and maybe you just weren’t perfect enough for Taehyung.

That was okay, though. Because you were more content watching him.

Shy glances had morphed into daydreams. Daydreams fueled by longing, your eyes following his every move as he danced around the cafe, so in tune with his body that he never bumped into a table. Not like you, a little clumsy and too careless. Never elegant, never perfect.

Daydreams moulded into curiosity. Where does he live? Go to school? His friends? You wanted to know it all. Your free afternoons were spent slipping in and out of shadows, making sure that Taehyung had gotten home safely, wondering why a few too many girls touched over his shoulders, delicate fingers trailing down his chest when he’d meet them at pc cafes before he’d walk to campus for his evening lectures. Why it always seemed to be a polite smile in their direction, never anything else.

He was a good man, never leading anyone on. Genuine in his conversation, interest in someone else’s life never fake.

You’d gotten good at knowing his schedule. Your pitiful little heart pattering against your rib cage when your cafe’s new rota would be hung up on the wall; evenings now spent together between making coffee and wiping tables. Though you never dared utter a word to him, happier being a name to face rather than an acquaintance where you’d have to keep up conversation. How were you meant to think when all you could think about was him?

Over time you had started to get a little careless, peeking through gaps in doors and stumbling into little shops behind him before his long legs would pull him away from you. Figure morphing into the darkness of an alleyway, a new way home that you hadn’t seen him take before.

“What do you want?” Taehyung says, eyes still trained on his phone as he sits at the dingy little table in the cafe’s break-room, and you swallow thickly. His deep voice shaking your heart.

You say nothing, thinking there was no way he could talking to you. Maybe someone on his phone; his tone nothing like the angelic Taehyung that you’d known, watched for months now.

“I asked what you wanted” he drops his phone to the table, gaze turning towards the door where you hide.

You take a look behind you, stumbling forwards when the door is yanked open, your cheeks smacking against a hard chest.

Your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut momentarily as you feel Taehyung’s chest rumble, was he laughing at you?

“I asked—” he pushes your head from his chest, causing you to stumble backwards, “—what the fuck you wanted” he sneers.

You peer up at him through your lashes, eyes wide as your mouth falls open. “Coffee” you squeak, “Do you want coffee?”

He tilts his head, corner of his lips tugging up into an unamused smile, “Fuck off” he grabs the door before slamming it closed.

You let out a shuddering breath, hand coming to press over your heart.

Maybe he was having a bad day.

You didn’t let that ruin your mood, because for the first time since meeting him; you just had a conversation with Kim Taehyung.

Your lips curl up into a smile, small skip in your step as wander back out front of the cafe to help your friend serve a few more customers.

Your second mistake, was the day you and Taehyung were left in the cafe alone.

The sun had slipped behind a few of the high rise buildings, the sky coated in an orangey hue. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air.

The small cafe was empty par from a few high school kids who had homework to catch up on, and not enough caffeine to aide them in overdue assignments.

“I’m going on break” Taehyung had called over to you, waving you off when you opened your mouth to ask why.

You shut it, simply nodding. If he needed rest then who were you to stop him?

You stare at the door, backs of your legs starting to ache as you lean on the counter, hoping that maybe someone would come and occupy you, even if it were only for a few minutes.

“Y/n!”

And that had you scrambling to the break room, eyes wide with worry as you teeter to a stop before him.

“Is something the matter?” you stare down at Taehyung, who only hums in reply.

“Make me a drink”

“Oh, okay” you nod, biting your bottom lip as you scamper back to the front where you get started on his coffee.

You’d seen him order a flat white while out with friends on more than a few occasions, so you guess he must like those.

“What’s this?” he peers into the cup.

“A flat white” you whisper, fingers fiddling with the pocket of your apron.

He crooks two fingers, motioning for you to bend down to his level. You do so, eyebrows furrowing a little in confusion.

You think you hear it before you feel it, his palm coming in harsh contact with you right cheek.

Tears gather on your waterline, prickly, needle like pain dusting your cheek in red. You have no time to recover before Taehyung grabs your face, nails digging into each cheek as he pulls your face closer to his own.

“You little freak, you really have been following me around, haven’t you?” he laughs, though he didn’t seem all that amused, “I only drink black coffee”

You shake your head, wincing when he digs his finger into your skin harder. And you may have been worried about bleeding if you weren’t so scared of what words were to fall off his tongue like venom.

“Fucking liar” he spits, shoving your face away, quick, like your touch had burnt him.

You take a few steps back, fingers skimming across your cheeks as you stare down at him.

“On your knees” he picks his phone up.

“Huh?” you manage to squeak.

“Are you stupid?”

You shake your head, eyes flitting between his own. Wondering if maybe he was just trying to play a mean joke on you.

“On your knees then”

You do so, dropping to your knees, “Come closer” he motions with his head.

You go to push yourself to stand, only for Taehyung to push at your chest with his foot, “pets crawl”

You nod, head hanging low as your hands touch the floor, humiliated as you sit on your heels beside Taehyung’s chair.

He grabs the back of your hair, yanking your head up so your looking at him. “Open”

Your mouth falls open.

Taehyung picks up the scalding cup of coffee, sadistic smile tugging at his lips as he pours the hot liquid into your mouth, uncaring as it spills over your uniform, staining your clothes; streaking your skin red.

You splutter, pulling away from his tight hold on you, coughing as you wipe around your mouth. Pearly tears mingling with the coffee on your face as you heave a large breath.

“What do we say when sir gives you something?” he asks, condescending.

You snivel, peering up at Taehyung through wet lashes, he frowns down at you. “What do we fucking say?”

“Thank you” you hiccup.

“Thank you, what?”

“Thank you, sir”

“Good girl” he turns back to his phone.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“Stop squirming” Taehyung grunts, tugging your hair so your head lays on his thigh.

You think your knees must red with how long you’d been kneeling on the wooden floor, though you think your cheeks must be 10 shades darker as you stay kneeled beside Taehyung as he works on an assignment in the library.

And you can only thank your lucky stars you and Taehyung were the only two sat so far back in the corner where no one could stumble across the two of you. The humiliation of being found, sat at Taehyung’s feet like some sort of pet, sending a lick of arousal down your spine to your pulsating cunt.

Goosebumps prickle at your skin when he cards his fingers through your hair, your arms twitching where you have them held behind your back; per Taehyung’s request.

You feel him tug your head towards his crotch, your lips skimming the fabric of his sweats, grey cotton doing nothing to hide what he has to offer underneath. You grab onto his thigh, delicate fingers digging into the muscle as he pushes your head so your nose brushes over his steadily growing erection.

“What would you do if I made you suck my cock right now?” he asks, humming when your lick your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Anything to please me, right?”

You nod, thighs clenching at the thought of his thick cock in your mouth, you wonder what he would sound like, how rough he’d make you take it. You feel a dribble of arousal leak into your cotton panties, slick fabric brushing against your clit as you squirm in place.

A pitiful whine tumbling from your lips when Taehyung shoves your head away from his crotch.

“Fucking disgusting” he utters, “Do you think you deserve my cock after everything you’ve done? Stupid girl, following me home, watching me and friends. You’re fucking gross, you know that?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry” tears dribble down your cheeks.

And Taehyung feels his cock twitch at the sight of your blotchy face.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The first time Taehyung takes you to his apartment, you feel your heart swell. How kind he must be if he were to let you have a look into his private life, paintings you assume to be his own hung on the walls, pictures with his parents and vinyl records displayed in book cases from artists you had never heard of.

“On the floor, pet” he reminds you after you’d slipped your shoes from your feet.

You follow, rewarded with a gentle smile from Taehyung, the pretty one he seems to give everyone else but you, until you’re on you’re knees, sat waiting for his next command as you watch him wander into the kitchen. Bag of take-out placed on the table as he takes a seat.

You scamper after him, palms growing redder as you crawl. Making sure to sit beside his chair.

He places a box of chicken in front of you, saying nothing as he rummages through his own dinner.

You make no move to eat, not at all hungry as you’d stolen a few too many sweets from cafe earlier during your shift.

“Eat” Taehyung tells you, nudging your thigh with his socked foot.

“Not hungry” you whisper, Taehyung grunting at that.

“Should still eat something” he bends down, picking up a piece of chicken, “open”

You do as told, watching Taehyung’s face as he feeds you. Hand on your jaw as you chew, thumb tugging your mouth open after you swallow.

“Manners, doll”

“Thank you, sir” you muffle around his fingers as he shoves them a little further into your mouth.

You find yourself sat by Taehyung’s feet a lot after that day.

While he works on assignments. While you work on assignments. While he plays video games, he chucks a cushion in the floor for you to sit on. While he cooks in the kitchen, the simple term “open” seeming to be his favorite.

Open. His fingers are in your mouth. Seeing how far they’ll go before you gag. Humming when you looking up at him through your lashes. Bonus points if you start to cry.

Open. And then there’s food in your mouth. Chewing under his watchful eye before he makes you eat more. Cocky little smirk on his face when you push his hand away. Only to be thrown over his thighs so he can spank your ass red raw for refusing him.

Open. He spits in your mouth, telling you to swallow before giving you a smile as your reward. Meanly tugging at your puffy nipples from where he’d played with them earlier on.

Open. And your mouthing at his cock, some days hard, maybe flaccid but you feel it grow under your lips as he presses your face into his crotch. Never letting you touch, never letting you taste. Only teasing you with what you could have his Taehyung was a little kinder and didn’t thrive off the desperation in your eyes when he makes you kiss his aching erection through his pants.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Taehyung watches as you smile at a customer, a boy your age he supposes, if the pile of books were any indication that he was also a college student. Cheeks round and youthful in a way Taehyung grew out of in his mid teens.

His jaw tightens when that same boy leans against the counter, the cafe an hour from closing; not many people on the streets as the moon makes its appearance. The three of you the only ones left in the coffee shop.

Taehyung wonders if you like the attention. You must do, sweet little smile being directed at a puny college boy that looked like he didn’t know how to please a woman. He looked as though he needed a true woman to please him, to step on his pathetic little cock for him to cum. If only he knew you couldn’t give him that, too reliant on Taehyung for your own pleasure, letting him control you like his own little puppet, your pleasure now his.

He’s sure if he’d finally get his hands on you, all you’d know was his name. But he supposes that wouldn’t be too hard. Your pretty little head always seemed to be filled with thoughts of him.

He wasn’t stupid, far from it. You weren’t all that secret with your cute little crush either. Obvious with your steady growing obsession with him and Taehyung couldn't get enough of it. So much power over someone so consumed with his entire being.

But he liked you that way. He liked the way you listened, not questioning him when he tells you to do something. Not like a few other girls he’d tried to get with, they all held themselves too high to let him humiliate them a little. Too consumed with themselves to heed to his every demand.

But you. A little stupid, but Taehyung couldn’t get enough. Addicted to the way you followed him, a cute little puppy that he’s just starting to have fun with. A cute little puppy who would do anything for his validation and love.

His fingers tap against the table. Your new little admirer having no shame as he tries to get a peek up your skirt as you reach for one of the mugs on the top shelf.

“Y/n” Taehyung drawls, covering his smile with his hand when your attention is fully on him. No longer bothered with the college boy, who seems to wander off to a table as you ignore his blatant attempts at flirting with you.

“Yes?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Coffee”

You scamper off into the back room, Taehyung not bothered with what you were doing, just as long as you weren’t entertaining any one else.

He watches the boy peer up from his phone every so often, gaze trailing after you as you start making Taehyung his drink.

“What’s this?” he motions to the mug when you gently place it on the table, little yellow stars painted over a deep purple sky.

“I bought you a different mug, I thought it was prettier than the cafe’s ones” you rock back and forth, not daring to look at Taehyung’s reaction. Only hoping he liked it, because you thought of him when you’d seen it in the shop window.

“Is that so?” he muses, “Go back now” he motions towards the counter.

You nod, “okay”

Your little college admirer stays until closing, never seeming to work up the courage to ask for your number. That, or he catches Taehyung’s glare each time he dared open his mouth to talk to you.

“Did you like it?” Taehyung stalks towards the counter, eyes narrowing at you as you wipe down one last mug of the day before you close up the shop.

“Pardon?” you blink up at Taehyung, something about the innocent look on your face pissing him off.

“Did you enjoy whoring yourself out to some sad little college boy?” he sneers and you carefully hang the mug back up.

“I wasn’t—“ you shut your mouth at the look on Taehyung’s face. His eyebrows narrowed, gaze scrutinizing you.

His grip is harsh as he grabs your wrists, your hip slamming into the table as he grabs under your arms, lifting you to his side of the counter.

You let out a small squeak, unsteady as he drops you on your feet. Uncaring as he spins you around, pushing you to bend over the counter by your shoulders.

You turn your head to look at Taehyung, a choked groan slipping off your tongue when he pushes your head to the table, cool marble numbing your cheek as you feel him push his pelvis against your ass.

You feel his steadily growing erection rub against your covered core, slick gathering up at your entrance as you start to fantasize what he’ll do now that he’s got you where he wants.

You stay bent over the counter when he flips your work skirt up over your ass, cute pink panties darkened where your arousal seeps into the fabric.

Taehyung run a finger over your covered slit, rubbing over your clit as more slick dribbles out of your hole.

“Fucking soaked. All for me, yeah? You disgusting little girl”

“Please, Taehyung” you whine, thighs clenching around his hand as he continues to rub your weeping pussy over your panties.

“What did you call me?” he sneers, pulling your underwear between your ass cheeks. Delicious friction against your clit sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You expect the slap when it comes, ambrosian pain prickling up your spine, Taehyung’s hand painted red on your skin as he brings his hand down for another harsh slap to your right ass cheek.

“Sorry, sir” you whimper, saline tears cascading down your cheeks like little pearls.

Taehyung unbuttons his work pants, pulling them down along with his boxers until they pool around his ankles. He pushes your panties to the side, running the head of his hard cock through your slit to gather your slick, hand running over his shaft to lube it up with your juices.

Your thighs clench as the head of his cock nudges your clit, Taehyung’s head tipping back as your thighs squeeze around his length.

He kicks your legs apart, hand flat on your back as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open as his thick cock head pushes into your entrance, leaving you no time to adjust to his length, he pushes all the way in before pulling back, so close to slipping out of you.

Taehyung’s eyes close, snapping his hips forwards so his thighs smack the back of your own.

A staccato of ‘ah ah ahs’ tumble out your mouth as he continues his onslaught of thrusts, starting to pick up the pace.

“You like that?” he grunts, “who do you belong to?”

His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, little crescent moons marked into your skin to match what hangs in the sky, your only witness as Taehyung fucks you like no one had ever before.

“You” you whimper, “only you”

“That’s my girl”

Taehyung pushes you up the counter, angle of his hips changing so his cock touches that little spot inside of you that causes stars to flicker behind your eye lids. Wet slap of Taehyung’s cock ramming into your sodden cunt borderline pornographic to match your moans.

Taehyung bends over your body, chest meeting your back as he rolls his hips. Rutting into your core as deep as he could go.

Your fingers hold onto the end of the counter, Taehyung’s thrusts so hard they start to push you up the cold surface.

“Open up, baby” he grunts, breath fanning against your ear. Your mouth falls open, whimper tumbling off your lips when he shoves two fingers into your mouth, “suck”

Your tongue dips between his fingers, sucking like you would his cock if he would let you. Your walls clenching around him at the thought of having his precum coat your tongue, how your lips would pull taught at his girth, cockhead nudging the back of your throat as you try to swallow him.

“You’re so fucking tight” he groans, feeling your walls pulsate around his length.

He pull his saliva slick fingers out your mouth, trailing down your body to flick your clit.

“Cum for me, doll” he grunts, cock twitching as your walls clench around his length. Your eyes squeezing shut as you tip over the edge, orgasm wracking through your body as your thighs shake, cum oozing from your hole, lewd squelch as Taehyung continues to snap his hips upwards.

Tears fall down your cheeks, Taehyung’s hand coming to cover your mouth as his thrusts become languid.

“Shut up, people outside might hear you. You stupid girl” he pulls your hair, lifting your head from the counter.

“Inside me. Please cum inside me” you cry, uncaring of the sounds that drip from your tongue, breath shuddery as Taehyung slams his cock as far into you as he can before he paints your walls white.

You feel his cum fill you, the grip you had on the counter loosening as Taehyung continues to thrusts into you, cock slowly softening.

“Too much. Too much” you cry, thighs twitching as his fingers continue to rub tight circles on your sensitive clit.

“Don’t care” he pushes in once more before pulling out.

Your muscles relax, flopping over the counter as Taehyung bends down behind you.

“Push my cum out” he pulls your lips apart, watching as your hole clenches around nothing.

He groans as his seed slips out of you, two of his fingers pushing it back into your sloppy cunt.

His fingers thrust into your hole, hand landing a slap to the back of your thigh when you go to close your legs.

“Good girl” he croons, pulling your panties over your soiled pussy. “open”

Your lips part, tongue rolling out of your mouth as Taehyung lathers it up with a mixture of both of your cum, content smile on his face as he pulls you off the counter, arm around your shoulder as he walks the both of you to the door, ready to close up for the night.

Uncaring of the cum that drips down your thighs in thick rivulets. At least you know you’re his.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung imagine #taehyung x reader #bts fic #bts x reader #bts yandere #bts au #bts requests #taehyung fic #taehyung x y/n #bts

[the-little-ewok]

Hard at work

Santiago Garcia X F!Reader

Rating : E/18+

Word count : 3800 (ish)

Warnings : SMUT, office setting (power play dynamics), PIV, unprotected sex, fingering, Dom!Santi (pretty soft), oral (f/receiving), lil bit dirty talk, reader wears a skirt, fluff, semi public sex (I guess. But not really?), Marking, *additional warnings under the fic at the end because spoilers ( nothing bad)

Prompts / summary : “I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional.”, "I think I've made my intentions clear", "Noone needs to know" / Santiago Garcia is your boss. And you should absolutely not be fucking your boss on his desk during the work day…

A/N : I've chosen to put some warnings at the end of the fic as I want to keep a couple of surprises. Nothing bad or super triggering I promise. But if you are worried please check before you read.

Thank you Vi for the hilarious tongue in cheek title 😂 and to the anon who requested!

Please if you read take time to reblog and maybe leave a comment or a couple of tags! The only way writers keep writing is if they hear from you.

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Ping

S. Gacia: I need to talk to you in my office. Now.

You stare at the message on your computer screen, debating if you could think of a good enough excuse not to go, unsure if you could keep your composure when you were alone with your boss today.

It wasn't that you were avoiding him exactly. You liked your boss, you really did. He was hard working, fair, supportive, maybe a little demanding at times, well, actually demanding all the time, but he was hot, in a sort of 'your daughter calls me daddy too' kinda way. He had the eye of every girl in the office, yours included. Most people would be glad to have a boss like him.

The problem was he always seemed to find an excuse to be inappropriate with you — pressing up against you as he leans over you to get a coffee mug out of the cupboard in the break room, brushing his hand against your thigh during meetings, looking at you, and not just a normal look, a complete undressing eye fuck that made your face heat and your thighs press together. He made you want him all the damn time.

And while so far nothing has happened at work, everyone else in the office has noticed the growing situation between you. Disappearing away from your pc to meet with him would only add fuel to the fire.

Ping.

S. Garcia : When I say now, I mean now.

With no good excuses coming to mind you get up with a sigh, smoothing down your skirt and making your way over to his office.

The door is pushed open already, Santiago sitting at his desk, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons undone, giving an air of relaxedness, but you can tell he's anything but. Your heart gives a now all too familiar flutter in your chest.

"Mr Garcia?"

You tap the door lightly to get his attention. He gestures you in with a silent wave of his hand, barely looking away from the laptop as you step into the room.

"One moment, and shut the door" he instructs you, tapping away at the keys and muttering in Spanish to himself. You swallow hard as you close the door behind you.

Eventually, your boss sighs, rubbing his hands down his face and shutting his laptop.

"Is everything okay?" You venture inquisitively. Perhaps whatever has frustrated him is the reason he called you in here? Maybe he needs your help with work?

Santiago gets up from his desk, coming around to stand in front of you, just a few steps from where you awkwardly shuffle your feet, waiting for him to speak.

"We need to talk."

You can't help but go through a mental rolodex of things you might have done that you need to talk about with him, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional," he continues, leaning back against the polished wood with a sigh, as though it's your fault, as though you've done something to encourage him. Perhaps you have. You did specifically pick this outfit today, hoping it would spark his attention, and as his eyes roam a slow trail from your toes to your face, licking his lips, you know it worked, but maybe a little too well.

You choose the innocence card, pretending there hasn't been an underlying tension since you started working together.

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

He doesn't even hesitate for a second before he answers, clearly expecting your response. His dark eyes bore into yours, blatant desire shining through.

"I think you are."

You swallow hard. Sure you might have hoped to get a reaction out of him, but you hadn't actually expected it to work. Especially not when there were specific rules in place about office relationships, especially during work hours.

"No one needs to know," he offers slickly, like putting a deal on the table, some form of forbidden contract. He steps towards you, then around you, coming to stand at your back, close enough that you can feel the warmth from his body.

He leans into you, gripping your upper arms and then slowly allowing his palms to slide down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers.

"It's just us in here. Nobodys going to know what happens here today." His hands ghost over the tips of your fingers, continuing down, stepping closer so his body is pressed up against yours.

"Mr Garcia, I don't think this is the time. We have…we have… work to do." You stutter out as his hands map the curve of your hips, pressing himself against your back. Even as you speak your body leans back against him, tilting your head back onto his shoulder, betraying your every thought about him. You can almost feel the smug smile he's probably wearing, knowing he was right in his assumption that this isn't one sided, and that you really aren't thinking about the work piled on your desk.

Your eyes flutter closed as he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, before his tongue licks its way back up to take your earlobe in his teeth, tugging gently.

"Work can wait. I think I've made my intentions clear," he breathes against your skin. He says it like you have a choice about what happens next. Like there's any possible world in which you would say no.

But you aren't going to let him have the upper hand entirely. You can't just collapse into his arms and beg him to fuck you. He might be your boss, but that doesn't mean you can't have your own fun too.

"I'm really not sure I understand what you mean? Perhaps you'll have to be a little more direct, sir."

There's a hitch in his breath that lets you know the sir hit exactly the way you expected it to.

What you aren't quite expecting is the way he nudges you forward before pressing a hand between your shoulders, forcing you down, bending over his desk. The touch isn't violent or forceful, he isn't the sort of man to do that, but it's commanding enough for you to willingly follow the direction.

Taking both your hands in his he presses them down onto the desk, leaning over you.

"I can make my intentions as clear as you need," he growls, standing back up. "Don't move, or you're fired."

You'd like to think you know him well enough that it's probably an empty threat, but damn does it make your pussy flutter anyway. You press your palms harder against the cool wood, resigned to let him do as he wills with you.

His hands slip across your hips and down over your ass, admiring your position, before he hooks his fingers under the edge of your skirt and raises it, just a little. He's testing you. It's a silent request about how far you want this to go.

You don't move to stop him, so he lifts your skirt the rest of the way, almost delicately slowly, hitching it up over your hips.

He gives a soft hum of appreciation at the pretty lace panties you're wearing, the ones already starting to soak through with your arousal at the fact your boss has you bent over his desk, admiring your ass.

"Pretty," he drawls, pulling back the elastic and letting it snap against your skin, giving a stinging bite and making you gasp. "Not very work appropriate though."

You open your mouth to offer a sarcastic response that people at work don't usually see your panties, but the words catch in your throat as he slides his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down quickly, letting them fall the rest of the way, fully exposing you.

Not satisfied with that, he uses his foot to tap your ankle, encouraging you to lift first one foot, then the other, stepping out of your panties before he kicks them to one side.

"Spread your legs."

If you weren't wet before the gush of arousal you have at his words certainly soaks you now. It isn't a question, it isn't a request, it's an instruction, a command. You spread your legs just a little.

Santiago nudges them further apart with his foot, spreading you for his benefit, before he grabs your ass, squeezing as he surveys you with a groan.

"You're practically dripping on my carpet," he comments, making your face heat.

You hear the whisper of fabric and glancing behind you you see him kneel on the floor, his hands dropping to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh.

He meets your shocked gaze.

"Now let me be very, very clear in what I want."

The broken noise that leaves your throat as he licks a hot stripe through your folds isn't one you've ever made before, your body jolting forward on the desk.

Your rational brain tells you this is a bad idea. You should be working, not letting your boss eat you out on his desk of all places. But then he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard, and you can't seem to care about work anymore.

You quickly realise he's too good at this, too good at making you tremble all too quickly, taking long slow laps at your clit, pressing his hot tongue deep inside you, growling and groaning as though you were the best thing he's tasted. He has you on the edge of a climax in no time.

Your fingers dig into the hardwood, curling around the edge of the desk, biting out a curse as his tongue completes another slow circle around your clit.

You wish you could see him, tangle your fingers in his short curls, direct him how to throw you over the edge, but you suspect he knows exactly how, and he's dragging this out for his own pleasure.

"Mr Garcia…Santiago…" you hiccup pleadingly, barely able to get enough air in your lungs.

You don't know if it's mercy or torture when his mouth leaves you, giving a playful bite to your ass before he gets to his feet, gently tugging you up, unpeeling you off the desk, his hands on your waist, steadying you on wobbling legs as he spins you to face him.

"Clear now?" He asks, almost impatiently. His eyes are dark, your slick still shining on his chin as he makes a show of licking his lips.

"That was…pretty clear," you breathe shakily.

He smirks as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours, allowing you to taste yourself as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It's not the type of kiss you're expecting from him. He kisses you sensually, tenderly, it's slow and decadent. He lets go of your chin in order to slide his hand around the back of your neck, holding you to him as his tongue slides against yours, drawing soft little moans from you.

When he pulls away your lips are kiss swollen and your fingers are tangled in his curls the way you wanted to do only moments ago.

"I want to fuck you here, on my desk," he whispers against your lips. "I want to stain the wood with your cum so there's always a part of you in here with me."

Oh fuck.

You don't answer initially, forcing down the moan of desire that tries to escape. Instead, you lift yourself up onto the desk, feeling the cool wood against your heated skin, before you curl your fingers around the white collar of his shirt, pulling him close to you. You're done waiting. You're done playing. You're done being professional.

"So fuck me already."

His mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard as you both scramble to unbuckle his pants. He's barely shoved them down before his hands are gripping your thighs, tugging you roughly forward to the edge of the desk, lining himself up at your entrance, his actions messy and impatient.

Even so, he presses into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to the stretch that borders pleasure and pain, swallowing each of your moans with his kisses, letting out a low groan as he bottoms out, giving a soft nip of his teeth to your bottom lip.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Pussy is so wet for me," he slurs, taking your chin back in his fingers, forcing you to look at him. "How much have you thought about fucking your boss you filthy girl?"

Ring. Ring.

The sharp trill of the phone cuts in, making you both pause, turning to look at it mocking you from its space next to the laptop.

Shit. No. Not now. The timing could not be any worse. You need this. You've waited too long for this.

Santiago looks at you, his gaze questioning. You shake your head, silently pleading with him not to answer, not to put an end to this yet.

He lets out a soft curse, glancing over to the phone and reading the caller ID.

"Be quiet," he hisses, leaning over you and to your shock, clicking the answer button.

You don't quite know how to react as he grabs one of your thighs, hoisting it up over his hip, forcing his cock deeper as he starts to thrust into you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you let out a choked noise, throwing a hand over your mouth to smother it, still shocked he's actually taking this call.

Santiago lets out a quiet laugh at your reaction as he speaks on the phone, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fish, what's up?"

"Just checking in on how things are going," the man on the phone answers easily, clearly unaware of the position your boss was in.

"Hard at work," Santiago answers, thrusting deeply into you with the last word, and you squeeze your eyes shut, desperately muffling your moans of pleasure.

You can't believe he's doing this, casually carrying on a conversation as he leisurely rocks into you. Your mind can't really keep up with the discussion— something about a BBQ on the weekend — too distracted in concentrating on keeping quiet, and hoping the wet squelch of your pussy isn't being picked up on the call.

You bury your face into his neck, trying not to allow the pleasure threading through you to give you both away. It's an uphill battle. Each steady thrust pushes you closer, your pussy already sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

You're not expecting it when he turns his head, his teeth biting down on your pulse point. It's just enough to send a shock through your system, making your eyes snap open, and your pussy clamp down on his cock.

Santiago's eyes go wide and it's him that lets out a choked moan, clearly far louder than he intended to. There's a beat of silence in the conversation as he scrambles for the phone receiver.

You have a moment of smug satisfaction at his panic, but the joy is fleeting, as when his eyes are back on you, smouldering and dark, phone in his hand, you realise you are in trouble. A lot of trouble.

"I'll call you back."

Click. With the press of a button the phone call ends, the receiver clattering noisily back onto the desk. Santiago's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough there will be marks.

"You shouldn't have done that."

You have a moment of panic that he's going to end this, leave you on the edge, unsatisfied, and send you back to your desk desperate and needy. But instead, he pulls almost all the way out of you, before slamming his hips into yours.

You let out a strangled moan. Every time you think he can't possibly go deeper, he angles his hips and sinks in further. You want to scramble back on the desk, give yourself a moment to breathe, to think, to process the bliss, but Santiago's hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as you fall back on your elbows, splayed out across his desk, being used solely for his pleasure.

Santiago follows your movement, bending himself over you, causing the angle of his thrusts to change just slightly and hit something bright inside you. Pens and papers clatter noisily to the floor as the desk rocks with you. In a desperate attempt to stop yourself from suddenly being pushed over the other side, you grab onto his shoulders, holding yourself in place.

There's a growing blissful ache in your pussy and muscles that lets you know you'll still feel this tomorrow.

But you don't care, you can't care. All you care about is the knot in your stomach tightening, your muscles straining, your vision whiting out. All you care about is the pleasure careening through you.

Your pussy clamps down around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as your climax bursts through you. You give all pretence at being quiet, throwing your head back as you all but scream his name, uncaring who hears.

"Fuck, Santiago!"

The clench of your pussy drags him over the edge with you, and he muffles a growl into your neck, filling you with hot bursts of cum.

He pauses there, buried deep inside you, your pussy still pulsing as you come down. Lifting his head he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his hands tenderly massaging your thighs, slipping up your back to pull you to sit up, holding you against him.

When he eventually pulls away, his eyes roam your face, taking in your dishevelled appearance, pressing a final gentle kiss to your lips, before he slips out of you, pulls his pants back up and disappears around the other side of the desk.

You slide off shakily, your skirt still bunched up around your waist, turning to watch him throw himself down into the office chair, your panties dangling from his fingers like a hard won prize, back to his cocky, self assured, smug self. All traces of the softness he had only moments ago, wiped away.

"You won't be needing these back," he grins, opening his top drawer to drop your panties inside, before snapping it shut, his gaze daring you to protest as you stand open mouthed.

"Can I at least have something to clean-"

"No." He cuts you off, going back to clicking through his emails on his computer.

You have the realisation that he expects you to walk back to your desk with his cum still dripping down your thighs. You imagine the stain on your skirt, on your chair, one that probably won't ever fully come out, the stain like the one currently staring at you from the wood of his desk, a constant reminder of this day.

It shouldn't make your pussy clench the way it does.

You swallow, pulling down your skirt, ignoring the slick already coating your thighs, and give him a defiant stare.

"Very well. Will that be all Mr Garcia?" You mock sarcastically. If he was going to go back to professional, then so were you.

He doesn't even glance at you as he answers, dismissing you as though nothing has happened.

"For now. But don't go far. I don't think it will be long before I need to see you again."

You suppress a smile as you leave.

~

"Still working hard?"

Looking up from the document you've barely typed a word on all afternoon, you meet the gentle gaze of your boyfriend.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles warmly at you.

"Yeah, I haven't really managed to get much done," you sigh, glancing back to the half written document, knowing it's a lost cause for now.

"You look tired, baby. Your boss working you too hard?"

"He's pretty unforgiving," you hum, rubbing your eyes, your body aching with exhaustion. "Three times he had me in his office today."

Your boyfriend lets out a low impressed whistle.

"Harsh. Well, how about you leave whatever you're doing for now? I'm sure your boss will be okay with it being finished tomorrow. I'll run you a bath, make some dinner, then we can relax in front of the TV? Your choice of movie."

"That actually sounds perfect," you smile, logging out of the pc and getting to your feet, stretching your cramped muscles.

He holds his hand out to you as you come around the desk, pulling you into his arms and giving you a sweet kiss.

"I told you having two home offices would be fun," Santiago grins, his eyes bright.

Giggling, you shake your head.

"Yes, but I don't think we got any work done!"

Santiago shrugs nonchalantly.

"Guess that's the perks of being with the boss. I'll let you get away with it and make it up tomorrow." He winks and you laugh, knowing you both have a huge amount of work to catch up on now.

When he'd suggested you work with him you'd been hesitant for this exact reason. But he'd promised to keep quiet about your relationship initially, while you settled into the job, and for the most part, Santiago was professional in the office, although your colleagues had started to notice his almost blatant eye fucks. If you were honest, you didn't help the situation, sending him filthy chat messages, knowing he couldn't have you until you made it home. It turned out professionalism when you wanted to fuck your boss, was hard work.

You squeeze his hand as he leads you to the bathroom.

"Santi, can I have my panties back?"

"Nope," he grins positively merrily. "I'm going to frame them and put them next to the stain on my desk."

You roll your eyes, unsure if he's joking or not, but judging by the look on his face, you think not.

—----

Additional warnings (ending spoilers):

*illusions to infidelity/cheating (it's not I promise)/ role playing

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Thank you for reading! Please if you enjoyed take the time to comment and reblog! As writers we always want to hear your thoughts!

#santiago garcia x f!reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #tripple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x fem reader

[gravehags]

whatever she wants (whatever you want)

Pairing: Cumulus x f!Reader (x Cirrus, kind of)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: ghoulette in heat, vibrating dildo, dewdrop is a little shit, cirrus likes to watch, squirting

Words: 2,581

Summary: You really wish there was a manual for this kind of thing.

a/n: wow it only took me 2 months to write something new lol my bad

Tagging: @anamelessfool !

~~~

You are dreaming.

Below you shimmers an expanse of clear blue water as the wind blows through your hair. Your hands thread through the long white mane of the winged horse you are currently sitting astride as you glide through the air. When your steed dips down, allowing her wing to skim along the water’s surface, you feel the cool flecks of water upon your cheeks.

You are completely oblivious to the storm that roils in bed beside you. That is, until, a soft and trembling hand finds its way to your thigh. Slowly, you are pulled from your dream, feeling the warm and wet touch of lips to your shoulder.

“Mmm…hey love,” you murmur, voice rusty. The ghoulette behind you, your brand new girlfriend, whimpers and squeezes your leg. The two of you had only just started to sleep in the same bed after deciding to take your relationship slow and you are slightly stunned at this new wakeup technique.

“Fuck, baby,” Cumulus whines in your ear before swiping her tongue along the length of your neck. It knocks the breath from your lungs and you remain paralyzed on your side, waiting for her next move. Her tail moves beneath the duvet to curl around your thigh, replacing her hand, the spade sliding along the soft inner skin. 

“Cumul–” your words are cut off from the way her hand slips under your sleep shirt, fingertips brushing at the underside of your breast. “Cumulus, what are you doing?”

“Need you,” she breathes and your thighs clench together as she thumbs at your nipple. “Need to be filled up. I-I tried taking care of it while you were asleep. Got off three times and everything but,” briefly she takes your earlobe in between her teeth before relinquishing it, “I need more.”

Oh. You had heard about the ghouls having these cycles and Cumulus briefly mentioned it - what she called her heat - in passing. But Satanas, what were you supposed to do? The two of you had barely made it to second base before this. How were you going to give your love what she needed?

Cirrus.

“Lus,” you say, carefully turning to face her. What you see takes your breath away - her pupils are blown, face flushed, and lips bleeding. You briefly entertain the image of her biting at her bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet as she fucked herself with her own fingers in bed next to you. Now you’re the one blushing and when your tongue runs along your own bottom lip as if to taste what was on hers, Cumulus’ eyes widen and a soft whine leaves her. Fucking hell, you think. Yeah, the two of you wanted to be romantic and take this whole thing slow but you’ve never wanted her more than in this moment.

Focus.

“Lus,” you start again, voice more firm. “I’m going to get Cirrus to help.”

She nods, although you’re not sure if she’s even realizing what you’re saying. Gently, and trying not to touch her and incite anything, you pry yourself from her grip and slide out of bed. Being able to fully see your form - the tattered and soft Ghost shirt you wore to bed last night and the underwear beneath it - causes Cumulus’ breathing to become heavier and you can see her hips flexing forwards underneath the covers.

“Don’t go,” she cries out, looking desperate, “please I need you.”

Your heart clenches.

“I know, love. But I can’t do this on my own okay? I promise I’ll be right back.”

You can’t look at her as you walk to the door and exit her quarters. When you shut the door behind you, you take a heaving breath.

“Oh ho ho, someone’s in for a wild ride,”

To your left, Dewdrop saunters down the hall in his pajama pants carrying a mug of coffee, smirk twisting his face.

“Wha-”

“You stink of her. Thought you two were being all cutesy and Victorian and not seeing each other naked until the wedding night.”

“Ha ha,” you growl, running your hand over your face. “Listen, which room is Cirrus’?”

His eyebrows rocket upwards as he takes a sip of his drink.

“One ghoulette not enough for you?”

“No,” you say emphatically, “I need…help.”

Dew tips his head back and laughs, a couple strands of blonde hair escaping from his bun.

“Oh man you’re really in for it. Down the hall and around the corner, first door on the left. I’ll keep you in my thoughts,” he says, winking as he passes. “Nice bloomers,” he throws over his shoulder before disappearing.

Shithead.

Tugging the hem of your shirt down over your ass, you skitter over to the necessary door and take a deep breath before knocking. Please, please, please, you plead, hands wringing, please open the door.

Satanas, it appears, does answer prayers.

When Cirrus opens the door you choke on your own spit inelegantly. She’s wearing a pair of silky black sleep shorts and a lacy bralette that hides…well…nothing. 

“Hey doll,” her voice is low and she reaches up to throw her dark hair over her shoulder and stifle a yawn. “You’re up early.”

“Cumulus is in heat,” you blurt out.

“Oh?” Cirrus’ lips curl into the same grin Dewdrop had but when she sees the clear panic on your face the smile drops. “Oh.”

“She’s…I don’t know what to do. She wants me to…is she in pain?”

Silently, Cirrus ushers you backwards and exits her room, shutting the door behind her. She’s already striding down the hall on long legs and you trail behind her nervously. When she opens the door to Cumulus’ room she nearly doubles over and takes a heaving deep breath.

“Goddamn yeah that’s a heat,” Cirrus exhales, shaking her head. “Lulu? Honey?”

Cumulus makes a sad little noise from the bed and your heart clenches. How the fuck were you going to help her?

“Here,” she peeps. She’s no longer under the covers and no longer wearing anything. Your hand jerks at your side as if you should cover your gaze and when Cirrus sees you flinch, she smiles.

“You two haven’t fucked yet have you?”

Cumulus keens and writhes on the bed, causing your jaw to fall open.

“No. We were…we were taking it slow. But I want to help her. I need to help her, I can’t leave her like this.”

“Good girl,” Cirrus purrs, and you gasp at the gush of wetness that comes out of you. Cirrus’ eyes dart to the juncture of your thighs and she grins. Walking further into the room, she goes over to Cumulus’ nightstand and opens it, rifling through the contents of the drawer. She makes a triumphant noise and slaps a large, a very large dildo with an interesting bulbous hook on the end onto the bed.

“Now where the fuck did she put the remote,” you hear her growl under her breath as she continues to sift through what you now know is Cumulus’ toy drawer. Cumulus groans, and immediately you’re by her side, hand gently on her calf. You knew she was beautiful, fuck, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen but like this she’s…radiant. Her curves undulate with her movements, breasts bouncing. Between her legs, her white curls are sopping wet as she drips onto the duvet. Your mouth goes dry and suddenly you really wish Cirrus would hurry the fuck up.

“Got it,” Cirrus says a few seconds later and you let out an exhale of relief. “Alright you. Strip.”

Dumbly, you point your finger to your chest and she gives you a look.

“Yes you.”

The eyes of both ghoulettes are on you as you tentatively slip your shirt up and over your head, flinging it to the floor. When you slide your underwear down both Cumulus and Cirrus inhale sharply, with the latter closing her eyes as if to regain her composure.

“Baby you’re beautiful,” Cumulus sighs, fingers cupping her breast and teasing the nipple, hips working in little circles. “So beautiful.”

You blush and look at your feet. This isn’t how you wanted this to go, you wanted to give Cumulus the romance she deserved but. Well. Here you are.

“Sit on the bed for me?” Cirrus says, jerking you back into the present. “And spread your legs.”

You hop on the end of the bed and with some hesitation spread your legs. Cirrus has the toy in her hand and smiles, causing your clit to throb.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, a single clawed finger tracing down your belly and through the curls between your legs. “She’s nice and wet for you Lulu.”

Cumulus lets out something between a giggle and a shriek.

“That’s…that’s my girl,” she breathes, and you don’t have to be looking at her to know she’s beaming. Cirrus, in the meantime, is idly applying lube to the bulbous end of the dildo as she stares between your legs. Finally she reaches down, spreading you apart and taking the rounded end, and presses it against your cunt. You jump at her touch and your jaw hangs as she slowly pushes your end of the dildo in. The thick intrusion has drool pooling in the corners of your mouth.

“Pretty little pussy, too,” Cirrus says with a grin. “Maybe you’ll be nice and share her afterwards.”

“Mmm…yes,” Cumulus practically sings, “would you like that, baby?”

You barely have time to let out an affirmative moan before Cirrus pulls you up and arranges you on your knees in between your lover’s legs. When Cumulus sees the thick length jutting out from you she lets out a euphoric laugh. She looks so…so…divine. So fucking gorgeous. Breaking from Cirrus’ grip you push forwards to slot your lips against Cumulus’. Her hands are in your hair instantly as you lick into her, one hand cupping her inflamed cheek. You don’t even notice as Cirrus settles into a chair in the corner, watching the two of you with narrowed, intrigued eyes. Cumulus pulls you from her lips for a moment and you take the opportunity to latch onto her neck, littering her decolletage with purple bruises. The dildo is stretching you wonderfully as your lips trail down to her breasts.

“Mmm fuck honey, you gonna suck my tits?”

You’ve never heard Cumulus be so vulgar before and you clench around the toy inside you. Rather than answer, you swipe your tongue over her nipple and suckle at the bud while her claws scratch at your scalp. She whines when you pull off one but when you latch onto the other breast, teeth grazing her nipple she’s purring again. Your hips jerk upwards, the tip of the dildo brushing at her entrance and she cries out.

“Need you, need you, need you,” she chants, pulling your face back up to her until your mouths are a breath away. “Need you inside me, fuck, wanna watch you cum.”

“This isn’t about me,” you breathe with a smile, kissing her gently.

“No,” Cirrus says from her corner, causing you to jump. You had forgotten she was even in the room. “It’s not, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to forget about you.”

In her right hand she holds something up.

The remote.

With a flick of her thumb you choke out a whine. The end of the dildo inside of you begins vibrating steadily, reverberating against your clit and suddenly you’re filled with the need to fuck your girlfriend now. Shaking, you pull back onto your knees and spread Cumulus apart, making her keen beneath you, murmuring something over and over you can’t hear. She’s so fucking wet and you can’t bring yourself to tease her any longer. Slowly you fill her, the tension in her body slipping away as you bury yourself to the hilt inside her. You pause with a heavy exhale, hunched over her and hair hanging in your face when the vibrations inside you increase.

“Go on, pretty girl,” Cirrus commands from her throne, “fuck her.”

You nod vigorously, not needing to be told twice as you pull out and slam back into her. Cumulus’ hands are on you, fingers clawing at your hips as you rut into her dripping cunt, driving yourself deeper and deeper every time. Suddenly inspired, you sit back and pick Cumulus’ legs up to place them heavy on your shoulders. Cirrus actually lets out a laugh and claps as you pump into the ghoulette beneath you. To award you for your initiative, Cirrus ratchets up the vibrations to the highest they’ll go and you’re panting as you grip your lover’s ankles. When Cumulus’ moans become pitchy, you know you’ve hit the right spot and a smile cracks your face even as sweat drips down your temples. 

“Gonna make you cum,” you say, looking at Cumulus with a cocky grin, “gonna make you fucking soak the sheets.”

Cirrus is saying something to you, something lewd you think, but when the vibrations hit your swollen clit just right you cum with a shout, hips continuing to jerk violently. When Cumulus cums her scream is exaltant, meeting you thrust for thrust as she drenches the bedcovers. You don’t even notice the vibrations have stopped as you continue to push into her until firm hands on your shoulders still you. With something between a sigh and a sob, you pull out and lean back into Cirrus’ embrace, eyes sliding shut.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, pushing your sweaty hair aside to place a kiss on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “You did so well. Look at her. You both look so beautiful.”

Cumulus is beneath you, looking up at you as if you hung the moon. Weakly, she reaches up to beckon you to her, a beatific expression on her face. Angelic, you would say if you didn’t know any better. Gently, Cirrus reaches around you and eases the dildo out of you before guiding you backwards and off the bed.

“Come on, pet,” Cirrus brings you to the side of the bed and pulls the covers back. Cumulus shifts over and finagles herself under the sheets, welcoming you into her embrace. Her temperature is back to being blissfully cool and she pulls you in.

“How do you feel?” you ask, still slightly out of breath, fingers toying with one of her white curls.

“Better. For now. Thank you, my love.”

Cirrus watches the two of you silently before lightly clearing her throat.

“Rest well, lovebirds,” she says with a smile, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, then Cumulus before whispering in your ear, “You’re a keeper.”

“Thanks, coach,” you grin sleepily and she briefly scratches at your scalp with fondness.

She slips out the door and the two of you are left to catch your breath. When you sigh contentedly, your girlfriend turns to you.

“You didn’t hear what I said earlier, did you?”

You frown slightly and open your eyes.

“No I…I don’t think so. I was kind of caught up in the uh…moment.”

She giggles and reaches a hand up to trace your features.

“I’ll repeat myself then. I love you.”

She loves you. She loves you.

“You what?” you say stupidly, and she snorts and places her thumb firm on your bottom lip.

“You heard me. Now be a lamb and say it back.”

You don’t need to be told twice. When you dream of the water again, she is with you.

#cumulus x reader x cirrus #cumulus x reader #cumulus x f!reader #cumulus ghoulette #nameless ghoulettes #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

[dndadsfanweeks]

Announcing Weekend of Ronmance!

[img ID: A pastel pink banner with a illustration of Ron from Dungeons and Daddies next to a title. Ron is wearing a pink bathrobe and fluffy multicolored socks, and he lays on his stomach with his feet in the air as he looks at a smart phone. The title reads, "A Weekend of Ronmance", and beneath them is the subtitle: "A Ron Stampler Ship Event", "March 15th - March 18th". /end ID]

We are excited to bring you a new fan event: a four-day weekend, dedicated entirely to making people kiss Ron Stampler! Running from March 15th to March 18th, this event is meant to encourage more shipping fanworks for one of our favorite ever step-dads.

[img ID: A white poster designed to look like a piece of office paper, decorated with strings of hearts and coffee mug stains. The title is orange and reads: "A Weekend of Ronmance" with the subtitle, "A Ron Stampler Ship Event, March 15th - March 18th". This is followed by the prompts for every day of the week (detailed in the post below) in purple font. At the bottoms of the poster, in the same font as the title, it reads: "hashtag ronmanceweekend, at dndadsfanweeks". /end ID]

This time around, we selected two prompts per day: ship prompts as well as trope prompts. Any sort of fanwork is okay to fulfill these prompts: fan art, fanfiction, cosplay, anything! You do not have to participate every day, and also do not need to fulfill two prompts; you can try to include both if you want to, but we just wanted to provide multiple options for participants.

March 15th: Henry or Glenn / Friends to Lovers

March 16th: Darryl or Jodie / Second Chance Romance

March 17th: Samantha / Meet cute

March 18th: Polyship / Free space

Once we reach March 15th, just use the tag #ronmanceweekend or tag this account so that we can share everything you've worked on. If you have any further questions, our ask box is always open to messages, and make sure to keep an eye on this account leading up to the event!

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #ronmanceweekend #ron stampler

[headphones-ct-09978]

So....I saw this earlier today. Apparently this is Kylo Ren's quarters and it's just.....so freaking sad! 😢

That being said, I had an idea: What if Kylo's apprentice, who works for/with Hux and is paid a hefty wage, buys him a new bed and other comforts?

Comfy

Kylo Ren X General Hux X Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Kylo Ren's apprentice worries about him.

Tags: @kylorenny @jaynesilver @lifeofroos @knightsofladyren

(I tagged some of you cuz I thought you'd like this. Lemme know if you don't wanna be tagged in any more 😅)

. Your master was away on yet another solo mission, the directive unknown to you. While he was away, you were back to working for Hux as his assistant. Things were running smoothly, and with Kylo gone, Armitage seemed a little more at ease. Either it was that tea he was sipping once again, or the absence of your master, but he was smiling more and was generally more relaxed. That morning, or rather, the start of your rotation, was no different. You were busy filling in data into your data pad when he walked over to you and rested his hand on your shoulder, a gesture which was rare but welcome. "How's the report coming along, Y/n?"

You flashed him a startled smile, his action shocking you out of your thoughts momentarily. "It's going fairly decent, General. Everything is accounted for and the updates from our suppliers just arrived. Is there anything we need, aside from rations and weapons?"

Hux thought for a moment, reading what was on your data pad over your shoulder. After a moment, something seemed to click in his head. "You have everything listed, but Lord Ren has...certain preferances in regards to rations."

"He's a picky eater?" you asked in jest, glancing over your shoulder at the ginger general. Hux snorted "I wish it were that, but no. He's on a strict diet, at least that's what he's mentioned."

"Do you know what he prefers? He hasn't told me much about his...personal habits." you replied, opening a new tab on your pad so you can jot down any notes or suggestions Hux had. But Hux shook his head. "I haven't the faintest of clues as to what that man likes or doesn't."

"Fair enough."

A moment passed as Hux thought of a solution. "He may have some products in his quarters that may clue us in as to what he eats." he retrieved his own data pad and swiped the screen a few times before he pulled up a pass code and sent the set of numbers to you.

"What's this?" you asked as you stared at the lengthy line of numbers.

"That is Kylo Ren's pass code to his quarters. He's an extremely secretive and private man and it was a pain to figure this out."

You tried to hide the smirk on your face. "And why, General, would you want to enter his quarters?"

Hux flicked the tip of your ear, a tiny playful gesture. "We have regulations here aboard this ship, and those regulations require a certain level of tidiness. Kylo has very little time, it seems, to keep his quarters neat. The pass code is for service droids to clear up any...messes he leaves." The General was, of course, referring to the times when Kylo vented his rage on anything within reach, often destroying furniture or consoles. Hux, as always, had to either pay for the damages himself or clean up the debris.

"Ooooooh, oh I get." You said, still flashing him a cheeky smirk, a smirk which he returned moments before he took another sip from the mug he was holding.

"Well, in that case, I'll go take inventory of what he has and get back to you on that." With that, you gave him a tiny salute and headed towards your master's quarters.

...

"Whoa..."

As the doors whooshed open, you were greeted with a cold, stark sight. The room was entirely black, it's lights a cold white. The table was empty, the bed that was against the wall was entirely too small for your master. The room was devoid of comfort and warmth, at least the kind of warmth that a man with such status should have. There was no furniture whatsoever, aside from the one chair that was near the table. You walked in and immediately shivered. It would appear that not even the heat was on in this room. "How can a man live like this?" you mumbled, feeling pity for your master as you walked towards the cupboards.

The cupboards, which were also a smooth, obsidian hue, were situated on the opposite side of the room, near what you assumed was a sink. You opened one of the cupboards and found...absolutely nothing. His shelves were empty save for a few dust bunnies. The sight concerned you. "How the fuck does he eat or sleep? No, no, this isn't good. Screw it," you shut the cupboard quite forcefully. "He's getting fed and sleeping when he gets back, I don't care how mad he gets."

With that, you swiftly left the room with plans and a grand scheme.

...

"You want me to do what???" Hux choked out after he spat out his tea in shock when I informed him of my plan.

"You don't have to pay for anything, I'll use my own credits, but I think he needs this." you said again. You showed Hux the list you made, as well as the already filled out request papers you had signed. He scrolled through the data pad, reviewing everything you had requested, brows furrowed in concern. "You sure about this, Y/n?" his grey green eyes looking back at yours. You nodded, not changing your mind. This had to be done. Hux sighed. "Fine. I'll have these sent. Everything should arrive before he returns."

You smiled and gave him a hug, earning a surprised "oh!" from him. "Thank you, Armitage!" you said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Hux cleared his throat a little, trying to hide the blush that was making it's way onto his face. "Alright, alright, don't get used to it. I'm not in the business of granting everyone's requests. This is a one time deal, since you are paying for everything."

You chuckled and nodded. "Very well, General."

...

The mission had been brutal and Kylo was battered and bruised all over. But when he exited his ship, he walked with his masked head held high. His confident stride, however, held a bit of a slight limp. A shot from a blaster had grazed his calf, leaving him wounded. He tried to ignore the pain, but the could already feel that the bandage his leg was bound with was starting to leak, blood dampening his trousers. Exhausted, he made his way to his quarters, ordering a passing officer to send a medical droid to his room.

Unlike most who returned from battles, looking forward to whatever comfort they had, Kylo knew he had nothing to feel good about returning to. At least, comfort wise. He almost grimaced when he envisioned his baron room, knowing that rest and recovery was not an option. Or so he thought.

When the doors opened, his eyes widened beneath his mask. "What the-"

Kylo walked into the room, looking around in confusion. 'Did I walk into the wrong room?' he asked himself. He turned around for any telltale signs of his presence, and sure enough, there, to the left of the door, was a burnt gash where he had slashed his saber across the metal.

He turned back to the interior of the room, and stared at his new surroundings. The table was no longer empty, but had some bottles of sweet beverages and crisp water on top of it's smooth surface, and there was also a bowl filled with fruits. But that was not all. The tiny bed that Kylo once had, was now replaced with a lavish looking one. The frame appeared to be made from metal materials found and mined from Cantobight or somewhere from that planet's region. The bed posts were tall and had what appeared to be hooks on them, for holding/hanging articles of clothing. Kylo approached the bed and placed his hand on top of the black comforter that covered the bed. All his life, he never had anything quite as nice or comfortable. In fact, he felt he never deserved anything quite like this.

He took his mask off and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. When he did, he saw a little piece of paper poking out from under one of the pillows. He reached over and pulled it out, recognizing your handwriting right away. As he read your little note, he felt a small smile spread across his weary face. When he was done reading it, he tucked it into his pocket.

That sleep rotation, after the droid had left and gave him the usual programmed "You need to rest" speech, he pulled back the covers, curled up, and for the first time in years, he slept, resting both his body and soul.

-End-

#kylo ren #general hux #armitage hux #hux #Kylo Ren X reader #Kylo Ren fluff #Kylo finally gets some sleep #Reader being kind to Kylo Ren

[hitlikehammers]

could be something

rating: t ♥️ cw: softness, recovering from the upside down ♥️ tags: pre-relationship, post-s4, fluff, Eddie is having so many feelings, Eddie is not a strong man, but Eddie can be a brave man, Steve Harrington being a devoted caretaker to a T

for @steddielovemonth day seventeen: Love is when you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him. (@starryeyedjanai)

this definitely takes place chronologically after this one so: have the next little step toward these codependent knuckleheads figuring their big feelings out ♥️

When he put his mind to thinking on it—as in, thinking with thoughts versus general technicolor swollen-heart sighing of his whole fucking self, body and soul and just, all of it, the whole of him, when it comes to this: but when Eddie did focus on the thinking part, he thought maybe Steve was, like, a fixture. Like something that defined the home-feeling he has in this room that should be fucking sterile, no matter how long he’s populated it so far: it’s a fucking hospital. It shouldn’t feel…comfortable. Like: no part of this should feel anything but abrasive, and offensive to his sensibilities to the point of wanting; needing to get out at soon as humanly possible.

Which he does: he wants to get out bad. But, like, getting out will be good, for the obvious reasons, but also because Steve will still be there—which is why Eddie first thought Steve was like, a point of association. Eddie had his surviving guitar, some of his cassettes, a tape deck, his Monster Manual, the Corroded Coffin banner that’d somehow survived and was somehow allowed in a hospital room, photos of the band, of the sheepies who weren’t really sheepies were they, they were brothers-in-arms, then some of his new comrades, Wheeler Senior and Robs, and a drawing that’s recognizably from the campaign before Vecna’s Curse, for obvious reasons, but it’s from the mini Byers who Eddie barely knew, and who certainly wasn’t there for the campaign he’s illustrated, but the art was fucking sick, and there’s his mug from the trailer, the Garfield one, not the newer one but the one that’s missing at ear, and there’s—

Steve.

All of this together, he figures, makes it soft, and safe, and gentle around him at all hours of the night when nightmares try to grab him, or when the poking and the prodding got too much before it finally died down, once they were convinced he was going to survive and also not end up a weird otherworldly hybrid monster (which was why he wanted his Manual in the first place, so he could helpfullypoint out suggestions as to what these goddamn feds-in-white-coats must think was lurking beneath Eddie’s skin ready to fucking strike): and Steve’s always there to hides his laughter behind a cough in the corner when Eddie suggests maybe they think he’s sprout horns, or did they want to check for fangs again, he can open wide—just like he’s always there to grab Eddie’s hand and ground him, talk him down into reality again after the worst of the nightmares.

His hand, like that, is what…starts Eddie thinking a little harder about, y’know. Things.

The soft squishy stuff he’s been hiding from with all the excuses in the world that really…really can’t hold the tides back anymore, because this thing, this soft-squishy-warm-immense thing, is bigger than anything Eddie’s ever felt. Not lust, not hope, not pie-in-the-sky wishing, not even pain.

And Eddie’s recently become very fucking familiar with that last one. So that’s saying something.

But Steve’s hand is always ready for Eddie to grab, ready to hold and be held, ready to be an anchor or a touch to soothe and Eddie…

Eddie’s not fucking stupid, right, okay: Steve’s hand in Eddie’s hand makes him think about Steve’s hand in his hand, specifically: the one time Steve’s hand lifted Eddie’s hand to his mouth, to his lips.

Like: intentionally.

It’s when they decide to move him into a step-down room, like a rehab-focused ward or something—and that’s good, that’s like, reallygood, and Eddie’s just that step closer to getting the fuck out of this place, and so they’re taking down all the stuff to move with him, right, and Eddie expects it when he feels a little empty, a little stir-crazy, a little paranoid and startling easy sounds that should even be weird, should be commonplace now, but he tenses, sometimes he jumps, and sure his nerves feel all…pins-and-needly, of course, because the fixtures of home have been stripped away and the room’s just white walls and machines he’s not currently hooked to, and and IV pole-thingy he doesn’t even use anymore, and one single fake flower in a little green-glass vase with real water for no fucking reason and—

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

And it’s in those sterile white walls with the fake flower in the water, with none of the touchings of home that Eddie looks up, meets those smiling eyes and realizes like a slap to his fucking face: Steve’s not a goddamn fixture, an associative suggestion of home.

Steve…Steve is the sun he orbits; Steve’s the gravity that holds him down. Steve’s not just home, he’s the only way Eddie gets to know home; if Eddie’s a planet, he gets to move in space because of his star; get to live and breathe for the light and the warmth that star gifts him, and, and—

Fucking hell.

Eddie nods, and that’s a fucking feat, and he lets Steve pull him to his feet even if he’d have been able to himself, five minutes ago, before his concept of existence at its core got turned fucking sideways and shit.

So Eddie moves rooms. And all his shit is set up exactly like it had been in the first room, and Eddie suspects Steve had a big fucking part in making that happen, because Steve? Steve is, is, he’s…

He’s Steve.

And Eddie’s world kinda starts to…narrow. Not like it did when everything was going dark and he thought it was the end, but it feels almost as desperate, arguably just as dire, just, like, really fucking different.

But Eddie stares: first at Steve’s hands; first where they lie together, where they tangle sometimes, where Steve traces along the lines of his knuckles, the blue of his veins. Then it’s Steve’s hands always: in his lap, shoving Robin playfully, ruffling Henderson’s hair, pouring water Eddie doesn’t need poured for him but hell if Steve will listen on the point, running through his own hair, fisting in it when he’s at loose ends, when it’s Eddie who reaches out wordless—not least because he doesn’t have the words for this at all—and fucking feelshimself brighten, feels something in him blossom new and fresh and joyous when Steve grips his hand back and sits: plays with his fingers, spins the rings he’s allowed to have now, knows where they go back when he meticulously removes them all and slides them into place again and if that shit doesn’t fry the wires in Eddie brain, if that motion and that feeling, with Steve’s fucking hands doesn’t send Eddie’s heart into goddamn convulsions, he’s—

That’s the state of things. When Eddie’s fixated on their hands.

But then…then it gets worse. Because Eddie remember the whole of it, the why for his being obsessed with those hands, and his focus shifts accordingly: because what did Steve do, what did he press sweet and soft and magnetic and like a fucking inferno against Eddie’s goddamn skin?

So, yes: of course it’s those goddamn lips.

Steve chews them when he’s thinking; not hard, and more like…like sucking and ain’t that a bitch for Eddie’s frayed-to-hell nerves. And he licks them almost for no reason, and Eddie so fucking lucky he’s not on that EKG anymore because holy hell, that’d be a problem.

And when he does those things, and then he talks, the motions are…they’re all wet and shiny and a little swollen and Steve kissed his hand, didn’t he, he definitely did, at the very least he brushed his lips there, twice, and didn’t make any motion to move away or cut it short and, and, he—

“Eds?”

Eddie blinks; he was looking at Steve already—has been, of course he fucking has been, because if Steve is here sure as shit Eddie wants to look, what else could be more important, more entrancing, more exquisite, more—

Eddie blinks. Steve’s watching him with the kind of expectation that almost always means words were spoken that…required some kind of answer. A response of some sort.

Eddie has no idea what the words Steve happened to have been saying…were, exactly. He knows they sounded beautiful, musical, because Steve’s voice is those things; he knows the lips they came out of are memorizing as fuck and—

“What’s wrong, Eds?”

And leave it to Saint Steve, to jump to worry, jump to helping, to scoot his chair closer and then give up, to just perch next to Eddie on his bed and grab his hands and—

Eddie’s not a strong man, y’gotta understand that.

“Can I?” Eddie blurts, no thoughts, no plans, just this… this need in him.

“Yes.”

Eddie blinks.

“You don’t even know what it is,” he protests against his own goddamn interests because Steve’s so…so casual. So sure and suave and just, just…

“I’d let you do just about anything,” Steve shrugs, and if the tops of his cheeks pink-up a little? Well, again:

Eddie. Is. Not. A. Strong. Man.

“Steve,” Eddie exhales in a huff, and then he chokes out something like a laugh; “Stevie,” and that’s a whine, nothing else for it, it’s a pleading sound, the kind you make as the hammer fucking falls; “you cannot just say that shit, man—“

“I’m not allowed to say shit I mean?” Steve tilts his head, and his lips quirk that tiny bit and he’s maddening, he’s stunning, he is—

“Steve,” Eddie almost wheezes his name, he’s so fucking breathless, his heart’s such a fucking riot in his chest—it is wholly humiliating and he can’t even care because Steve’s hand is still in his hand and Steve’s here and he’s—

“What do you want, Eddie?”

And now it’s Eddie’s turn to lick his lips, to chew the bottom one and suck on the top between his teeth because…

“You,” he starts, and that’s good, that’s a beginning, you gotta start at the beginning; “you,” repetition, so Steve, like, knows who Eddie is talking to among the no-other-people in the room; “on my hand,” and he moves his thumb along Steve’s hand in the spaces he remembers, will never fucking forget so long as he lives: the places on his hand that Steve graced with his lips and Eddie can be brave, he might not be strong but he can be brave, maybe, or else try–

“Did you—“

And they both turn, because the sound of footsteps is distant but approaching; the squeak of tennis shoes, it’s almost definitely one of the kids and Steve wilts the slightest bit, imperceptible really but Eddie’s watching, so Eddie fucking sees, and Eddie…

Eddie can’t have that.

So he pulls Steve’s hand to his mouth and he kisses at the heel of his palm, kisses at his wrist where the pulse is furious just lip Eddie’s, the most glorious gift of a touch that Eddie of all people gets to fit his lips around and not just feel, no: he gets to taste, and he has to pull back and let go fast, the footsteps are so close but Steve’s pupils are so big and, yes, yeah, okay: okay.

This could be something.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #pining #pre-relationship #softness #as in: I might have gone harder than even I normally go on the softness here #post-S4 #recovering eddie musnon #steve feels like HOME to eddie #but more than that: steve feels like the STAR EDDIE ORBITS AROUND #they HOLD HANDS #like they hold hands a LOT #there is MORE HAND KISSING this time #they are SO SOFT #steddielovemonth #love is when you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him #stranger things

[coffeexafterxmidnight]

welcome home - what went bump in the night

cw: puppet gore, whump, hurt/comfort, ask to tag

You sat, drifting off at your kitchen table, when something banged on your door. 

It'd been an awfully quiet morning in Home. You'd opened the windows, letting in a cool breeze scented with flowers trace over your cheeks. You sat with your hands around your mug of something nice and hot, your eyes falling closed…

Bang, bang, bang.

You almost fell out of your chair. Your gaze jerked in the direction of your front door. 

Bang, bang, bang.

Eddie called your name from outside. Sally did, too.

Something about their tones chilled your blood.

When you threw open the door, you found, as you'd heard, Eddie and Sally. Eddie gripped his hat in both hands, eyes wider than you'd ever seen. Sally shook from head to toe, her fists clenched and held close to her chest.

"What happened?" You asked.

They spoke at the same time, out of sync.

"It's Wally!"

Your stomach dropped. You grabbed your shoes.

"Take me to him!"

They raced ahead of you, faster than you'd ever seen them run. You almost tripped over your own feet trying to keep up. You were the only human in Home, and definitely not anything like an authority figure in your eyes. But the residents came to you when they needed help.

Wally must need help.

At the edge of the woods all the residents gathered. Sally and Barnaby sat on the ground. Frank stood, one arm wrapped around himself, the other mimicking the motion of biting his nails. Howdy cried into his hands.

They all looked at you as you stopped, and you looked back. You looked between them, confusion pushed back in your panic.

It wasn't until you saw the white fluffy stuffing on the ground you understood.

He's dead, you thought, irrationally. He's dead and there's nothing I can do to save him. We're going to have to bury him outside his Home… have a little funeral… I'll have to be the reverend…

You took a breath. Snap out of it, you told yourself. They all need you. Wally needs you.

You forced yourself to walk forward to look at your little friend.

It was worse than you could've thought.

He was still alive, the trembling gave that away. Curled up as best he could into a ball, it was hard to tell what injuries he had. But the cuts - lacerations - went deep, deep into his body. On his face in particular, you could see the edge of what could've been wood inside him. His ear stayed on thanks to three little strings. Blue hair tumbled down over his shoulders, fallen from his fancy hairstyle in a way you'd never seen before.

You called his name. His eyes opened. Without moving an inch, he looked at you through his hair. He didn’t stop trembling. You reached down, brushed the hair from his face. Wally closed his eyes as your fingers skimmed over his fuzzy skin. The trembling eased.

Julie called your name. You looked up at your friends, all collected together, all pressed tight together.

“What do we do?” Frank cried.

You looked back down at Wally, your dear, dear friend Wally. He looked so small like this, so fragile. Your friends weren’t children, not really, but they weren’t teenagers and they weren’t really adults either. They were their own things. And that meant they could be hurt in their own special ways.

“All of you go to the post office,” you said. “I’m gonna take Wally back to my house and fix him up, best I can. And then.” You surprised yourself with what came out of your mouth. “I’m gonna find what hurt him, and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Your friends gaped. Wally squirmed, mumbling something you couldn’t understand.

“What if it hurts you too?!” Howdy said.

Your gaze went down to Wally again, into his open, frightened eyes. He shook his head. You set your jaw.

“I’m more afraid of my friends being hurt,” you said, “Than I am of that.”

Ignoring the way the others stared at you, you spoke directly to Wally.

“I gotta pick you up,” you whispered. “I’m gonna take you to my home, and I’ll patch you up there.”

Wally whimpered. He nodded his head. Something inside you broke, and your hands began to shake. 

If there was one thing you remembered after everything finished, it was how brave he was. Shaking in your arms, his fingers clutching your shirt, face hidden in your neck. He felt so much smaller than he acted, so much smaller than his proud statement of being twelve apples tall. You led the group back into town, one hand supporting your friend, the other holding a tree branch you’d found on the ground. No one said anything. Especially not Wally.

And every step of the way, you watched Wally’s Home. The windows were closed and drawn. The whole place seemed asleep. You would’ve thought… if anyone would’ve been worried about Wally, if anyone knew something was wrong, his Home would’ve been the first one.

You weren’t sure you were ready to think of the implications of that.

Once everyone was safe inside the post office, you turned towards your house.

“Wally,” you mumbled. “I know you probably wanna go Home, but I got a sewing kit at my place and I can fix you up. I have five fingers, remember? I’m good at that stuff.”

Normally that would get a laugh out of Wally. This time, he just rubbed his face in your neck and shivered.

You looked at the house in the center of town again, and frowned.

In your house, you laid Wally down on the kitchen table. Now you could see it better, how his face stretched with pain. Now you could see it better, all the awful, awful places he’d been hurt. It wasn’t just his ear that was hanging on by a few threads. His right arm, too. You swallowed hard. Much as you wanted to cry, you wouldn’t. Not yet. Wally needed you.

Your sewing kit was on the shelf where you left it. You’d learned a lot about sewing after coming here. No big stores to buy new clothes, so you patched up what you had, and made your own, until you were as colorful as everyone else.

You hoped it’d be enough.

As you set things up, you talked to Wally, explaining what you were doing, and why. You would have wanted to know, too, if you’d been so hurt. (If you’d been so hurt, your brain whispered, you’d be dead right now.) You threaded the needle in his favorite color, promising that no one will see the stitching when you’re done. You pulled away the damaged fabric of his jacket, pushed aside the strings of his hair. He didn’t speak, didn’t say a word, just watched.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to feel this,” you said, forcing your hands not to tremble as you hovered over his arm. “I hope it doesn’t hurt.”

Wally said nothing. You took a breath, did the first stitch. 

Five stitches in, he said your name. You looked up at his face. He looked back at you, into your eyes.

He said your name again, and asked, “What’s ‘hurt’?”

Your throat tightened up. You took a shaking breath, wiped the wet in your eyes off on your sleeve. Opening your mouth to answer him, you found the words weren’t coming. And in the way he closed his eyes and laid his head to the side, you knew he understood why.

Stitch, stitch, stitch. You reattached his arm. Stitch, stitch, stitch. You reattached his ear. Stitch, stitch, stitch, you sewed up his face. Stitch and stitch and stitch again, you found the cuts and fixed them up, best you could, best you knew. Even his little fingers had been shredded, the tips of them, the knuckles, as if he’d fought back against whatever had attacked him. The thought of that filled you with pained pride. 

Oh Wally, whatever happened to you?

With a final snip of your scissors and a teeny knot, you finished up your sewing. Good as new? No. No one would ever be ‘good as new’ after whatever happened to him. But at least, you hoped the pain was gone.

“Can you move?” You asked.

Wally blinked. A second later, he pushed himself up off the table. He moved his arm, touched his ear, swung his legs, and stretched out his hands. He closed his eyes again.

Before he could speak, you said, “Here, I’ll fix your jacket. Seems like it shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll have you back with everyone when you’re ready to see them. I know they’d all like to see you’re okay.”

He opened his eyes. Swung his legs. Shrugged his shoulders and pulled off his jacket, handing it over to you. You took it, examined it closely. Yes, that wouldn’t take long at all. 

But it’d be just long enough.

As you sewed, you thought your words over carefully.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Wally stopped moving.

You didn’t look up from your task. 

“I’m not going to make you,” you said. “I just want you to know that I’m somewhere safe to go to, if you ever need help.” Wally didn’t answer.

“I’m not gonna judge you for whatever happened,” you said. “I know it wasn’t your fault.” Wally said nothing.

“Nothing like that could’ve been your fault.”

Wally said nothing.

“But I meant it when I said that I’m more scared of you guys getting hurt than anything that could happen to me.”

Wally sobbed.

You looked up from his jacket. Wally’s hands covered his face, he rocked back and forth. Between his fingers, he looked at you. Little drops of liquid dripped between his fuzzy fingers. Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t know Wally could cry.

“I’m sorry-” Wally said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare all of you. I was trying to protect - protect you-”

“Wally-” you started.

He reached for you, and you reached back. You wrapped your arms around your friend and held him close, held him tight, held him safe as he cried. And you cried too, quietly, into his long blue hair.

You didn’t push him for any more answers. You would let him cry until he didn’t need to anymore. Wasn’t a big surprise to you, when he fell asleep, his arms locked around your neck. You held him close and wiped your eyes. 

Alright, you told yourself. Sleepover time. The whole neighborhood would be invited. Everyone would get to hang out with Wally. You’d make pizza together and drink soda and play games and everything would be okay.

And you. You were going to get to the bottom of this. Even if it killed you.

#welcome home fanfic #welcome home wally #welcome home x reader #welcome home x y/n #welcome home puppet show

[orbmanson7]

I'm bored at work so I decided to screenshot and list all the random crap you can see in Herbert's room in Re-Animator, for anyone curious.

(heads up, the third screenshot contains a dead animal)

On our first glance, we can see the following:

-An obligatory poster with multiple diagrams of the human brain with extensive information relating to each part

-A mini-fridge containing multiple chemical solutions, Herbert's reagent, multiple petri dishes with some kind of sample growths inside them (some of the jars may also contain samples), and a dead Rufus

-Atop the fridge, we see a binder filled with a documentation log, a thick reference book, another smaller textbook, a metallic bowl with some sanitized cloth under it, an additional sanitized cloth under Dan's hand there, a small tube with a screw-on cap that could contain just about anything, and a wrapped power cord with an old-style plug that may or may not be connected to the small lamp sitting above it

-In the wideshot, we can see a nightstand of sorts (it's more like a coffee table that runs alongside Herbert's bed) that holds a small old-style lamp, more reference books and papers, a few more sanitized cloths, a closed but not sealed cardboard box, at least six miscellaneous bottles that appear to be liquid and/or tablet-form medications, a larger bottle of chemical solution, a cup or mug with a stirring implement sticking out of it, and what appears to be an infrared thermometer but I don't know that those even existed in 1985 so it could be a large inhaler or other medical device instead

Next, when we revisit the room in the Integral Cut, we can see there's a few new items added, especially the contents around Herbert's bed.

-There is a typewriter that was there in the earlier scene, but we can see it more clearly now, with paper inside and half a page already filled

-There's a desk lamp switched on to illuminate the typewriter and multiple books stacked on the desk next to the typewriter, as well

-A human skull has been added to the pile of contents atop the fridge, along with several more reference books and papers (and the brain poster has now been moved behind it, blocking the window shade, for some reason)

-On Herbert's bed is a suitcase with an exact copy of his current wardrobe of a white, long-sleeved button-down shirt and a black tie (and probably pants, too)

-Next to his bed, on that long table, we can see a new cardboard box that's open and contains large bottles of what are likely more tablet-form medications as well as what looks like a can of something (likely a chemical)

-Next to the box is the same closed box from earlier, but the cloths have all been used up save for one. On the other side, there's what is either a well-used magazine or a workbook sitting under a thermos among a large bottle of chemical solution, six more bottles of tablet-form medications (two still inside boxes), two boxes that seem to either be bandages and/or nylon bands (both used for injections), and that same old-style lamp from before

(I don't think it's worth mentioning the large white board on the bed that is likely there for white balance in the shot rather than an actual prop, especially since it's not there in the immediate next shot)

-On the bed behind them appears to possibly be a swiss airline luggage tag (those big ones you can use to make it easier to locate your luggage at baggage claim), likely still connected to Herbert's suitcase

-On the other side of the bed, there's far more innocuous items, such as an open can of diet 7-Up in front of a small biohazard sign, an overturned open book, a large canister for water (likely used for tea or coffee), another reference book, and memo pad papers scattered back there, too. There's also some kind of large implement of some sort (maybe just the weirdest paperweight to exist), if it was upside-down then it could closely resemble what someone may use to polish shoes? It could also just be a bizarre lamp that's not plugged in, I don't know

-Also interesting to note that Herbert kept the window next to his bed slightly open, his bed is always messily made, and he never has anything on the floor despite the mess of clutter he stacks everywhere else in his room

Anyway, that's it! I always find it interesting what gets chosen by set design when cluttering a lived-in space (especially in 80s movies) for these kinds of shots, even if it's haphazardly done on a cheap budget. They can say a lot about a character, and I think there's certainly some unique notions to made about Herbert based on what can be seen here.

Do what you will with this information.

#reanimator #re animator #herbert west #reanimator analysis #dan cain #megan halsey #dead animal #needles #injection #do i need to tag something for the brain poster? uhh #anyway yeah i thought I'd be busier at work tonight with end of the month paperwork but i got done early and was bored #so this happened whoops #long post #orbs thought bubbles #cats #how did i forget to tag the one i actually have blacklisted myself