#with 4 toes instead of 3

[buggachat]

im gonna be honest i think the "adrien being a sentimonster was randomly thrown in season 4 with no planning on the writers' part" theory is really funny. like the writers of this show are just so bad at their job and so stupid that they tripped and fell in season 1 episode mr pigeon and accidentally spilled "a strange relationship to feathers" all over adrien by accident. they stubbed their toe on the coffee table and accidentally set up a mystery surrounding emilie's relationship to a feathery miraculous in season 1 volpina before we even knew what its powers were. then they spilled coffee all over their favorite shirts and at the same time spilled more white feathers around adrien in season 2 episode gorizilla. while writing the same episode someone had a really nasty sneeze and got boogers all over the script that said "use the imagery of two twin rings intertwined as the opener for the film of adrien's dead mother". they forgot to look both ways before crossing the street while writing the season 2 finale and were struck by a truck labeled "the peacock miraculous gives life" and then by a second truck with the license plate "it does so using white feathers identical to the white feathers that surround adrien in his ads" at the same time. they plummeted down an open manhole and hit the ground with a loud whack that sounded like "sentimonsters like bugette are just as real as any human..... and isn't bugette so...... perfect?" in season 3. on their way to the hospital they slipped on ice that had frozen in such a way to perfectly resemble the sentence "the word 'perfect' is consistently used throughout the series and by the creator ominously to denote how characters like adrien and kagami are 'different from everyone else', ever since season 1 episode simon says". during season 3 someone on the team got food poisoning and when they threw up felix came out instead and started another whacky series of comedic errors. the answer to the mystery of "how and why did emilie die? what life did adrien's loving mother create that she was willing to die for?" was originally gonna be "idk maybe she just exploded or somehting" probably, but then there was a really painful rock in one of the writers' shoes while walking to work that put them in a mood so bad that they forgot their original plan and instead made some bullshit up that somehow ended up being something that made sense with what we knew and put all the puzzle pieces together and actually made the show even more interesting and impactful on a rewatch because it put a lot of shots that at the time seemed random into a new and logical perspective as clear foreshadowing. it's actually impressive how stupid these silly clown writers are that they put strangely specific things so consistently throughout the entire series that resembled foreshadowing while never actually having intended it a single time! like........... really.......... really impressive............... i think..............

#i am so sorry that this is a horrible wall of text #i honestly didnt think it would end up this long. this is just stuff off the top of my head lol #ml fandom salt #kind of?

[nightdiary]

first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

#nightdiary.writes #enhypen #enhypen headcanons #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #heeseung headcanons #jay headcanons #jake headcanons #sunghoon headcanons #jungwon headcanons #sunoo headcanons #niki headcanons #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #jungwon x reader #sunoo x reader #niki x reader #heeseung fluff #sunghoon fluff #jay fluff #jake fluff #jungwon fluff #sunoo fluff #niki fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen boyfriend #enhypen scenarios

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 9)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated Explicit.

Warning: Character Death, and minor details of childbirth.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

“You’re glowing!”

You’d scoffed while watching as your body literally began to illuminate from the inside out.

“Well of course.” You’d snickered, looking from your hands to Lucifer. “Every mother does.” 

Your hand came up to clasp your mouth shut, but the Freudian slip was already out there. Lucifer stared at you and you stared back. 

Your lips wobbled and torso trembled until you could no longer hold it in and burst into laughter. Elation ran its course, and Lucifer joined you — laughing so hard that he slapped his knee. 

When you fell into his arms and let yourself be held, you imagined it would only be for a little while. This bizarro pregnancy had you on some kind of high, and all the worries and doubts that had been building up disappeared. 

—

You can’t remember for how long you’ve been walking but there’s discomfort in the soles of your feet. The landscape changes as soon as you truly behold it. 

The endless field of tall grass and the trees so tall they could touch the sky had been replaced by golden sand. You could feel its gentle heat on the ends of your toes. Beyond the sand is a gently rolling ocean, lilac beneath a honey gold sky as the sun has only just set. The sound of rhythmic, rushing water is so real and so close that you’re immediately calm. 

Memories flood your mind like a sneaker wave. You’re a child again, running away from the water as it laps at you. The shock of the cold water goes away quickly and you want to follow the pebbles and seashells that drift back out with the retreating tide. 

You look back, away from the sea, and see the blonde woman behind you. You grin. 

She’s wistful. 

It stamps down on your joy. The air is salty and wet blowing through your hair and inhaled through your nostrils. You want to speak, but you can’t think of a thing to say. 

“I wish this was goodbye.” Her voice carries above the waves, muffling them until they’re nothing but a dull roar. 

—

You awoke to the sensation of falling and seized in your bed. Lucifer startled beside you. He’d been sleeping wrapped around your belly; a compromise to laying perpendicular to you so that he could continue talking to the soccer-player in your stomach. 

He or she had not stopped moving since they decided to make it known that they were, in fact, not dead.

(You’d chided the baby for that, and for doubling in size in less than two week’s time, much to Lou’s amazement:

“Hell isn’t ready to be ruled by two speed demons.” You’d deadpanned.)

“Huh?” He grabbed you without thought. “What—”

Movement erupted from deep down in your core, muscles clenching and unclenching quickly, forcing you to seize again. 

“I think I’m — ugh!” You gritted your teeth. “—I’m going into labor.” 

Lucifer doesn’t do anything for a long moment. 

Then he flew into a panic before you could say ‘Jesus Christ!’. 

—

The hallway outside illuminated with the sheer brilliance of your body, literally glowing. It hadn’t stopped since it started, only a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the glow was tied to an almost paralyzing euphoria. It was the kind of delight that turned your blood into gold while racing through your body. The kind that kept you from complaining that you’d become Tinkerbell.  

“Steady. I’ve got you!” Lucifer assured whilst trudging over the carpet with you in his arms. 

An influx of pain rippled through you for the first time, providing distraction from the mortification you might’ve felt in that position. It hasn’t escaped your notice that the Prince of Darkness was a shortstack. Your brain had a hard time accepting that for as small as he appeared, Lucifer was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and endurance. 

So, you didn’t think about it. Instead you focused on breathing in and out deeply as your partner kicked at the front door of your neighbors’ apartment with the toe of his boot. 

As if waiting at the door, Warren Farrow appeared from behind the polished wood. His expression was of minute surprise, but within seconds he was turning back and calling for his wife.

Lucifer managed to pivot the two of you into the Farrow home. Warren guided you with an unusual vigor in his step, as though he were a man decades younger. 

“We’ve had it set up for weeks now, Sir.” Warren said gravely. 

Through the convulsions, you observed the inlet that Lucifer had taken you into. It was like a roomy closet, covered in tapestries and littered with candles of all shapes and colors. 

Warren’s wife was flitting about, quickly lighting the pitch-black surroundings until you could see the mere outline of things. 

You were drawn to the center of the crowded room, where a humble white cot covered in white towels contrasted everything else.

It occurred to you then that this entire pregnancy had been a shit show, not the least bit because you’d never gone to any OB. You hadn’t checked in with any hospital, or stepped foot in one — how could you? 

Therefore, any  and all “check-ups” you’d had had come from your creepy neighbors with their tea and their scrutinizing questions and their buzzard-like stares.

You’d consoled yourself throughout with the brief, semi-serious talk with Mrs. Farrow three months into gestation.

“What? Were you a midwife or something?” You asked incredulously. 

“Yes, honey.” Cass had patted your hand like you were a simpleton. “I helped deliver babies for over 15 years. I was younger than you were when I first started!” 

You had stared. ‘Oh god, how many crazy cultists are actually nurses in disguise?’

“Here we go, all set. You can lay her down here.” Cassie came over brusquely, smoothing over the wrinkles in the cot before Lucifer put you down. 

He laid you on the sheets, light as a feather, jarring as you felt your belly weigh you down. The King didn’t go far, reluctant to let go of your hand. You held on like a vice as well, gripping and squeezing with each contraction. 

You felt pinches in and around your abdomen, but the pain was… off. It came not from true agony, but the overworking of your internal organs in contrast to the pleasantness that you embodied post-glow stick phase. 

Hearing childbirth horror stories all your life, and just the horrors of raising children in general, you expected to be screaming and thrashing. 

This wasn’t as bad as some of your past periods had been. What’s worse than that, however, is the unnecessary guilt you feel for how troublesome it isn’t. 

—

Lucifer struggled to remain in one spot as the urge to pace up and down the cramped little birthing room ate at him. 

He didn’t want to leave you — not that his two hosts would dare make him, regardless of tradition — but old habits die hard. He was fidgeting, putting all his weight on one foot then the other. 

You were his exact opposite, laying placid and relaxed on the birthing bed, eyeing the little room. Microexpressions flitted across your face, some of confusion and some of hurt, but aside from your firm grasp on his hand, and the occasional grunt, you may as well have been dozing off. 

Eventually you glanced at him. 

“Do you wanna sit down?” You asked calmly. 

Lucifer tried to laugh but it came out like a strangled wheeze. “Nahhh, this is fine. I’m fine. Are you fine? I mean I know you’re not fine, but can I do something? Whatever you need, I can get it for you!” 

His rambling ends with you bopping him between the eyes teasingly. “You’re silly.” 

It’s inexplicable, but Lucifer’s mood lightened at your mellow admonishment. He meets your warm, drowsy expression with an adoring smile of his own. 

“I am.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re an angel to put up with it.” 

A too-loud rasp interrupted the soft moment of nothing but affection and kisses. Cass was standing at the foot of your cot, hands on each of your knees as she kept your legs apart. 

“Get ready, honey. You’re on your way.” She hailed. 

–

A cry split through the air and it went straight to your heart. 

You gulp down air (Lucifer mimicking you without meaning to) with sweat pouring from your hairline. The lack of pain hadn’t meant a lack of effort, and you still felt like you’d run a marathon just to pass the little being currently wailing in Mrs. Farrow’s arms. 

“It’s a girl.” Mrs. Farrow declared.

There was no attempt to hide the sidelong glance she gave Mr. Farrow. The lines and grooves on the elderly man’s face deepened until he resembled a gnarled tree trunk.

“Hmm.” Was his reply, deep baritone rolling like thunder in the tiny room. 

Vehement indignance blazed to life inside your mind when the old man looked at you, critical and disappointed. You felt like tearing him and the rest of this old, tacky room to shreds. Yet, exhaustion had planted its roots deep inside of you, and all you could do was glare at the old couple from your makeshift bed. 

‘Why does it fucking matter?’

“Gimme my kid.” You growled.

As if to piss you off further, Cass ignored you in favor of wiping the baby clean before passing her off to Lucifer. The old bat presented her to the King like she was a fallen bannerman’s sword, even curtsying while doing it. 

It was so weird that it brought you out of your anger for a second. 

Lucifer was clearly apprehensive, and his insecurity made the grand gesture stranger. He swallowed visibly, making eye contact with you when he couldn’t break away from the internal turmoil he was struggling with. 

“Bring her to me.” You demanded. Lucifer nodded vigorously, cocking a head toward you. 

It was fucking nonsensical, but at last Cass obeyed and brought you a bundle wrapped in silky black. 

The baby’s wailing tapered off as soon as she’d made contact with you. And like a child on Christmas morning, you shifted to sit up as much as you could and pry open the swaddling cloth. 

You sniffled. 

All at once, the breath caught in your throat and your eyes welled up with tears.

The newborn was as flagrant as her father in terms of skin tone and hair. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but already you could see none other than a spitting image of Lucifer himself. Right down to the rosy apple cheeks that made up her pudgy little face. 

You were a little surprised to see that she had a nose. A little black smudge, puppy-like - anomalous like the little growths on her forehead and the itty bitty spade on the tip of her wagging tail. 

She was perfect. 

“I think she’s a Charlotte.” You manage to tear your eyes away from the miraculous hellspawn in your arms just long enough to search Lucifer’s golden gaze. “What do you think?” 

His Majesty is a whimpering mess beside you. “Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” 

Peeling the blanket back just that much more, you lean toward him. It takes a little coaxing, but sure enough Lucifer traces a delicate claw over the child’s tiny brow. 

“Hello Charlotte.” He whispered. “We’re so happy you’re here.” 

Adoration overwhelmed you, nigh on visible like the air was tinged with its color, its scent, its warmth cocooning the three of you. 

Daddy, Mommy and baby. A strange but happy little family. 

Lou embraced the two of you, hiding his face, and subsequent weeping, in the side of your neck while your baby cooed. 

The background chants of ‘Hail Princess Charlotte’ and ‘Hail King Lucifer’ were, thankfully, not enough to ruin the moment. 

Nothing could. Until. 

It doesn’t dawn on you that anything is wrong when the glow has faded. It’s only the incidental look at your fingers, with Charlotte’s tail curled around them, that freezes you. Numbness then began to crawl up your body, as if waiting for the moment that you’re brain would connect the dots. The copper scent of blood made your nostrils flare and heart hammer.

Fear clutched at you in an instant. “Take her. Take the baby.” 

Your desperate hiss and barely-there shuffle to push Charlotte into Lucifer’s arms fully had his face falling. 

“W-wai-wh-What’s happening?” He asked, panic rising. 

Mrs. Farrow is prompt, crone’s face scrunched and nose prominent as if she could sniff out the issue. She’s stood at the end of the bed, already lifting the sheets off your body before you can seek her out. 

A stiff hand appears over the covers, covered in shiny dark claret. “She’s bleedin’ too much.” 

Lucifer’s eyes blazed from where he hovered. “Why?”

The elderly woman was ready to shrug, but she stalled. Perhaps out of fear. “It happens, your Grace. Birthing a baby takes a toll on the mother, sometimes it’s too much.”

“Then why are you just standing there?”Lucifer bared his fangs, ivory in the lowlight. His eyes were a haze of vermillion, so opaque that you couldn’t find his pupils or the soul inside. “Help her!” 

The truly demonic scrape of his vocal chords frightened you, as did the sudden appearance of tusk-like horns protruding from his skull and the fire coming to life between them. His beautiful skin marred and stretched and cracked as if his form were a prison barely containing the true beast within. 

Energy crackled in the air, heat rising to blow back your hair and dry the air from your lungs like a flung-open kiln. The breath was stolen from your lungs as ivory wings shot out and overtook what little space was left in the alcove. 

Reality was literally distorting around Lucifer’s warped rage. 

Mr. Farrow, for all his reticence, reached for his wife’s shoulder from within your line of sight. 

“Lucifer.” You hissed, bearing the brunt of his inhuman stare when he turned to you. It took real energy to speak. “I need you… the baby…”

It didn’t take anymore prodding for the blond to intercept your daughter once your desperation got through to him. The Devil slowly shifted back, revealing the depth of his fear in the cloudless turn of his gaze. He met you halfway - finally - and pulled Charlotte close to his chest.

A pang of thankfulness made laughter bubble up from your diaphragm. It hurt. Everything hurt again.

“Stop. Wait.” Lucifer begged, voice turned to ice. Fragile, cracking. His natural white glow had dimmed significantly like a cooling star. “This isn’t— I promised you this wouldn’t happen! This can’t happen!”

A shudder ran through you. 

“Hey.” You lifted a hand and placed it on his pale cheek, thumb brushing over where white met red. “Nothing… for it now.” 

“No, don’t, that’s… No.” His agony was so palpable, as his fury had been. 

“You’re gonna be a great dad.” You murmured. 

Lucifer bowed over the side of the bed with Charlotte snug against him. You could feel the warmth of his breath, and then the splash of his tears against your cheek as he broke down. You felt it deep in your bones, and the lump in your throat that choked you. 

“Not without you.” He said. “I can’t do this without you.”

A pained smile was your response. Vision a-blur. Cotton tongue.  

“You… will.”

Lucifer shook his head fiercely. “I promised you. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I can’t… I can’t...” 

“Please. Please don’t — ” Anguish turned Lucifer’s once melodic voice into broken notes. “Don’t leave us. Please, please, please.” 

His sobs intermingled with Charlotte’s whimpering. She fussed as she was woken from her doze by the growing, tangible urgency. You wished you could calm both of them. Take them in your arms and make it all go away, promise that you weren’t going anywhere. 

“Please. Please. Please.” The word fell from the Devil’s mouth like a prayer. 

You wondered if he really was praying. Praying to his Father. 

It broke your heart. 

The candlelight around you was getting brighter as the rest of your surroundings grew dark. Lucifer, as brilliant as he was, lingered somewhere in between. You squinted when his features began to fuse together in your mind. It did little to help, as large, dark shadows blotted out the corners of your sight. 

Charlotte was bawling and you fought to open your eyes again. You hadn’t realized they’d closed. 

You were so tired. The will to rise up and comfort your baby was dwindling. Everything had succumbed to a thin stream of light in a sea of darkness. 

With a breath, and another Herculean effort, you opened your eyes again. 

White blinded you. 

And then you were nothing.

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin

#lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

[oval3000]

Chapter 3

Yandere Psych Patient König x Nurse Reader

Warning: Possesive, Obsession, Death, Gore, Blood, Smut, Toxic behavior, age gap.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

(This might suck idk. I don't know German so it's all Google translate)

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

He hasn't left his room for a month. They kept him in their with the straitjacket on. His meals are just vitamins that he has to swallow. You would go in to check up on him, but new orders from the administrator's to not go near at all, so you pass by his room. You would peak through the little window and see him laying on his back with little no to motion on his arms or body entirely. His psychiatrist, Dr. Smith is the only that goes in there. They have sessions in his room instead of the usual spot they have it in.

She was pissed at everyone, specifically you. You are her punching bag, even though it was Ben's fault. "Why hasn't he been given his meds!" She yelled at you.

"We are not allowed to go i-" you tried to explain your her, but she could care less.

"You are his nurse right! Your job is to give him his meds! How did you graduate when you can't even do that!" She yelled at you.

You plead for her to listen to you "I'm sorry, Dr. Smith. I can't it's Mr. Millers orders. No one can go in except you because you are his psychiatrist."

So she strolled her way to the administrator's office.

Ignoring his assistant from telling her that she can't go in. Slaming the door open to see him sitting on his chair, writing whatever cral he writes on paper.

"Sarah calm down!"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous he is, and you want me to deal with him alone! On top of that the lack of guards is making my job harder!" Dr. Smith argued with a hand on her hips and her finger pointing towards Ben.

"Do you remeber when you wanted a nurse to look after him." She rolled her eyes. Yes, you, the nurse. "Do you have any idea how much money is going towards her. Triple the pay for looking after him."

Her hands swing in motion, showing her frustration. "She can't even do her fucking job Ben!"

"If she's alive, then she's doing her job well. What's making this hard, is you barging into my office and telling me what to do when you are the one demanding this." He stood up from his chair, fixing his navy tie. "We're loosing staff. People don't want to go near him. Gabriel is threatening to sue the company. Gaurds are quiting left and right so sorry that there aren't enough staff attending your needs."

She crossed her arms with an annoying sigh leaving her lips tinted with red lipstick. "Then hire more people, I don't see the problem?"

"Did you not hear what I said" he walked towards her, standing toe to toe to her. "Majority of our budget is going towards (Y/n). She's been here for two months now, lasting longer than any other nurses. We can't afford another hire with the same pay to deal with König. Besides he hasn't actually killed anyone in those two months, I'll take that than dealing with someone who has a broken jaw from a simple punch."

"Then ask for more money." She scuffed like if it was a joke she said.

He laughed at her face, "Do you think the government cares to fund more for this place, I already have the staff on my ass for new medical supplies, do you think they are gonna hand me the budget to hire someone with triple pay just because you are scared."

"Then fire (y/n) and hire a new guard, maybe someone with military experience."

"Why would I do that. You came into my office, spreaded your legs cause you were so desperate for a nurse and now you want me to fire her. She hasn't done anything in particularly wrong."

"She doesn't follow orders!"

"She does, you just make it difficult." He came in defense.

"Wasn't she trying to stop you from putting him into a straitjacket?" She smirked while her arms crossed at her chest.

"Yes, and she was right. Putting him in a straitjacket does nothing. He was fine it's just that..." he closed his eyes taking deep breath.

"Just what?" She came closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, gently caressing it.

He turned his head to her, he used to lovy dovey with her seduction, but now it's more annoyance. "Eli, the other guard, came to my office the other day and told me that Gabriel was provoking König."

She rolled her eyes, looking around his office. Paying attention to the paintings hanged up on the wall and the light objects he has on his desk. "Like what? Making fun of him? We all make fun the people here what else is new?"

"I don't know the full details, but that's what he told me." He sat a bit on his desk.

"Why does that matter?" She shook her head without a single thought in her brain.

"Gabriel is threatening to sue us. If we fight the legal action, we'll have to defend König. König, just like any other patient represent us, our care. If they find out that Gabriel was the one that caused this, making König the victim it doesn't look good after we placed him in the straitjacket. Like we silencing him out. It will ruin our reputation, we'll all loose our jobs and you fucked your way up here for nothing."

"But he harmed a worker, beside murdered multiple people." She let out a little chuckle, placing her hand on his chest.

He didn't give in, instead, he gave her a stare. "He's ex- military and as for you being his psychiatrist, you'll have to speak on behalf of him. Meaning that people will find out about you, how you never studied to become a doctor you fucked every professor you had to get your degree."

"What are you saying, Ben." Her smile dropped.

"I won't fire (Y/n). She stood up for König, making us look like we care about our patients. As for Gabriel, all he's asking is for some 20,000 thousand dollars, which we can easily give him worth than standing infront of the judge. Which means that we can't afford new guards for you. Besides they're taking off his straitjacket today, so stop being so scared and do your dam job."

"I still think you should fire, (Y/n) atleast." She hummed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I'm not doing that. Beside she's the only staff that doesn't barge in here demanding stuff. She nice and sweet...." he looked down to the side, " and...young and beautiful. "

She let go of his waist, clenching her jaw. Yes, you being so beautiful. "So what? You want to fuck her? Is that it. Never head young pussy before?"

"You should leave, I have work to do and so do you. This discussion is over." He walked to his desk, sitting down on his chair, unbutton his last few buttons from his dark, navy, blazer.

She stormed off his office, angrly stomping on the white tile floors with her heels creating a louder noise.

You heard the word going around that their taking of his straitjacket, so you quickly gathered what you need to check him up. You saw as the guards took off. He let out a big stretched, flexing more of his muscles. It caused a scare to the guards like a lion letting out a roar.

You walked up to and saw more of his face. He stared at you.

He missed you. He never thought he would miss you. During that month of not seeing you was a time he contemplated about you. Are you made for him or not. He will shut his eyes and images of you will pop up. You smiling at him. Taking good care of him. Watching you squirm under him as you take his full length cock inside your pussy. He'll treat you with respect as long as you do what he says that's all. Seeing your belly swell up with his baby. Can't wait to fuck your tits filled with milk. Can't wait to impregnate you with multiple of his children, making one big happy family. How protective he'll be for his kids, for you. To stand up to the bullies, to show them not to be scared of anything. To hold them if they cry.

He should kill you for making him react this way. He should just kill you. You are just another nurse thinking they have control over him. He use to give orders to people, being the colonel and all, he got the respect he fought for, why does he feel weak around you. You are so sweet and joyful to him. If he was back in the field and saw you, would he kill you. Or maybe fuck you. Maybe that's it. He hasn't done it in so long, so long he hasn't touch a women. He should've just fucked one of the other nurses. Yes, maybe he should do that. Fuck a nurse, just to see. I mean what's the harm in that.

"Aah...yes. right there ngh.... yes...oh fuck that feels good."

The sound of König's footsteps were low that they couldn't hear over the sound of skin slapping against eachother. Watching a men fucking his girlfriend on his bed.

"Does your boyfriend fuck you like this?" Slaming her ass back and forth on his cock.

"Ah....a-aah....he-..he could barley...make me- fuck!..mmgh....wet." She grip the bedsheets hard while he kept pounding her.

No. No. He can't. Not you. He can't. He can't betray you like they did. He can't imagine the face you'll make if you know he fucked another girl. No he should be pure to you. You should be the only one he touches.

He needs you. Okay, it's done. He'll make you his and you'll love him. You'll love him and care for him. Rather you like him or not it's done.

You wrapped the cuff around his bicep and squeeze the bulb reading the numbers on the circle, writing it down. Doing the usual things you have studied for. As you were checking his heartbeat, he reached up which caused you to flinch a bit. His index finger, gently, caressing your cheek. Your back was turned to the guards, making it hard them to see what's going. You stared at him as he touched you with such charisma. His thumb reaching to your chin, hovering over your lips. He placed the tip of his thumb on your bottom lip, gently pulling it out a bit.

You shouldn't have this feeling at the pit of your stomach. You couldn't tell of you didn't smack his hand away because you are scared or because you enjoy it. You never had this much attention, not like this.

"I don't have time to argue with you (Y/n)! Go to your room!" The little girl tuged at her moms shirt.

"Where's daddy?" She felt tears running down her face as her mother poured more wine into her glass, already finishing up the fresh new bottle.

"(Y/n)! Seriously go to room! You are such a headache! Why couldn't your father take you with him! Nauseating!" She dranked the entire glass, slamming the cup on the table.

"Where's daddy?" She said one last time not letting go of her blanket. The same blanket her father got her when she told him she was cold.

"HE LEFT! HE LEFT US (Y/N)! LEFT US FOR THAT BITCH! AND NOW I'M STUCK HERE WITH YOU. HE RUINED MY LIFE. I COULD'VE DONE SOOOO MANY THINGS! But no! I'm stuck to take care of a brat!"

He palmed your cheek, feeling your warmth. He went in closer to you. You could feel his hot breath, quicken as he got closer to your lips.

You pulled back, "I shouldn't- we shouldn't. I mean." You whispered to him.

"Mein liebling (my darling)." He whispered to you. The first time he spoke to you. You couldn't understand him, but he spoke to you. "Du bist mein (you are mine)." He pulled you closer to him, he didn't care if the guards were staring, if anything, he enjoys it. To show everyone that he is yours to touch. "Mein schatz (my sweetheart)," his lips were hovering yours, you felt a little tingle at how close he was.

You know this shouldn't happen. You turned your away from his. You walked back, feeling his grasp letting go. He stared at you witch a smile on his face. You saw the smile he gave you.

When your shift ended and went back to your apartment, the thoughts of what happened lingered into your mind.

That night, you couldn't sleep. He was in your dreams. What if you never pulled way. Were you really going to kiss him. You glazed over the parts where he touched you.

You searched the words he said to you to translate it. Sweetheart, darling, mine.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach again. You never felt so complicated before.

Having a crush on a patient.

You have a crush on König.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #fanfic #konig x reader #yandere konig #yandere könig #konig #könig x y/n #könig x reader #könig cod #könig #könig mw2 #könig call of duty

[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Steve blinks, looks around and processes that he’s in a hospital. He doesn’t remember getting here, which isn’t a great sign. It also doesn’t look familiar; definitely not Stroger, Sinai, Northwestern or even Hawkins Health. He takes a few deep breaths and relaxes a bit when the movement doesn’t hurt his chest. Checks his arms next, lifting both out, bending at the elbow, turning his wrists and flexing his fingers. Once he’s sure everything is accounted for, he moves onto his legs. He’s still wearing his uniform pants, though his shin, knee pads and skates are missing. He can bend his knees and wiggle his toes, and his ankles twist back and forth easily. Next, Steve opens his mouth, and his jaw hurts on the left side a little, but not an exuberant amount.

Robin clears her throat and he jumps a little, turning to look at her with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room. “Finished your self-assessment?” She asks, and he feels his face heat up. “What do you remember?”

Steve fights through the brain fog— again, not a great sign— before he settles on his last memory.

“On the ice at Crypto?” He asks. She doesn’t answer, waiting for him to elaborate like she always does when he has concussions. “I, uh. Think it was the second period? I had just swapped in, I think? I was chasing the puck, got it, passed it off, and…” he trails off, frowning at his hands, stained a red-brown color. It was caked around his fingernails, thicker in the creases of his skin. “And Billy hit me. Right? That’s what happened?”

“Well, you remember more than I expected you to.” Robin eventually sighs, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “They’ve got you on concussion protocol.”

“Fuck,” Steve grumbles, reaching his hand up with the intention of rubbing at his eyes, but Robin catches his wrist and stops him.

“Don’t touch your face.” She’s stern, and Steve frowns. Nothing hurts on his face, besides the little twinge in his jaw. But then it clicks that he must be on some type of painkiller.

“Morphine makes me throw up.” He says, and Robin gives him a soft smile. 

“I know, babe.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment before he lays his head back and sighs. “How bad is it?”

“You’re going to need quite a few stitches, but they ran scans when we first got here to see if anything in there is broken,” Robin explains, and Steve groans.

“So it’s pretty bad, then.” He absorbs this information, efforts to retain it and not lose it into the brain fog.

“You skated off the ice on your own, if that’s any consolation.” Robin gives him a small smile, which Steve tries to return because it does make him feel better. But smiling seems to spark more pain than opening his mouth had, and he can definitely feel the pull of whatever bandages are attached to the side of his face.

Someone knocks at the door, and Steve prepares himself to be overwhelmed by medical terminology from some ER doctor looking to over-explain whatever is happening with his face, but he’s surprised to see Eddie there, instead.

“Oh, hey,” Steve mumbles, frowns and pats his pockets. “Sorry, did I text you? I don’t remember.”

“Eddie texted me, I told him he could come,” Robin says, and Steve visibly pauses his search to look at Robin, then toward Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie offers, soft and quiet, looking a little paler than usual. “I, uh. Saw what happened. Worried about you.”

“Steve doesn’t remember everything yet, so don’t tell him what happened. Not for a few more hours, at least.” Robin explains, before tapping the seat beside her. “I pulled this over so you could sit with us while we wait for the doctors to come back with his scans.”

“It looks better in person than it did on TV,” Eddie says as he moves closer, eyes trained on the left side of Steve’s face. 

“Feels heavily packed.” Steve mumbles, rolls his jaw again, and lets out a little groan when it cracks. 

“Stop that,” Robin chides, smacking at his hand gently. “Max did as much as she could to stop you from bleeding out from your face, stop trying to hurt yourself more.”

“M’not, just feels weird,” Steve mumbles back before he looks over at Eddie again. “Not sure this is going to be the most interesting way to spend your night, Eds.”

“If this is where you’ve got to be tonight, then I’ll be right here with you.” Eddie offers and Steve feels his cheeks heat up, though he’s not sure it’s noticeable because he doesn’t know what the fuck is happening with his face.

It takes what feels like an eternity for a doctor to finally come in and explain that the bone connecting his upper jaw to his eye is fractured, and the team will have to monitor how it starts to heal to see if he needs surgery. Steve asks Robin and Eddie to wait in the hallway while he gets the stitches; he’s told there are nearly 80 running through his eyebrow, around his eye socket and down into his left cheek. The bulkier part of the wound is covered with a bandage, he’s given a prescription for painkillers, and then discharged into Robin’s care. Despite her attempts to explain she has an idea of what she’s doing, she’s given a pamphlet with the signs and symptoms of a concussion. Eddie elects himself to direct Steve’s Hospital Policy wheelchair to the garage, where he’d parked his rental.

“Where to?” He asks.

“Crypto.” Steve answers before Robin can, and she frowns at him.

“They’re not going to let you play, and the game is almost over, we should just go back to the hotel.” She offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“Crypto. Please. I… even if it’s just to prove a point, I need to go back.” He holds eye contact with Eddie, who notices the start of a few bruises likely to join forces around his eye in the next few hours and days, and Eddie sighs and nods.

The drive back to the arena is short; the longest part is waiting for the security guard to scan Robin’s team-issued badge to get them inside. Steve leans up to tug at Eddie’s leather jacket once he’s parked. “Not gon’ make you wait in the car, come in with us. Won’t be long, promise.”

Steve moves right out to the rink, opens the door to the Blackhawks box and slides inside easily. There’s a moment when nobody has realized he’s there, and he grins as he taps the coach on the arm, pulling his attention off the ice for a moment. Controlled chaos erupts then, as his teammates celebrate his return. There’s hugs and shoulder pats and hair ruffles all around. When the final shift changes with just minutes left on the clock, they manage to take the lead and secure the win.

Back in the locker room, Steve packs up his bags with the rest of them, offers his congratulations, as Robin hands over his discharge paperwork to the team medics. Eddie’s hanging back by the door, visibly caught off guard when a few players offer him fist taps and polite greetings, before Steve is pressing a finger into his chest.

“Told you I needed to come back. S’good for morale and shit.” He mumbles, slurring and can’t tell if it’s from the injury or the painkillers, but Eddie smiles back at him and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a handful.” Eddie teases, and Steve tips his head thinking for a moment before a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’ve no idea how much of a handful I am.” Steve teases back, watches as Eddie’s face lights up with delight before he snorts out a laugh.

“I think you need to try and rest off the painkillers, Big Boy.” Eddie decides, and Steve shrugs because, yeah, that’s probably not the worst idea.

“But can we get food first? I’m starving.” 

He manages to convince Eddie and Robin he can stomach Jack in the Box, orders a ridiculous amount of food, then only manages to eat his fries before he falls asleep on the sofa in the hotel room he’s sharing with Robin. 

~~~~~

Eddie swipes a taco Steve had ordered, and joins Robin on the balcony of their room after Steve falls asleep.

“Does he always order fast food like a stoner?” He muses, crunching into the hard shell, earning a laugh from Robin.

“Only when he’s genuinely high. Pain meds hit him a little harder than weed usually does, though.” She explains around a french fry.

“He can smoke?” Eddie asks, surprised. He might not know much about sports, but he was pretty sure there were usually rules in place about drug use and random testing to check for anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, the league doesn’t really care unless their levels are abnormally high. But a lot of players use weed for pain management because the game can be brutal on their bodies, even without assholes like Hargrove on the ice.” She looks back into the room toward where Steve is sprawled out, snoring softly. 

“I didn’t see Billy on the bench or on the ice when we got back.” Eddie offers, though it appears to be unhelpful information as Robin nods.

“He was hit with 5 minutes in the penalty box and a game misconduct, which ejected him from the game. Blackhawks are working with the league to figure out if it’s possible to prove it was a premeditated attack to see if they want to press charges against him, or if they’re just suspending him for a few games.” Robin drops her voice quieter like she doesn’t want to risk Steve overhearing, even though he’s sound asleep in another room.

“Do you think that’s what happened?” Eddie asks though he feels like he already knows the answer. Steve getting caught up in his head about this game, saying Billy is the reason the Kings are his least favorite team. All signs are pointing to a highly likely yes that Billy was retaliating for something when he hurt Steve.

Robin’s quiet for a moment, looking off into the city. “Yeah, probably.” She mumbles.

It’s weirdly soothing, the silence they’re sitting in, split by the sounds of the bustling city below them and Steve’s soft snoring inside from behind. Despite hardly knowing either Steve or Robin, Eddie feels he knows enough to be comfortable in this strange moment he’s found himself in with both of them.

~~~~

Steve wakes up a few hours later, feeling nauseous and achy. Robin’s nowhere to be found, but Eddie’s lying across her bed playing a game on his phone.

“Hey, you’re up,” Eddie smiles when he notices Steve moving around, so Steve sends a little wave in his direction. “Want me to grab you ginger ale or something from the vending machine?”

The question doesn’t fully process in Steve’s head; drowned out by the white hot pain and the urge to vomit he’s biting back. Instead of answering, he rubs gently at his right eye, still flinches, and tips his head to the side. “You stayed?”

“Well, yeah.” Eddie shrugs, sitting up so his back is against the headboard of Robin’s bed. “Told you I was going to be wherever you had to be tonight.”

Steve lets the response sink in, resists the urge to cry at how fucking sweet the guy across the room from him is, and lets out a heavy breath. “Ginger ale might help,” he eventually decides to answer.

When Eddie returns with the soda, munching on a bag of chips, Steve accepts the drink but raises his next question. “Where’s Robin?”

“She got a call from Max about an hour ago? Asked me to stay with you, but I was already planning on that.” Eddie answers, before offering the bag of chips in Steve’s direction. He shakes his head, pushing the bag back toward Eddie. The smell wasn’t making him feel less like throwing up, and the salt was sure to inevitably burn the split skin near his mouth now that he was feeling more of the injury.

“S’wrong with Max?” Steve asks, again, and Eddie gives him a grin.

“You really like to play 20 questions, huh?” Steve can’t be blamed if it takes him a moment to realize that Eddie’s referencing their previous conversations and picking on him, and flushes when he’s worked it out, but Eddie just laughs softly. He puts the bag of chips down, cracks the cap on the soda open, and plops himself down into the chair next to where Steve had been lying on the sofa. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Max, Robin didn’t elaborate past saying she called and she had to go to her.”

“S’probably freaking out about Billy,” he doesn’t mean to make the observation out loud, but Steve can’t take it back once it’s out in the world. Eddie raises an eyebrow, and Steve sighs, rests the cool soda bottle against the bandage over his cheek, and offers the short version of the explanation. “They’re step-siblings. Ex-step siblings?” Okay, maybe it’s not the shortest explanation, but Steve’s concussed. “Whatever you call the kid your ex-step dad had before he married then divorced your mom. They’re that.”

Eddie’s clearly amused at Steve’s delirium, which is mildly frustrating, but Steve allows it because he’s not being mean about his confusion. “I didn’t realize Max was related to Billy.” He observes.

Steve nods, takes another sip of the soda. “Yeah, but like I said, only on a technicality. They don’t really talk anymore.” 

“Because Billy’s an asshole?” Eddie guesses.

Steve deflates a little, thinking about it before he shrugs. “Because of me.” He answers, simply, with no explanation. He can tell that Eddie’s itching to ask for details, but he doesn’t. “You aren’t going to ask?” 

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready to.” Eddie shrugs and Steve feels a little part of himself burst into flames. He decides he wants Eddie to know, to have the background and all the information, to understand the choices Steve has made and what has led them here to this too-expensive hotel room in a city neither of them particularly cares for, with nearly a hundred stitches in Steve’s face.

“He was on the Blackhawks roster when I was drafted. And we had history from school and juniors, but we worked well together. And after a game we’d both played particularly well in, Billy came to my room and we, uh. Celebrated.” Steve explains, trying to find the best way to put things in order to explain the nature of their relationship as he picks at the wrapper from the soda bottle Eddie had gotten for him. “It became a thing, for a while. Win a game, hook up after. But then Max caught him at my place and he melted down. Cut contact completely with me, gave me a black eye at team practice the next day, and pushed to get traded. Does everything in his power to make my life hell when we’re on the ice together, now.”

Eddie’s quiet for what feels like a long time, but Steve’s sure his sense of time is skewed given his entire perception of reality feeling ever-so-slightly off-kilter. “So, you’ve hooked up with Billy Hargrove?” The comment earns Eddie a big frown, and Steve watches as he scrambles to continue. “That came out wrong, I didn’t… I just meant… I didn’t know if you actually liked guys, I guess. Not that you owe me an explanation about that.”

Steve considers his answer for a long moment, thinks about what to do. He wants to reach out and take Eddie’s hand, press it to his jaw, come out with confidence and pull the other in for a kiss. But it’s unrealistic, not how his brain is going to let him do things anyway, so instead he says, “I’m out as bisexual to everyone who counts. Robin, the Party. And now you.”

Eddie visibly softens, a small smile settling on his face. Steve takes another sip from his soda and rests his head back, only to hear movement, then feel the sofa dip beside him. When he opens his eyes again, Eddie is beside him, still wearing a soft smile. He throws his arm over the back of the sofa, behind Steve’s head, and taps his shoulder gently. “C’mon, lay back down. You gotta rest up.” He says, gently.

And Steve doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get most of the interactions he’s had since Billy knocked him for a loop, but he also doesn’t want to question the invitation. Instead, he buries the uninjured side of his face against Eddie’s t-shirt and lets his steady breathing, warmth and the faint scent of expensive but not overwhelming cologne ease him back off to sleep.

#hockey player!steve #rockstar!eddie munson #stobin #platonic stobin #anti billy hargrove #glitter & cimson #starkidmunson writes #stranger things hockey #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #robin buckley

[whorekneecentral]

A New Term

Professor!Mark Webber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: age gap (mark is in his 40s, reader is early 20s), taboo content!! - professor x college student, worried mark, sharing a cookie, suggestive behaviour from mark, oral (f!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), bruising but in a sexual context, cum play, finger sucking.

Word Count: 2,379

Author's Note: mark always had professor vibes to me, he's so dilf.

merry smutmas series

--

You send your professor an email over the winter break and the man wonders why you’re still working, urging you to come out and relax like everyone else.

The end of semester assignment kept you up way past your bedtime, the one question kept you on your toes. Your hand passed through your hair while you searched through your email for your professor's email.

Instead of using your winter break to unwind like most of your classmates, you were cracking out assignment after assignment, trying to get as much done as possible - that way you can focus on the exams when you return from the winter break.

The tab open to send your physics professor an email.

Dear Professor Webber,

I hope you're having a nice winter break and I hope I'm not disturbing you.

I had a question regarding the final assignment you gave out prior to the break; the last part of the assignment doesn't line up with the rest.

I'm not sure if I'm misunderstanding something along the way but it doesn't seem to make any sense. Hopefully you can provide me with some clarification?

Hoping to hear from you soon and again, I do apologize if this was a disturbance to your break.

Thank you,

Y/n L/n.

You shut the tab, sitting there for a bit as you tried to go back over your notes and make sense of the assignment, hoping you could figure it out in case Professor Webber doesn't answer anytime soon.

There's a ping sound coming from your laptop, the screen lighting up as you get a response from your professor.

Dear Y/n,

You're never a bother, you know my email is always open to my students, especially one as sweet and smart as you.

I hope you're getting some rest during this break and not overworking yourself.

As for your question about the assignment, I've looked it over and I see that there are some errors, I will have to email the other students and let them know. Thank you for pointing it out but if you'd still like to go over the assignment, how about we meet up sometimes? Perhaps tomorrow around 4 if you're free? I'll be in town.

Let me know, please do get some rest at some point.

All the best,

Professor Mark Webber,

Department of Physics.

You feel your cheeks heat up at the praise, something that happens often in the presence of your favourite physics professor. You send him back a quick response.

Hi professor,

Thank you for the quick response, I promise I am getting some rest. I would like to finish up what I can over the break so I can focus on exams come January.

Tomorrow at 4 would be great, how about we meet at the coffee shop around the corner from campus?

Thanks,

Y/n.

---

Four o'clock had come and passed, you had been there since 3:30, working away on your assignment. You occupied a booth in the back, your laptop in front of you, backpack tossed next to you and your notes and textbooks scattered all over the table.

Your head was buried in your textbook, searching for a certain passage to quote in your essay. Mark had entered the coffee shop and spotted you in the back corner.

His hand reached over, gently prying the textbook out of your hand. The action startled you for a moment but you relaxed when you saw who was across from you.

"Hi professor," you smiled, closing the tab on your laptop. Mark smiles at you, "please, we're not in class, y/n. You can call me Mark."

You nod, "okay Mark." Your nose scrunched, making a face. "Yeah no, that seems weird," you giggled, watching as he shut your textbook and left it on the table.

Mark says, "have you slept?"

"What?" You asked him, confused.

"You look tired, I hope you're not overworking yourself."

"Oh no," you shook your head, "I'm fine."

Mark nods, "fine, if you say so. Let me buy you a coffee - or rather not, you seem to have already had your coffee fill for the day." He glances at the two empty mugs on the table.

There's a small smile on your face, "yeah perhaps coffee wouldn't be the smartest idea."

"Something else then?" He suggested and you hum, "maybe a chocolate chip cookie? oh and maybe apple juice?"

Mark chuckles, nodding as he slides out of his seat. You watch as he walks the counter, ordering what you wanted and  a coffee for himself before returning to the table.

You thank him, eating your cookie quietly as you searched for the pages you had written out with your assignment on it. You catch Mark staring at you, you figured it was just cause you looked frazzled or perhaps you had chocolate on your face.

You hadn't realized that the man was simply looking at you in adoration, you never thought that he'd see you in that way.

"What??" You asked, looking at him. You passed a hand over your lips, "is there something on my face?"

He shook his head, " no, you're perfect.. as always."

You smiled, cheeks flushed red. "Would you like a piece?" You held your cookie out to the man, assuming that he'd break a piece of it off but he leans over, taking a bite of the cookie.

Setting the cookie down, you take a sip of your juice and finally find the pages you were looking for. Mark listens as you explain your concerns to him, the man helping you sort through your issues with the assignment. Mark goes as far as to help you edit what you have so far.

"Is that all?" He asks, watching as you pack your things into your bag. "Yeah, that was it. Thank you so much for your help, professor."

"No trouble at all, sweetheart." He smiles, the two of you stand and head towards the exit. It wasn't until you got there that you realized the rain had come down.

You didn't live far from the coffee shop, about a 10 minute walk but you did happen to forget your umbrella at home that day.

"Are you walking?" Mark asks and you nod, "it's not that far."

"Please, it's pouring, y/n. Let me drive you home."

"I've imposed on your afternoon for long enough, you don't have to do that."

Mark shakes his head, "I cannot, in good conscience, leave you to walk in the rain. Let me drive you home, I'm offering so you're not imposing."

You give in, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you to his car. It's black inside and out, the leather matching the colour of the paint and the smell was beyond manly - exactly like your professor.

With your directions, he drives you back to your place. The rain pouring down on the car, the heavy rain drops make a sound as it hits the glass. "Thank you for the ride," you tell him, glancing over at him.

"Wait a moment, won't you? I'm sure the rain will settle in the moment. I don't want you to get your beg wet and ruin all your work," he says, the words coming out innocently enough.

You nod, watching as the rain drips down the windows. You feel something warm on your thigh, glancing down you see Mark's hand resting there. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, not noticing his hand slipping a bit higher.

"You know, you really should get some rest, sweetheart. Try and relax. You deserve it after all your hard work."

You nod, "I'll try."

He smiles, leaning into you as you look over at him. "Good girl."

The words hit you exactly where he expected them too, watching you shift in your seat. "Is something wrong, sweetheart?"

"N-no, sir."

He hums, a smirk playing on his lips as he moves closer; you can smell his cologne, the mint of his toothpaste, the coffee from not too long ago. Mark closes the gap between the two of you, his lips meeting yours.

As much as you enjoyed the feeling, you froze - your brain screaming no, big red letters flashing in your head but you ignored them.

Mark senses your hesitancy, pulling away from you. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's.." You pause for a moment, "it's fine. Do you want to come in?" You asked him, hoping he says yes otherwise you'd probably have to bury your head in shame.

Mark nods, the man following you up the stairs and into your apartment. "Sorry for the mess," you tell him as you unlock the door, stepping in to take your shoes off.

He looks around, confused as to where the mess would be. The place was spic and span, not a single thing out of place. Your apartment is decorated like one of those Hallmark movies, Christmas tree in the corner by the window, garland wrapped around whatever it could be, even the throw pillows on your couch were festive.

"Where's the mess, sweetheart?"

You nod towards the one singular mug that was on the coffee table, "I forgot it there last night."

Mark can't help but laugh. "That's a single cup, y/n. Most uni students live in shitty apartments with beer bottles and weed. This place is a palace compared to everywhere else."

You smile, walking further into your apartment. "Would you like something to drink?"

Mark senses your nervousness, resting his hands on your arms. "Relax, y/n. It's fine."

You visibly let out a breath, holding onto the man as he walks you to the couch. He sits you down, his hand now cupping your jaw when he leans down to kiss you.

"Will you let me help you relax?" He whispers against your lips and you nod, not having to think about it for once.

The clothes are tossed all over the living room, you’re leaning on the arm rest of the couch in your panties when Mark kisses you again.

The man drops down to his knees in front of you, your legs over his shoulder and he kisses down your calf, to your thigh before he gets to your pussy. You lift your hips, letting him take your panties off, tossing it along with the other clothes. 

His nose brushes against your clit, his tongue licking a stripe up your cunt. Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. 

Mark’s hand on your hip rocks you back and forth slightly, just enough that he can hear his name fall from your lips. “Mark- fuck, there.” You pull on his hair, getting him to do what he did again. 

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue was enough to make his cock twitch.

He mimicked his actions again until he could feel your legs shake, your grip on his hair tighter than before, his name strung along with the explicits leaving your mouth. 

Mark glances up, your eyes shut and your head tossed back and he can't help but smile; he’s broken you down to nothing but a whimpering mess but he wasn’t done with you just yet. 

Your cheeks are red when you see him sit up, the lower half of his face glistening. You also can’t help yourself when you pull him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on him. 

You two shuffle around a bit, still on the couch when Mark flips you over; face down, ass up as he settles before you. Your back arches, the curve of your spine evident when he comes up behind you, pushing back against him as you feel the tip of his cock against your pussy. 

Mark’s hand grips your hips, pulling you back against him. Your moans are muffled by the couch when you feel him stretch you out. 

“God, please Mark, like that,” the words tumble out, begging him for more as he fucks you. His hands squeezing your hips, nails digging into your flesh. You can feel the pressure from his fingers, surely there were going to be bruises tomorrow. Your hand reaching under you, fingers barely reaching to rub your clit.

He pulls you up, his arm wrapped around your middle, your back pressed to his chest. His fingers dig into your side for a moment, squeezing you a bit. “Such a good girl for me, you take it so well.” He whispers to you, kissing under your ear. 

“Mhm hm,” you breathe, leaning back against him, your legs felt like jello under you. 

Between the angle you were at and his hand sliding down to rub on your clit, your head drops back onto his shoulder, begging him to let you cum.

“Mark, god- fuck, let me cum please,” you ramble out and Mark hums, kissing along your jaw, “mhm I'm not stopping you, sweetheart.”

He lets you drop back onto your arms, back arched for him once again. He feels you cum around him, the wetness covering his cock. It’s not long after, followed by a few sloppy thrusts, that Mark cums too. 

The tip of his cock brushing between your folds, spreading his cum all over your pussy.

He pulls away, smiling at the whimper he gets from you. His fingers replacing his cock, covered in his cum when you roll over, he sticks his fingers in your mouth and he doesn’t have to tell you what to do.

“Good girl,” he hums, watching as your tongue laps over his fingers. Mark pulls his fingers away, leaning down to kiss you. A mess of the two of you, not sure where one of you starts and the other ends. 

You lay there for a while, Mark on top of you, your leg tossed on his hip as his head rests on your sternum, one of his hands on your tit. 

"Next time you need some relaxing, you call me, okay?" He whispers, his finger dragging down your side.

You glance at the man, a raised eyebrow. "You just want to fuck me again, you dirty old man."

Mark laughs, "no, I mean yes but also no. I meant I'd take you to dinner or something, distract you from your work - but if you want to fuck, who am I to deny a beautiful woman like yourself?"

---

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#merry smutmas xoxo #mark webber #mark webber smut #mark webber x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smut

[trashmouth-richie]

𝟹 𝙰𝙼

↳ eddie x fem!reader

↳ summary: just some sweet little smut between you and eddie before he goes to work

↳ A/n: wrote this awhile ago & I thought maybe I’d turn it into a series but nah, enjoy 😉

↳ warnings: smut 18+ only, smut with a plot. p in v, oral.

the soft whirring noises from his nose wake you before his alarm does. 

  Swing shift at the plant had Eddie’s sleep schedule completely out of whack. Some nights he’d be falling asleep at the table during supper, long curls bobbing as his head jerked forward. 

  There were days where you’d find him snoring, splayed out on his back on the thick rug on the floor of the baby’s room. Toy blocks in his hands, trying to be the dad he promised himself he would be. A dad he didn’t have. 

  And earlier tonight when he came home with grease lined under his fingernails, exhaust from the heavy machinery freckling his face, he let out a deafening yawn. 

  “Gotta be back in at 4,” he said after hugging you tight and tickling your sides. His soft lips pressed to the crown of your head. 

  You crane your neck to meet his lips and nod at him. The bags under his eyes were prominent tonight. Instead of going to bed early like you had suggested, after supper he spent the evening curled up in his recliner, rocking the baby to sleep while he read story after story. 

  This is why you loved him so much. 

  Both of you had come from broken homes, and when you wound up pregnant senior year, the odds were not in your favor. 

  But Eddie stepped up. You both finished high school early. Earning diplomas in December and he immediately started working at the plant with Wayne. Long hours for a decent paycheck. He was determined to not fail.

  When the neighbors next to Wayne’s trailer moved out after a death in the family in Texas left them millionaires, Wayne marched into the landlord’s office and put a down payment on the trailer. 

  $250 later the trailer was home. Eddie danced with you under flickering lights as he held you from behind, pressing kisses into your neck. Promising you a good life. His thick hands on your growing belly, rubbing it softly. 

  Auntie Robin and Uncle Steve helped on the weekends to clean the smoke stained walls and provide the latest gossip from Hawkins High. 

  Chrissy Cunningham? Caught blowing Mr. Higgins in his car during first period. 

  Steve had a date with Nancy Wheeler tonight. 

  Dustin took over as DM for Eddie and was doing really well. 

  You smiled through Robin’s fast paced words and when her and Steve left that night Eddie asked if you missed highschool, hanging his head in sorrow at fucking things up for you. 

  Not a chance when I have you. The promise splayed thick on your smile, sweet against his neck. 

  When the spring flowers bloomed in May, you had the baby right after Eddie’s birthday. 

  The best birthday present ever. 

  He had said with tears in his eyes, you knew he would be the best dad, he spent his lunch breaks reading books on parenting. He saved every dime from his paychecks— determined to make enough so you wouldn’t have to work. 

  He was a good man, the best dad you could ever imagine. And he deserves the world. 

  So tonight when the alarm went off at 3 o’clock, you turned it off before he could wake. Tip-toeing past the baby’s room and into the kitchen to make some coffee. 

  Scooping two heaps of the off brand coffee into the white paper filter you press the on button and watch as the brewed coffee gently tinks into the glass pot. 

  Painted toes skip over the creaks in the floor and back to your bedroom, where the man who made all of your dreams come true laid to rest, bare chested with two names inked over his heart, yours and the baby’s. 

  His arms were curled over his head and his snores were light. Untucking the sheet from its place under the mattress you crawl beneath it careful to not knee anywhere on Eddie.

  Up paled legs sat a pair of blue checkered boxers, the button undone from moving around during the night. And beneath them the delicious treat you were after, soft but still fairly large and thick, nestled with a pinked sack and a dusting of curls. 

  Trailing your nails along the waistband of the patterned blues, you work them down his hips with ease. Tired from already working 55 hours this week, Eddie doesn’t stir. 

  His cock springs out with a thud against his thigh, asleep like it’s owner, but enormous in size. 

  Dribbling a line of spit from your puckered lips you let it flow over his pink mushroom head like you were icing a cake, spreading it around with your thumb, rubbing the slit deep. A few jerks from your spit covered hand and Eddie moans in his sleep. His thick cock at full alert, veins on display for your lips to suckle. 

  You run your tongue from his sack up the shaft and around the peak. Kitten licks at first then long broad stripes. When you take his head into your mouth and swirl your tongue like you’re tasting a popsicle, Eddie finally wakes. A moaning grunt and then immediate panic. You pull the covers off your head and wipe your mouth while smiling wildly. 

  “Babe? Wh—what’s going on?” Eddie says sleepily, his hair askew and eyes still blinking from the sandman’s sleep. 

  “Shhh..” you shush, looking into his eyes and taking him whole into your throat in one swift gulp. 

  He moans and bucks his hips up into your face. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, his breathing erratic and breaking as you swallow him further, hands working double time in a twisting upward motion. Your spit running down to his balls. 

  You release him with a slow slide, gasping for breath as he holds your hair in his fists. 

  His eyes were squeezed tight and open immediately when you lick his slit, hungry for the salty seed. 

  “Bend over,” Eddie grunts, “now.” 

  Throwing the blankets off of you both and standing fast. He grabs your vibrator from the nightstand and clicks it to the on position, giving it to your waiting hand between your bent legs, your face smashed into the mattress. 

  He hikes the sleep shirt up your hips and sucks in a breath when he finds you soaked with no panties on. Glistening from the street lamp shining through the thin curtains, a feast for the taking. 

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, slapping his hands hard against the plush of your doughy ass, “my perfect fucking girl.” 

You whine when the vibration hits your clit, humming along into the mattress to soften your expecting screams. 

  Eddie’s thick head slips through your folds and you moan deep. Mirroring his own as you wiggle your hips for more.

  Burying himself inside your gummy walls you suck him in tight. A cozy wet hug around his dick.  

  “I swear to God this pussy was made for me,” he groans into the open air, pistoning his hips deeper and smacking against the fat of your ass.

  When a drop of spit hits the button and his thumb runs circles around it you squeal in pleasure. Puckering around his thumb, giving him a small kiss and begging him to go deeper. 

  He moans and mutters under his breath. Fucking into you harder. 

  The vibrator is working overtime on your swollen clit as Eddie bucks harder into you, his cock thick and hard jutting deep into your aching hole. You scream out as your legs start to shake and Eddie begins to twitch inside of you. 

  Before you can both come, he flips you over and scoots you both up on the bed. Your legs wrap around his hips and he dives into your lips. Kissing them sweet then harsh, the same way he kissed you for the very first time when you were both thirteen. 

  You were sitting on the handlebars of his bike, your bare legs wrapped around his black jean styled waist, the studs of his belt making indents in your calves. He was standing on the gravel, the bike balanced in his strong hands. Dust circling around you after he skidded to a stop around the curve of the trailer park road. Your lips teasing him for far too long that summer. 

  His hips thrust into yours and his lips moves down your neck, the sweet spot above your beauty mark acting as an ‘x’ for pirates treasure. 

  His hair tickles your skin and you hold his head in your hand and press him further into your neck. When your walls tighten and you whine out he cums hard too, filling you up full. 

  He presses sweet i love you kisses into your collarbones and licks a path up the curve of your chin. Devouring every ounce of your skin he can. 

  “Mrs. Munson,” he teases, lips grinning goofy, “I must have been a good husband to deserve such scandalous behavior at 3 AM.”

  You tickle his under arm and wiggle your way from beneath him, “Mrs. Munson?” you question, an eyebrow quirked into your disheveled hair. “Since when are we married?” 

  Eddie stretches on his back and fumbles into his drawer, wrestling the wrapper off a blue raspberry ring pop. He holds it up to you like a prized possession, “a placeholder for when the layaway is done being paid off at JCPENNEY’s.” 

  You giggle like a child and hold your out hand.Eddie threads the ring on your finger and licks the diamond shaped sucker. 

  “You keep waking me up like that we’re gonna have a whole litter of Munson’s running around, and besides,” he says, kissing up your arm and biting your shoulder, “I kinda like you,” 

  Kissing him deep you giggle. 

  “I kinda like you too.” 

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything II (König x Reader)

The 2nd instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: As requested by literally fucking everyone.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language || graphic description of PTSD episode || graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

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[lowkeyremi]

Haikyuu men as fathers pt 2.

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Ft. Kuroo, Tendou, Atsumu, and Tsukki.

Decided instead of babies I wanted to do slightly older kids! :)

CW: Indication of pregnancy, relationships, marriage and some angst for tsukki’s

Enjoy lovelies <33

…………….

Kuroo Tetsuro:

“Nap time! If my two munchkins don’t go to take a nap, the nap time monster will come out!” He hears little playful shrieks from his son and daughter.

“But Daddy, I don’t want to!” His daughter whines. A soft smile arose on his face as he bent down to his 6 year old daughter’s level. “Mommy will get mad at me if you little nuggets don’t go lay down.” Kuroo covers his eyes and pretends to cry. His son comes out of nowhere and starts trying to comfort him. “Don’t cry daddy! Umiko and me will go lay down! Come on sissy, we don’t want daddy to cry anymore.” 6 year old Shinji drags his twin sister to their room.

As soon as he’s sure they’ve turned the corner a lopsided grin appears on his face, “works every time.”

He is a dad boss no questions asked

You need a break from the kids? He’ll take them to the park and get all their energy out

For the first couple of months of their lives you would have to drag Kuroo out of their room because his 6’2” ass would get in the crib and sleep with his babies

He DEFINITELY took some time off of work to be there for you and the babies

He always makes corny dad jokes (most likely about science) “Why are chemists excellent for solving problems?” …. “They have all the solutions.”

omg he thinks his jokes are so fucking funny too (his kids learn the hyena laugh 🤦🏽‍♀️)

Whenever you’re away he always sends pictures of what he and the kids are up to.

idgaf abt what you say, that man can COOK

Tendou Satori:

“You can’t tell mom I let you have chocolate before dinner, ‘kay?” He looks into his 9 year old daughter’s eyes waiting for her response.

“It’s our little secret!” She giggles and man is laughing contagious because Tendou starts to laugh too. You were working a little later than usual so Tendou picked up Mayumi even though it wasn’t his day to do so. “What do you want for dinner, May?”

Her eyes widen at the statement. Which tells Tendou a WHOLE lot “Dad’s cooking?!” She asks not because she’s excited but because she’s scared for her life. Tendou may be a chocolatier but this man is not a very good cook unless it’s pasta.

“Nah, we’re gonna stop and get dinner before we go home. Dad’s gotta close shop though, so I thought I’d ask so we can order.”

She hops off the counter and does a cute little dance. I mean.. it’s in her genes. “You’re the best, Dad!”

He shakes his head with a smile, “oh I try!”

SO PROTECTIVE

The second he finds out someone was messing with his baby, he called the teacher and talked things out with her

He is a sucker for spoiling, you often scold him for it but he still does it anyway

He SINGS HIS DAUGHTER TO SLEEP>>>>>

He is the “ouchie” police, his daughter would always giggle but anytime she stubbed her toe on a chair or something he’d start talking to whatever caused his little girl pain and start scolding it (he knows it makes her feel better)

NOT a cook please he will burn the place by accident

Definitely ruined some intimate moments because instead of walking baby girl back to bed he gets dressed and offers to let her cuddle with you guys in the bed (after changing sheets ofc) (he wants his little girl to feel loved)

When she was a baby he’d call you every hour while he was at work to make sure you and the baby are okay

He almost passed out when the school called saying Mayumi broke her leg

He rushed her to the hospital so fast “dw baby, daddy’s here for you.” “I know it hurts princess.”

He went around interrogating the kids in her class thinking one of them pushed her, he was shocked to find out she climbed to the top of the playground and jumped off of it 😭

Definitely got his daughter obsessed with frogs

Miya Atsumu:

“Mama’s gonna kill us! What’s yer last words?” He says in slight shock. His sons start crying thinking that you were actually gonna kill them.

“Not literally boys! Just… this mess- oh jeez.” He looks around bubbles and soap all over the floor.

Atsumu told the twins to ‘be good and color ‘til papa’s done in the shower’ and he came back to this. Dawn dish soap all over the floor and bubbles galore.

The cherry on top had to be that the dog was soaking in mixed berry juice because five year old Kosuke tried to pour himself a cup of juice.

“Alright! C’mon boys, we gotta tidy up before mama gets home!” You would be home in 2 hours…

They cleaned up the bubble mess, after being distracted like 10 times and having a few bubble fights.

Next was giving the twins a bath. Which proved to be harder than it needed to be. Kosuke was mad at Kensuke because he kept showing him his butt. Honestly, Atsumu had to keep himself from laughing.

“That’s enough, Ken. Nobody want to see yer lil butt. Hurry up ‘n wash cuz papa still has to bathe Shoko.” Kensuke’s bad self is splashing water in the tub and it’s getting all over his twin. Kosuke doesn’t like it so he smacks his brother and the latter begins to cry.

“DADDY, K-KO KOSUKE HIT ME, AHHHHHHH.” Atsumu rubs his temple. He all but freezes when he feels a soft hand kneed into his shoulder.

“Seems like you guys had a great time, Shoko’s covered in juice.” He turns his head to look at you.

“it’s not what ya think, hon!” You shake your head at him.

“Ko, don’t hit your brother. When papa is being annoying you don’t see me hitting him, now do you?” He answers honestly, “sometimes you do… you’ll punch papa’s shoulder.”

He got you there lol. “Well that’s more out of love. Apologize to him and you,” you point to your little trouble maker, “don’t provoke your brother, got it?” He nods and goes to rub his eyes. Which is why he started crying for the second time because he got soap in his eyes…

Anyway after their bath and dinner the boys were sent to bed. Shoko was bathed and you and Atsumu were laying in bed.

“I shoulda been watching them..” he admits. You agree. “You live and you learn ‘Tsumu.”

He had no idea what he was doing at first tbh

he can be a bit lazy w the boys sometimes but in the end he pulls it together

The type of dad to make you sit there and say cheese for 500 years while he tries to get the perfect picture

He was mad cuz he thought the twins loved samu more than him

he was sad when they didn’t seem too interested in volleyball “Atsumu, they’re five.” … “Still!”

Impulsively bought a dog cuz his sons wouldn’t stop talking abt having one

In the end he loves his boys very much and would do anything for them

Tsukishima Kei:

“I hate you mom! I really wanted to go!” Your 13 year old daughter slammed her door. She was angry because you didn’t let her go to a dance some kid in her class was hosting. It’s not that she particularly wanted to go, she was just mad that her 17 year old brother got to go out to his friend’s party.

Your husband emerges from his office, he adjusts his glasses and looked at you with curiosity. You sigh hugging him, “Kei.. am I a bad mother?” He squeezes you in the hug, “not in the slightest. We’re doing what’s best for them. What’s got her so upset?”

“She wants to go to this party but I said no because I don’t know any of the parents there. Also, I’m just scared something will happen to her.”

He rubs your back in a comforting way. “I’ll let her go-” you interrupt, “Kei!” He gives you a quick peck to the lips.

“Wasn’t done…” you stayed quiet waiting for him to finish. He clears his throat. “As I was saying… I’ll allow her to go if I chaperone. If she doesn’t like that she won’t go.” He decided and you sigh in relief.

“I’ll go order pizza. Can you talk to her?” He nods, “Supreme.” You roll your eyes at him and smile. “I know what you like dummy.” He playfully flips you off and you laugh in shock at how childish he is even though he’s past his prime years.

He walks over to Hanae’s door and knocks softly. “Go away mom! I don’t like you!” Tsukishima shakes his head. He’s not going to tolerate her disrespecting you, the person who birthed her. He opens the door and she’s on her bed with her headphones on and dried tears on her face.

“Dad…” She already knew what was to come. She knows he doesn’t like when she disrespects you like that. “Don’t say you hate her. She’s your mother, Hanae. It hurts her to hear those words come from your mouth.” She lowers her head and takes her headphones off.

“I didn’t mean it..” her voice is small. Tsukishima handles the situation as he usually would, find the root of the problem (even though he already knew)

“What made you say it?” He sat on her bed and pat a spot next to him basically telling her to come closer. “Um.. I wanted to go to this dance a guy a know is hosting but she said no…” her eyes didn’t meet her father’s.

“Why’d you want to go so bad?” He says bringing her chin up so she looks right into his eyes. He knows she hates it but direct communication is key, even facial expressions can reveal the slightest things.

“W-well. Ugh, why am I crying this is so stupid.” She pauses to wipe her eyes.

“You guys let Akihiko go where ever he wants but I can’t go anywhere! I hate it!” She turns her head away, Tsukki can hear the little sniffles.

“Not true. A lot of stuff that he went to when he was younger, he was chaperoned. We just barely started letting him go out alone so he can get a taste of real life. You can ask him yourself. You’re only thirteen, don’t rush it. Also your mother and I just want to protect you from dangerous situations. Your mom doesn’t know any of the people there which is why she said no.” Tsukki is once again rubbing circles into someone’s back.

“There are so many bad people in the world and we just want to make you a little safer.” She turns back to face him, she scoots closer to her dad so she can hug him.

“I’m sorry.” She says through sniffles. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” She nods, “I need a minute.” He strokes her hair as she finishes letting it all out.

“I told your mother you can go if I chaperone you.” He explains after she’s calmed down.

“Dad, you’re gonna embarrass me.” She says with a giggle, tears now drying up.

“Damn right I will. I’ll tell all those hungry little boys that you eat your boogers and you don’t shower for weeks.” He says with a sly grin. She frowns, “dad no!”

He pats her back, “alright kid go apologize if you really mean it.” You and your daughter make up and eat pizza together :3

VERY logical

also super protective

100% the kind of dad who loves his kids but puts his wife first

He’s the bad cop parent while you’re the good cop parent

He loves family cooking night where you guys cook together

he will embarrass both his children in front of their crushes (and thinks it’s the funniest thing ever)

He just seems like the kind of dad to fall asleep and get colored on 😭 they give him a lil mustache and a uni-brow

I feel like he kinda always sides with Hanae for the most part bc he was a little sibling so he knows her pain lmao

he be bragging abt his kids “Akihiko is only six and he’s already reading flawlessly” “Oh, Hanae already did that when she was three”

you wanted to delay the sex talk but like Tsukki was so blunt and just told them 😭

He’s always teasing you “If you don’t be careful Akihiko you might end up with someone as annoying as your mom” you just glare and he snickers

Such a proud dad and has a video of every one of his kids’ firsts

#dad!haikyuu #haikyuu dads #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #dad!kuroo #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu tendou #tendou x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #dad!atsumu #tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukki x reader #haikyuu characters as dads #dad!tendou #dad!tsukishima

[denim-mixtapes]

Showstopper

And I know it's just a phase, you're not in love with me, but if you wanna piss off your parents, baby, that's alright with me.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: Just over 15k Summary: Dreading going home to strict parents over Thanksgiving break, your good friend Eddie Munson offers to tag along and pretend to be your boyfriend to get under their skin and take their focus off of you. Over tense dinners and pointed conversation, you seek comfort in his closeness, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. (Based on the song 18 by Anarbor) Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT, Minors DNI or I'll stub all your toes. Tense family dynamics, strict/overbearing parents, idiot friends to fuck buddies, teasing, fingering, oral (both f & m receiving), squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm if you blink, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THAT, STUPID), an stupid amount of pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, sweet thing) instead of Y/N. I think that's it but lemme know if I missed anything!

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] <- Coming Soon! [AO3]

a/n: I meant to post this on Thanksgiving, but it...got away from me as you can tell from the word count. Sorry for the delay and for the long lead up before the actual smut but I hope yall enjoy!!

The first time you met Eddie Munson, you threatened him with pepper spray. 

Okay so maybe it was actually hair spray, but the threat was there. 

He had walked into your dorm room unannounced, and in a moment of panic you completely forgot you had a roommate that could potentially have visitors. All you knew was that you were alone in your dorm, and then without any preamble or warning, there was a mysterious man with long hair, dark features, and wrapped in leather letting himself in. 

And he believed you at first, he really did, held his hands up in defense and stepped back out into the threshold with wide eyes and an apologetic ramble. Until he noticed that your trembling hand was not clutching a can of mace, but a travel sized bottle of Aqua Net, shaking just as much as you were. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. 

He still stayed back, knowing that you were not his intended target and surely you must be nerrvous, but dropped his hands to lean on the door frame, his whole body shaking with laughter. Despite your initial fear, his humor was contagious. The once intimidating man who stood tall and broad was hunched with laughter, his eyes wrinkling around the edges when his smile widened. You couldn’t help but soften and lower your arm, chuckling a little (albeit nervously) along with him. 

“Yeah, killer,” he laughed, voice low and smooth, “put that thing down before you hurt someone. Or worse, make ‘em crispy.” 

“I– panicked,” you admitted, defeated. Then, standing taller again, trying to keep your defenses strong, “but what are you doing walking into random girls' dorms?” 

“Uh, Buckley,” the stranger pointed to your roommate’s side of the room. “Robin Buckley? She lives here, right?” You nodded. “We’re friends, I’m meeting her for dinner and she told me to come on up when I got here. She said you’d be in class.” 

Huh. You’d have to talk to her about warning you before she let just anyone walk on in unannounced. 

“Canceled,” you mumbled in explanation, then gestured to Robin’s bed. “Uh I guess I won’t make you sit out in the hall. You can wait for her here.” 

A wide, toothy grin spread over his features and he approached you with big, thankful eyes shining under the fluorescent overhead lighting. A hand outstretched, he replied, “appreciated. ‘M Eddie.” 

And so began a blossoming friendship. Over the rest of your freshman year, Robin introduced you to more of her friends. You didn’t have trouble making your own friends, per se, you had a few classmates who you would grab lunch with between classes and a couple study groups, but the people your roommate introduced you to just clicked with you. You heard all about her girlfriend Nancy, though she was off in Boston at Emerson, so you only ever spoke to her when Robin had her on speaker phone. Everyone else just kind of came along naturally. You were attending school far from home, but within reasonable distance from Robin’s hometown of Hawkins, so even though Eddie and her best friend Steve weren’t attending college anywhere, they often found themselves on your campus to bug your roommate (and by proxy, you). 

By the end of your first year at school, you were confident you were part of their crew, and you were happily signing up to room with Robin once again the following year. 

Which is what brought you here. 

You’re laying in bed, feet thrown up against the cinder block walls and your head hanging over the edge, Robin mirroring you on her own bed. Steve has long since gotten dizzy and sat upright next to Robin, and Eddie called you all ridiculous from the get go and chose to lay on your bean bag chair between the three of you. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do,” you moan, scrubbing your hands down your face in defeat. 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, babe,” Robin assures, though you know she is just blindly trying to comfort you. 

“Okay,” Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees and squints at you. The effects of Eddie’s special cookies are hitting all four of you hard, all of you lazy and sluggish and a little less cohesive than your usual state. “Explain to me again what the problem is? It sounds like your mom just wants you home for Thanksgiving.” 

Sitting up slowly and trying to ignore the head rush you get from being upright once again, you gripe, “that is the problem. I went to school across the country from home for a reason. I’m already going back next month for winter break and I want to be there…as little as possible. So I was hoping I could work through Thanksgiving break like last year.” 

“No dice?” Eddie asks from his spot on the floor, even though you swear you’ve gone over this with all of them three times by now. 

“No,” you grumble, “last year I worked in the caf, so it was no problem, they were open all break for students staying on campus This year–” 

“The library closes over break.” Robin cut you off to supply. 

You only nod pitifully, slumping back into your stack of pillows with a hmph. You’re aware that you’re being dramatic, but you’ve grown accustomed to your life away from home. Away from watchful eyes and curfews at 19 years old and sharp comments about your wardrobe that honestly, could be much, much worse. The last thing you want to do is return home and be treated like a child again. 

Eddie’s fingers wrap around your ankle comfortingly, but he hits a ticklish spot and you kick at his hand lightly, laughing all the while. 

“Home is really that miserable, huh?” He asks quietly. Not prying, not judging, just pondering. 

“I have a dad who still treats me like I’m seven and a mom who keeps trying to set me up with members of her church in hopes that they’ll ‘lead me back down the right path’…what do you think?” 

Your three friends mumble a series of one word replies all at once. “Yikes.” “Barf.” “Christ.”

The conversation moves on after that. Robin and Steve arguing about Back to the Future, something they always seem to go back to when they’re high. She told you once that they saw it in theaters the first time they smoked together, but the way that neither of them could keep a straight face told you there was more to the story. You half listen, grumbling to yourself and counting the browning ceiling tiles above you. 

Your mattress dips and you look up to see Eddie grinning at you behind a curtain of hair, sitting cross legged on the spot next to you. 

“What?” You ask through a laugh, eyeing him briefly before going back to the task at hand, the ceiling tiles. 

He nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention. “You know what you should do?” Your response is no more than a hum adorned with a question mark, but it prompts him to continue. There’s a gleam in his eye when he goes on, “somethin’ wild. Show up at home with a tattoo or bright purple hair. Or a tongue ring! Something to push their buttons and shock ‘em a little.” 

Eddie Munson always has a way of turning your mood around. His joy is infectious. If he’s laughing, you’re not too far behind him, and it’s always been that way. Likewise, he’s quick to follow when you dissolve into giggle fits, his demeanor and pose always mimics yours, just like now when he ends up on his back beside you, legs dangling sideways off the edge. 

You end up passing ideas back and forth for a few minutes. 

“Teardrop tattoo,” he says, snorting. 

“A pentagram.” 

“You could shave one side of your head.” 

“Or my eyebrows.” 

“Get tattoos where your eyebrows used to be. Something classy like…hail Satan.” 

“Or Daddy’s girl,” you sputter, unable to hold back the raucous laughter any longer. 

Eddie joins you, practically cackling with how sudden it is. “I think that’s it. That’s the one.” 

And then it hits you. Something still just as shocking as showing up with a tattoo, but much less permanent. It’s right in front of you, it has been the whole time. You sit up suddenly enough to get Steve and Robin’s attention and grin wildly down at Eddie. 

It’s his turn to mumble out a soft, “what?” enraptured by your sudden intensity.

“I think I’ve got something better. Something that won’t cost me hundreds of dollars or my future chances at employment.” 

“Go on,” he urges. 

“You come home with me.” 

From the other half of your room, Robin and Steve shout their confusion in unison, but Eddie just sits up to mirror you, mischief etched in his smile. “How bold of you, sweetheart. You know, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” 

“No- shut up,” you laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. You just told us earlier your uncle has to work on Thanksgiving. Come back to my parents with me. You’ll get a home cooked meal, all the fixings, really, my mom goes crazy. I mean this with all the love in my heart but if I bring home a guy like you?” You giggle, “my dad’ll lose his shit.” 

“You flatter me,” he chuckles. Then, smirking, “you askin’ me to be your fake boyfriend, sweetheart?” 

“I– yeah.” 

“Hell yeah,” he nods, “I’m in. When are we leaving?” 

Robin throws a pillow at you, missing terribly but still getting your attention. “What the fuck just happened?” 

—

As promised, as soon as your last class on Tuesday let out, you loaded up your car and headed to Hawkins to pick up your boyfriend-for-the-week. He’s waiting for you outside his trailer, leaning heavily against the stairway railing, ankles crossed, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t have much by way of luggage, just a tattered olive green backpack hanging off of one shoulder that he throws in the back seat alongside your prim camel colored leather duffel bag. 

When he slides into the passenger seat he leans into your personal space, drawing out his greeting with a smug smile. “Hi, darling.” 

“Hey,” you greet, palming his face and lightly shoving it away. “You ready?” 

Eddie Munson practically pouts at you. “What, no hello kiss?” 

“Can it, Munson,” you chide before shifting your car in gear. “You’re not on the clock yet. We still have a four hour drive before you’re officially the boyfriend.” 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “it’ll be a hell of a lot more believable if we have a little practice beforehand. I mean- we’re going to have to put on a show, right? A good actor doesn’t go in blind. They run lines. Rehearse. Don’t want you freezing up in shock when I plant one on you in front of dear ol’ Dad for the first time, do we?” 

He’s leaning into you again, speaking with a kind of intensity only Eddie can, and it makes you shake your head. 

“Okay, well, I’m kinda busy driving at the moment. I’ll get back to you at the next rest stop.” 

The first stretch on the open road is spent concocting a story. How you met, how long you’ve been together, things that might come up in conversation. Something not far from the truth, so that you could keep your stories straight, but embellished a little where you needed to. He supplies the story for your first date, dinner at a diner and live music somewhere on campus. You raise him dinner at a dive bar and listening to cassettes in the back of his van. He calls you diabolical. 

At your first stop, about an hour in for gas and snacks, he offers to drive until the next stop and you pass him the keys with a soft smile and a hurried kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting, over before it’s even started because it stuns him, and you skip away to the passenger side feeling way more smug than you have any right being. 

“Who were we worried about freezing up, again?” You asked over the roof of the car, ducking at the last second when he throws a balled up napkin at you. 

For this portion of the drive, you take the opportunity to get to know one another. Favorites and firsts, pet peeves and guilty pleasures. Some things you knew already after a year of friendship, the little things like favorite bands and movies, but you knew you needed more than that to be a believable couple. You learn that he loves the smell after it rains and that even though he hates raisins, he loves cinnamon raisin bagels because they remind him of his Uncle Wayne. He learns that your favorite color changes with your mood, about your irrational fear of revolving doors, and the exact number of blankets you absolutely need in order to fall asleep (though he had his suspicions, he’s seen you make your bed before). 

Over your game of twenty questions, his hand wanders from the wheel to the gear shift, the movement subtle because he’s always talking with his hands, and eventually it lands hesitantly on your thigh. You pretend not to notice, but bite back a smile and catch yourself flushing in the reflection of the window nonetheless. 

After another hour or so of driving you make him pull over for a bathroom break and offer to take the wheel again when you’re done. You make to take the keys from him, but he’s quick to hold them over his head, just out of reach. 

“Hey!” You complain, now your turn to invade his personal space to try and steal the keys back. “It’s my car. Let me take over!” 

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close your faces are when a slow smirk spreads over his lips. “Now, baby, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you drive when I’m right here, fully capable?” 

“Damn, Munson.” You snark, “we’ve been together all of two hours and you’re already trying to turn me into a passenger princess?” 

“Maybe I am.” His free hand wraps around your waist, landing at the small of your back to pull you just a little bit closer, closing the gap between you. You let out a small yelp of surprise that Eddie quickly swallows, his lips landing on yours harder and more insistent than the last kiss you shared. Your shock wears off quickly, leaving you leaning into his embrace with a happy hum in the back of your throat. Just as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, you’re made aware of your surroundings when a passerby clears their throat. When you pull away and catch a glimpse of his face, you’re certain you’re going to have to get used to that damn smirk. It seems to be his natural resting face since you asked him to do this, and god if it doesn’t suit him. “I kinda like that term,” he mumbles, emphasizing the new pet name as he ushers you around to the passenger seat, repeating it back into your ear with a hushed breath, “princess.”

You’ll have to get used to all the blushing too. 

With a lead foot and a hand absent-mindedly tapping along to the radio on your thigh, Eddie manages to shave a half an hour off the rest of the drive, and before you know it and without another rest stop, you’re directing him off the highway and through the cozy streets of your small hometown. You managed to give him a run down on all of the relatives he could possibly meet this weekend. Who to watch out for and who to actually play nice with (really, it’s just your parents to look out for), names and how they’re related to you as if there would be a quiz at the end of Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, knowing how overprotective your parents are there very well could be. 

It’s silent when he pulls into your parents driveway and cuts the engine, so quiet you fear he might hear your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Staring down the house, the walkway seems to stretch out longer than you remember. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hey.” Squeezing at your knee where his hand is still resting, Eddie’s voice is sincere. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are soft, encouraging. He lets his head rest back against the seat with a thump and smiles. “I know I’m here to piss off your parents, but I’m still your friend, too. I’ll be right by your side all weekend, if it ever gets too much, just say the word and I’ve got you, okay?” 

You’re not sure where this burst of sentiment came from, but you’re grateful for it. His words wrap around your heart and squeeze, and you blink back the tears they bring. Though you’ve had fun planning to torment your family, there was still a weight on your chest every time you thought about going home and Eddie, ever observant, could tell. 

“Kay,” you say softly, mouthing an even quieter thank you. Then, leaning across the center console, you brighten up. “Run lines one more time before the big scene?” 

It’s a bold request, a little selfish, partly because you want to stall a little longer but frankly, you just want to kiss him again in the safety and comfort of your car. Where it can be just that, a kiss. You want another moment all to yourself without the watchful eye of your family, and without the obligation of having to prove something.

He kisses you lazy this time, hands framing your face, lips dragging slowly against yours like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s stretching out this moment so you don’t have to face the next one. Your eyes flutter shut and you reach for him clumsily over the console, clutching onto the lapel of his leather jacket like he was going to float away if you didn’t. 

You don’t want to admit it, but you could get used to kissing Eddie Munson, charade or not.

When you part ways and reluctantly make your way inside, Eddie insists on carrying both your bag and his own. You try to argue but he has none of it. You let yourself in the front door and call out a greeting. 

Christmas music filters in from the back of the house alongside the smell of your mom’s famous baked spaghetti. “In the den!” Her voice calls out from the same direction as the music. Toeing off your shoes, you gesture for Eddie to follow you through the halls and into the den. It’s the picture of your childhood, exactly as you remember. Your dad is hidden behind the newspaper, houseshoes propped up on the coffee table. In her armchair facing away from the door, your mom is curled up with a book, reading glasses perched on the end of her slender nose. She feels your presence and greets you without looking up. “Hi honey! Give me just a second to finish this paragraph and I’ll get up, give you a big hug.” 

Eddie’s presence is solid against you, warm, and his firm hand at the small of your back is a constant reminder that he’s there within reach. You try to speak up, to introduce him, but your throat goes dry, and soon enough your mother is tossing her book on the coffee table and standing to greet you. 

“Sorry honey, I – oh, hello!” She’s shocked, clearly, but still keeps a polite, tight smile. “Who’s this?” 

Prompted by her comment, your dad folds down one corner of the newspaper to glance up at you. His poker face isn’t as great. You can see the glare flash across his features before he folds the paper and stands. When he says hello to you, it's with a bright smile and a tight hug, but the second he addresses Eddie, his demeanor chills again. 

“Guys this is Eddie,” you introduce, reaching behind you to take his hand. The words feel clumsy on your tongue, but you manage to play off the stutter as nerves. “My boy– my boyfriend.” 

You could hear a pin drop. 

In the silence that follows, you begin to rethink this entire plan. You suddenly feel so small, back in your childhood home and under the intense stare of your parents (though your dad’s eyes are definitely more trained on Eddie’s every move than your own). But you didn’t come all this way and drag your friend all this way to back down now, so you take their stunned silence as an opportunity to turn in Eddie’s hold and grin at him eagerly, mouthing the word showtime. 

He takes his cue, cupping your cheek in a warm palm and dragging you toward him to close the little distance between you. It feels different this time, like he has something to prove. He’s insistent, leaning into you hungrily and nipping at your lips with a wicked chuckle under his breath as he retreats. He stands at full height again to finally address your parents. 

“Thanks for having me, sir,” he quips, and he salutes, actually fucking salutes, much to your father’s outrage. Then he turns a charming smile on your mother, “ma’am.” 

His kill-them-with-kindness attitude and sickeningly sweet fake politeness has you biting back a laugh, but nobody in this room is paying an ounce of attention to you. 

Thank God.

The rage in your father’s voice is unmistakable, the heat of it pours from him in waves when he responds. “I would say it’s my pleasure but I don’t remember inviting you, son.” You’re afraid to look too closely, but you’re almost certain the vein on his forehead is fit to burst already and you’ve only just arrived. 

“Honey,” your mother pipes up, putting a calming hand on her husband’s arm, though you can hear the strain in her voice as well. “When you called and said you were bringing a friend who had nowhere to go for the holiday I…well I thought it was going to be Robin.” 

“Oh, no,” your lips press into a line, and without thinking, you reach out for Eddie’s hand for support, breath hitching at the bite of cold metal from the various rings he’s always sporting. “Her family is big on holidays. Never miss one. But…” Giving Eddie’s hand a tug to pull him closer to you, your other hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle pat for good measure. You ham it up, laying your head on his shoulder with a dreamy smile as you continue. “Eddie’s only family is his Uncle Wayne, and he’s going to be workin’ a double on Thursday. I couldn’t just leave him behind with a frozen TV dinner for Thanksgiving of all days.” 

Though strict, you know your mom isn’t made of stone. She can’t resist a sob story and she’s a sucker for any holiday, so despite the concern in her eyes and a husband fit to start screaming any moment, she smiles and nods. 

“Of course, honey,” Her voice softens, though her guard is still up. She turns her pointed smile on Eddie and gestures to the door, “the guest room is already made up for you, and it would be a shame to spend the holiday alone, so we’re happy to have you, Eddie.” 

The sound you make is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Mom! That’s hardly necessary. I’m an adult, I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed with my boyfriend.” 

Eddie quirks an interested brow at you but you roll your eyes in dismissal. 

It’s not that you want to share a room with Eddie. If you’re being honest, you haven’t really put much thought to the sleeping situation. It only makes sense that he would take the guest room…but you also know that if the goal is to get under your parents’ skin, this is the way to do it, so you give a petulant whine and a huff for good measure. 

It’s your father who speaks up this time, pushing forward and deliberately between you and Eddie to break your embrace as he makes his way toward the stairs. “Absolutely not,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks, only stops near the door to pick up both of your bags and continue up the stairs. “You are nineteen, just barely. That may make you an adult on paper but you are still my child and a guest in this house so you’ll do as I say.” Passing your childhood bedroom, he drops your duffel at the door with a scowl and moves two doors down to the guest room where he throws Eddie’s knapsack even harder onto the bed. “And we don’t know this punk from Adam. You’re lucky we’re letting him stay at all, so be grateful for what you have, which is only two doors separating you.” 

Ever the peacemaker, your mom steps in and clears her throat. “What your father means is that we would just both be more…comfortable if – for this trip – Eddie stayed in here. Right, Dear?” 

Your father sighs, “yes, yes, that’s exactly it.” 

“Anyway,” she tries to move past it, like she always has, sweeping his anger under the rug and trying to move on before there can be any more unpleasantries. It’s one of the things you hated most about being home, the fact that she so clearly agreed with most of his conservative and overprotective views but tried so hard to make it seem like she was on your side. She moves in to give you another tight hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey. Dinner will be ready soon, why don’t you two get settled in and then meet us in the dining room?” 

You thank her softly and a little insincerely, and the pair of them retreat back down the stairs, allowing you to let out the breath you’ve been holding. 

“Jesus Christ, I get what you mean.” Eddie Mumbles, and you only groan in agreement, falling gracelessly onto the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. The bed dips as he joins you, and soon enough you’re both laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation. “Hey,” he nudges your shoulder with his own, “you’re killing it.” 

“Hardly,” you snort, “I feel like I’m a kid again. It just…this all sounded fun in theory but I forgot how small they make me feel.” 

“All the more reason to keep on keepin’ on. C’mon, I want to see how many more times we can make that vein in his forehead pop.” A reassuring arm wraps around your shoulder and shakes you lightly until you let out a soft laugh. “There she is! Nice touch demanding that I stay in your room, by the way. Really! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually wanted me to.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, standing up and stretching out your tired limbs. “Come on, let’s go eat.” 

The rest of the night goes rather uneventfully. It’s tense, for sure, but the initial shock has worn off and by the way your parents are acting, you’re certain they managed to sneak in a drink each while you were upstairs. The conversation over dinner is mostly focused on you, how your semester is going and how much you like your job. You ask them about their careers, about family members you haven’t seen in a while. Eventually your mother’s need to be seen as polite prompts her to include Eddie in her questioning, but she keeps it mild for now, asking how he liked the drive to your hometown and if the food was to his taste. 

After dinner your mom offers coffee and a movie, but the long drive and your early alarm for school this morning are an easy enough excuse to retire early and get a good long night’s sleep before the rest of your family arrives tomorrow. 

When you part ways in the hall at the top of the stairs, he stops you with a hand on your wrist and a mischievous grin. 

“What?” You laugh, looking down the stairs, “You want a goodnight kiss now, too? They’re not watching.” 

“Here,” he replies, reaching for the back collar of his tattered Black Sabbath t-shirt and pulling it over his head effortlessly. He hands the shirt over to you and gives it a little shake, “wear it down to breakfast in the morning, yeah? It’ll drive them crazy.” 

You thank him as you take the shirt from his hand and smile, trying your best not to let your eyes linger on his exposed skin, pale and littered with tattoos, some you’re just now seeing for the first time. With a blush and a shake of your head, you bid him goodnight and retreat to your bedroom. 

—

The morning of Thanksgiving brings another early wake up call, but it’s hardly a surprise. Holidays have always been this way, up at the crack of dawn and helping in the kitchen all day since you were old enough to snap green beans. It’s not all bad, some of your best memories are with your mother and aunt in the kitchen. Cooking together almost made you forget how unbearable it was to be home. 

It goes as it always does, the two of you still in your pajamas, getting the more annoying and time consuming prep out of the way before anyone else wakes up. When your dad joins you in the kitchen, already fully dressed and sporting a tired scowl, you make the coffee while your mom pauses to throw the breakfast casserole she’d prepared the night before into the oven. You’re like a well oiled machine, and you work together so well that she almost doesn’t notice your choice in sleepwear. 

Almost. 

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and change into something a little more appropriate?” She suggests coolly. “I can hold down the fort until Aunt Ellen gets here.” 

“Aw,” you pout softly, pouring your own cup of coffee. You know why she’s urging you to change, and it makes you want to push the issue even further. “But we always stay in our pajamas until Grandma’s on her way! Even Aunt Ellen brings her comfies to cook in and a change of clothes for dinner.” 

“You and I both know that is hardly your typical sleepwear, dear.” Your father grunts from behind the morning paper. 

Although she bristles at his blunt choice of words, your mom looks at you with concern, clearly agreeing with him. 

You only huff, watching the creamer swirl as you pour it into the darkness of the mug. You’re about to respond when a pair of warm hands wrap around your waist from behind, making you jump. 

“I think you look killer,” Eddie chuckles at your surprise, his head nestling into the crook of your neck to press a kiss just behind your ear. “Y’wear that thing better than I do, Sweetheart.” 

Head bowed, you roll your eyes at his theatrics but hug his arms closer around your stomach, turning in place to wrinkle your nose at him, a hint of jest in your tone when you greet him. “Good morning, baby.” 

His eyes flick past your shoulder to your parents to be confident they’re looking (of course they are), then with another dark laugh drops his head to greet you with a feverish kiss. It’s too much for a simple good morning, utterly indecent the way his tongue slips past your lips without permission, and his hands drop to your hips to turn you further into his embrace, until one of your parents – you couldn’t care less which one – clears their throat and startles you apart. 

Your face is hot when Eddie smiles brightly, hitting you with a wink and a cheerful, “mornin’.” He mumbles a soft, “gonna go for a smoke, be right back,” into your ear, and then louder, calling over his shoulder as he walks toward the front door, cigarette dangling from his lips, “smells delicious already, ladies, I can’t wait!” 

You’re feeling quite smug at their stunned silence, until the door slams behind him and takes the breath from your lungs with it. You grip the mug so tightly your knuckles turn white, and the quiet from behind you turns deafening. 

It’s your mom that breaks it first, talking in a hushed tone that she must think you can’t hear, despite only being a few feet away. 

“He smokes?” 

“Are you surprised?” Your dad quips, “look at the kid. I’m surprised you can’t smell it on him.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be cruel. I’m just as unhappy about this as you are but there’s no reason to be rude.” 

That’s when you jump in, the scoff on your lips is almost as natural as your breath. “You guys know I’m right here, right? You are being rude, both of you.” 

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Her voice is more patronizing than remorseful. “But truly, what is it that you see in that boy? He seems nice enough I suppose, but he’s not what I would have hoped for you at all…and he’s so crude.” 

That’s exactly what I see in him, you think, the ability to get under your skin. 

“And what would you have hoped for me? Hm?” You press, arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked against the counter. “Some ivy league robot who only cares about your approval? Who I have nothing in common with? Why does it matter?” 

“Oh, well, I–” 

The phone on the wall wails, cutting her off, and a glance at the clock tells you that it must be your aunt calling to say she’s on her way. 

“Saved by the bell,” you mumble as she goes to answer the phone, then spit, “I’ll go change so I don’t embarrass you.”

Back in your room, you decide there’s no point in changing twice, so you pull out the outfit you’d packed for dinner. It’s rather mundane, just a corduroy skirt and an oversized sweater, something you’d normally wear to a family gathering, but the skirt is quite a bit shorter than you’re used to wearing, and instead of the modest tights you would usually pair with this kind of outfit, you opted for some plush over the knee knit socks. 

You take your time getting ready, feeling slightly guilty for leaving Eddie to his own devices downstairs, but he’s a big boy, he can handle himself. You need a few extra moments to cool down and collect yourself before more family shows up. 

There’s a soft rap at your door as you’re finishing up your makeup with a thin layer of lip gloss and you sigh. 

“I’ll be down to help in a minute!” 

Except it isn’t your mom on the other side as you’d expected. Eddie’s voice is gentle when he calls, “It’s me.” 

You let him in with a soft, apologetic smile. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he smiles, looking appreciatively up and down your form. “I take back what I said earlier. This look is killer, you look great.” 

You brighten, flushing at his praise and taking in his own change of outfit. Nothing fancy by any means, just like you suggested when he asked about dinner attire. The same torn black jeans he wears often, a threadbare and bleach stained Metallica baseball tee, and his signature battle vest overtop. Hair clearly adp purposefully untamed, he’s decked out in his usual accessories. Thick, heavy rings on his fingers and a black bandana stuffed in his pocket, he’s even gone the extra mile and smudged a little eyeliner on his water line. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t pull it off. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, playing with the cuffs of your sweater absent-mindedly. “You look…disheveled.” 

He laughs at your choice of words, but takes it in stride, doing a quick spin and taking a dramatic bow as you laugh along with him. “Thank you, thank you, I’m only following your expert direction.” 

The neck of your sweater scoops low when you sit on your vanity stool to zip up your boots, slipping off of one shoulder delicately, and Eddie’s gaze burns as it follows the movement. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s staring as he perches himself on the edge of your bed, his lopsided smile only growing when you giggle out a soft, “what?” 

“I have an idea,” he beckons you toward him with a jut of his chin, “come here.” Though you furrow your brow in confusion, you cross the room to stand in front of him. Instantly, his hands reach out to take yours and hold your arms out wide so that he can take another good look at you. You pretend not to notice that his gaze lingers at the bare skin of your thighs on display, then pauses again at your exposed shoulder. He tugs on your hands until you’re even closer, standing between his legs with a curious look in your eye. Hands dropping to your hips, he noses at your neck, breath tickling your delicate skin as he continues,  “you know what might make this outfit even better?” 

“Better?” You question, reaching to tangle your hands in his hair, knowing exactly what he had in mind. “Or just more scandalous?” 

Eddie’s lips ghost against your skin as he says, “darling, who said it can’t be both?” 

It's cruel, you think, as latches onto the soft skin just over your pulse, nipping lightly and then soothing the sting immediately with his tongue. Cruel that this is all an act, that your friend Eddie Munson wouldn’t be adorning you with love bites if it weren’t for this stupid plan to piss off your parents. Cruel that you can’t separate fact from fiction as he sucks a deep bruise into the flesh just above your collarbone and your grip on his hair tightens, an involuntary whimper caught in your throat. 

He pulls back to admire his work, pursing his plush lips with an appreciative hum. One hand leaves your hip to rest on your neck, thumb pressing into one of the fresh bruises there, pride shining on his face when the action makes you shudder. 

There’s no way he doesn’t notice how red you’ve gone but he doesn’t mention it, only smiles brightly and ushers you toward the door with an encouraging, “break a leg down there, kid.” 

Only then do you realize the commotion downstairs. The boisterous voice of your Aunt Ellen as she helps your mom in the kitchen, the sound of thundering footsteps as her kids play tag in the halls they definitely shouldn’t be running in. 

Eddie keeps a tight hold on your hand behind you as he follows you down the stairs, but you’re squeezing his right back, suddenly even more nervous now that some of your extended family has arrived. 

Your heart pounds through greetings, through quick hugs and happy hellos and nervous introductions. It hammers in your chest even harder when Eddie’s hand slips down to rest on your ass as he politely chit-chats with your uncle. This is the plan. This is what you wanted. So why are you so nervous? It doesn’t calm down until some time later, when your cousins convince Eddie to join them outside for a makeshift game of hockey in the iced over driveway. Your dad and uncle sit in the dining room chatting over scotch, while the rest of you return to cooking. 

“So Eddie seems nice,” Aunt Ellen says with a smile while you peel potatoes with her at the kitchen island. There’s no sarcasm in her tone, no ulterior motives. It seems as though she means what she says, and it's a comforting contrast to the harsh words and sideways glances you’ve been getting from your parents. “You two kids meet at school?” 

Outside the window, the hockey game has dissolved into a snowball fight, your younger cousins ganging up on a solo Eddie. You realize you’re staring, zoned out as he easily picks up the youngest to use him as a human shield, unable to stop yourself from smiling as your cousin giggles and brings Eddie down with a smashed snowball right to the face. You can practically hear his dramatics through the window as he mimes a wounded heart and dramatic battlefield death. 

“Kinda,” you hum, shaking yourself from your daydream and smiling back at her softly. “He went to highschool with my roommate, Robin. Their hometown is a lot closer to school than here, so I got to know a lot of her friends pretty early on.” 

You try not to elaborate too much, but your blush betrays you.

“You had it bad, huh?” She teases. 

“I…might have developed a big dumb crush pretty quickly.” Not entirely a lie.

“Well it must have worked out well for you, huh? Seeing as he’s here and all.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “Mom and Dad aren’t too thrilled about it.” 

She shrugs, wrinkling her nose at you and leaning in to whisper, “to be honest, this could be good for them. They need to loosen up a little, maybe this’ll push ‘em in the right direction.” 

You snort, “you’re telling me.” 

“You could make it a little easier on them though,” she chuckles, gesturing to her own neck not-so-subtly, “maybe show them his good side before you try to intentionally rile them up.” 

Rolling your eyes, you throw a potato peel at her and shake your head. You had the feeling going into this that if anyone was going to find you out, it would be your aunt. Though much to your relief, she seems to still believe you’re actually together, so maybe you can keep the act going through the rest of the weekend. 

She gets pulled away when her cell phone rings, most likely your Grandma calling to ask your parents address despite the fact that they’ve been hosting thanksgiving here since you were born, and in the blink of an eye her seat is taken by your mom. Her arms are folded on the table in front of her, ignoring the pile of potatoes that still need to be done and eyeballing your own paring knife pointedly until you slow to a hesitant, confused stop. 

“Honestly, young woman, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She scolds, voice hushed but harsh as ever. 

With a roll of your eyes, you answer, “if I didn’t think you’d kill me I would say you know exactly what’s gotten into me.” 

“Enough!” She looks over her shoulder to ensure that her outburst wasn’t heard and that your aunt is still occupied. God forbid anyone realize she’s experiencing any emotion that’s less than pleasant. “I don’t care how much you care for that boy or how you act at school but right now you are back under our roof and you’ll carry yourself with grace.” 

“But-” 

“No buts.” She hushes to a whisper as your aunt approaches again, “now go put on some makeup or a turtleneck before Grandma gets here or your father notices, because I assure you he would not be nearly as kind as I.” 

“Yeah,” your chair makes an awful screeching sound as it scrapes against the floor as you stand. “Because you’ve been so peachy keen.” 

—

Halfway through Thanksgiving dinner, things are going swimmingly. Eddie seems to get on great with the rest of your family, which somehow only seems to upset your parents even more. He talks music with your uncle when he comments on his tee shirt, and compliments you and your mom on the cooking no less than five times, thanking her profusely for the meal, and chats excitedly with your cousins about DnD when they ask about the tattoo of a D20 on his forearm. They’re all eating up his attention, but your parents only sit in silence, observing. 

It isn’t until your grandma asks him about school that you finally get a reaction out of them. She had unknowingly uncovered the ace up your sleeve without either you or Eddie having to bring it up and you’re downright thrilled to see where this goes. 

You’ll have to thank her later. 

“Oh, uh, no ma’am.” Eddie chuckles. Confidence puffs his chest as he grins knowingly, stealing a peek at your mirrored expression from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you believe it, I’m shit at school?” He pauses for everyone to balk at his bold wording. “Who would’a known, right? I’m the picture of a 4.0. Anyway, to answer your question, I just graduated in June, so I’m taking some time to focus on my band.”

His age had already come up in conversation, so it was only right for your uncle to assume, “oh, well, well school isn’t for everyone. What’s important is that you made it through. What was your degree in?” 

You clear your throat uncomfortably, ducking your head to hide the smile threatening to break out. 

“High school, actually,” Eddie snickers, “took me three senior years, but I did it!” 

Silence takes over the room once again, even shocking your extended family. You could hear a pin drop, and you do hear your dad choke on his turkey. 

Acting oblivious to their shock, you prompt, “tell them about your band, baby.” Giddy smile plastered on your face, you reach out for his hand and address your family again, “they just booked a consistent gig! How exciting is that?” 

“I’d hardly call Tuesday nights at the Hideout exciting, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Plus,” he drops your hand in lieu of resting his on your thigh, his grip warm and familiar. Turning another wily smirk on you he adds, “we’ve got at least one fan who won’t miss a Corroded Coffin show. That’s what counts, right?” 

Leaning across the table to pester you more quietly, your mother hisses, “I thought you had study group on Tuesdays.” 

“I do!” You defend, “we just…meet at the Hideout.” 

In reality you’ve only been to one of Eddie’s shows, the first one at the Hideout that they played as a tryout, and you had a damn good time. But you do have a study group that meets on Tuesdays, regrettably not at the Hideout but in the common area of your dorm building and even more unfortunately, right when Corroded Coffin is about to go on.

 You can’t stop yourself from smiling at their shock. Every little thing he or you say to surprise them makes it a little more amusing. 

Last night their anger felt overbearing, casting a shadow over you, made you feel small. But the more you catch them off guard, the less they say, and the more you want to laugh at the surprise and disgust in their eyes.

Dessert brings pumpkin pie, coffee cake, another round of drinks, and more inquiry from your aunt. She even managed to slip Eddie one of her husband’s beers, much to the disapproving glare of your father.

“Eddie,” she hums, grinning at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Were your ears ringing earlier? We were gossiping about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, a sly smirk and a raised brow pointed your way.  He leans back in his chair, right hand reaching out to rest once more on your thigh under the table. He tilts his head even further toward you, “all bad things, I hope?” 

“Aunt Ellen was asking how we met,” you smile sweetly, licking away the remnants of cool whip on your dessert fork. 

His eyes darken as they follow the motion and his hand creeps higher, pinky finger stroking at the hem of your skirt absent-mindedly as he speaks. You fight to keep your breath from getting caught in your throat at the cold bite of his rings against your flushed skin. “Oh I see,” he hums, then, his attention snapping back across the table, cutting through the tension you both just created, “did she tell you how she tried to hairspray me to death?” 

“She didn’t,” your grandma exclaims, “please do tell!”

“So I’m planning on meeting my good friend Robin for a nice meal, right? Sounds like a nice evening! Except…”

You try to stay engaged in the conversation, to tell your side of the story, you really do– but the weight of his hand high up on your thigh is distracting. It’s hard to focus on much else, especially when he kneads gently in time with his elaborate storytelling, his thumb caressing the rolled hem of your thigh-high socks and stroking the skin just above it. 

Why, you can’t help but think. You’re the only ones seated on this side of the table, and sheltered from view by the tablecloth. There should be no reason for him to be touching you like this when there’s nobody to see it happening. You wonder if he knows there’s no point, but then his hand creeps even higher and his fingertips slip under the edge of your skirt and into the crease where your thighs press together. This time you can’t stop the stutter in your breath and he notices, smiling at you wickedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He knows it’s affecting you, and even worse he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. 

But he just keeps on talking, stealing the show.  

The story of how you met melts easily into the previously fabricated story of your first date, and so on. The stories just keep flowing. That’s the thing about Eddie, he could be reading you the instruction manual for a toaster, but the way that he tells stories is captivating. The way he speaks of your first date, and then of your first anniversary (something you hadn’t discussed on the drive, but damn it if he wasn’t quick on the draw with it) has your family on the edge of their seats. Your aunt listens with glee, but your parents are horrified at the thought of him taking you to a dive bar for dinner or staying overnight in your dorm. Whether they like it or not, he knows how to command a room. 

When things start winding down, after goodbyes are said to your Grandma, you’re rescued from having to do the dishes when your cousins talk you into a game of Monopoly. Eddie picks your favorite piece, but relents quickly when you send him a pout and opts for the thimble instead. 

“So what are you, a $100 on Free Parking family, all taxes on Free Parking family, or a boring family?” Eddie asks, digging out the loose bills in disarray at the bottom of the box.

“Better,” you hum, “you boys know where the stash is, d’you mind?” 

Your cousins laugh, the eldest pulling a bag of halloween candy out from under the coffee table you sit around. “Already on it, cuz.” 

Watching as he dumps a few pieces into the middle of the board, you grin. “Perfect.” 

—

After a rousing game (where Eddie absolutely made fun of your candy pot right up until he landed on Free Parking and won it), your extended family starts to pack up to make the hour’s drive home. You say your goodbyes, Aunt Ellen whispering a reminder to go easy on your parents into your ear when she hugs you tightly. Eddie high fives your cousins as they pass, and shoots them a devil horn gesture as they make their way to the car. You swear you hear your dad mumble under his breath about him corrupting them, but bite your tongue. 

You barely made it back to the den to start cleaning up the board game when the knock comes at the door – their car won’t start. It’s cold and it’s dark and without hesitation your mom offers them shelter for the night. 

“The boys will have to sleep on the pull out in the den,” she muses quietly, thinking out loud. “It’s not much but they’ll be comfy there. Ellen, you guys can take the guest room.” You crack a smile as she keeps talking, mentions that your dad and uncle can take a look at the car when they’ve had a good night’s sleep and the sun is up, and Eddie catches your eye with a mirroring grin. 

“I’d be happy to look,” he offers, drawing both your parents’ attention. They’d forgotten about him in their plan. “I’m no professional, but my uncle and I have lifted parts from enough junkers to know my way around an engine.” 

Your mom looks between you and the boy next to you, brow drawn together in concern. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s the best–” 

Cutting her off, you rest your hand on Eddie’s elbow and smile saccharine, “that’s so kind of you, Eds, thank you.” 

He knocks your hand from his arm in favor of wrapping it around your shoulders, curling your body into his side and kissing your temple with a loud smack! His grin is downright smug when he says, “looks like I’ll be bunking with you after all, huh, Princess?” 

“Lucky me,” you mumble, turning away quickly to hide the rapidly forming flush in your cheeks. “Um, hey, can you help my dad with the pullout? It sticks. I’ll go change the sheets in the guest room.” 

“You got it, baby,” he smiles good-naturedly. “Where can I help, Dad?” 

As you walk away, you can hear the exasperation in your father’s voice as he informs the boy that it would be in his best interest to call him Mr. or Sir, and you can’t help but giggle at the stuttering response Eddie gives. 

You’ve tossed Eddie’s bags into your own room and stripped the sheets from the guest bed by the time your mom meets you in the guest room with fresh sheets. You quietly make the bed together until she speaks up. 

“I’m sure you find yourself so lucky to have gotten what you want,” she muses, tucking in the top sheet on her side of the bed a little more harshly than necessary. “But under no circumstances does this mean you can take advantage of my kindness. I was not about to let our family go without a place to stay for the night so you may have found yourself sharing a room but I expect no funny business.” So casual in her cruelty, she emphasizes where she needs to but otherwise her voice is calm. 

“Right,” you snort, “because the mood is so perfect with my parents down the hall and aunt and uncle in the next room.” 

“I’m only saying, that boy is changing you. You’re acting so differently since you brought him ‘round and I-” 

You cut her off, throwing the pillow you just put a new sham on back onto the bed violently. “I care about that boy,” throwing air quotes when you repeat her words, “and if I’ve changed, it’s only because he showed me what it’s like to be cared for in return!” The words flow from you freely, without much thought. You’re reacting with what you know will hurt right back, but you’re also speaking from the heart. Even just being friends with not only Eddie, but Robin and Steve as well, has built your confidence and taught you plenty about love and support, even if it was just platonic. 

Her voice drips with condescension when she replies, “Honey. Do you truly think a boy like that has good intentions with a girl like you? He drinks, he smokes, he’s skipping college and doesn’t have a job because he’s in a rock band for Pete’s sake. I’m just worried about you. Guys like that only want one thing.” 

With your back to the door you don’t notice Eddie approaching, and he hovers just outside the door and out of your mom’s view. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he could hear your shouting match from downstairs, and he wanted to be close by if you needed a comforting word or pep talk.  

“What’s that, Mom?” You argue, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Sex? Who’s to say we haven’t gone there already? And what could you do to stop us from fucking all night tonight? We’re both adults. We could go at it for hours, under your roof, right down the hall from you and technically all you can do about it is kick us out. Oh well!! We’ve got a car and a couple hundred bucks between the two of us, we could swing a motel for the night. The point is, it could happen anywhere, so wouldn’t you rather know that I’m safe at home and not sharing a wall with drug addicts and prostitutes down at the Motel 6?”

She’s silent for a long moment, both of you unmoving and staring angrily at each other. 

“...You’re not actually going to have–”

“OF COURSE I’M NOT, Mother,” you groan, “and do you think I would tell you if I was!? God, I knew bringing him here was a mistake. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning. I’m not going to bother staying the rest of the weekend in a house that makes me and my boyfriend feel unwelcome.” 

Suddenly very reminiscent of your high school days, you stomp away with an exasperated groan, brushing past Eddie in a fury and you couldn’t even begin to care in the moment to ask how much he’d overheard. You were hot in more than one sense of the word, livid at your mother’s attack, blood boiling at the fact that even she – who has always been more lenient and quick to defend against your father – could think so lowly of Eddie without even giving him a chance. You know that’s the point. You know you brought him here specifically to get a rise out of them, but God, this was so much worse than the stunned silence and speechless stuttering you were expecting. 

With every step closer to your room, the need to get out of this damn outfit gets stronger. Despite your aggravation, every brush of your skirt against your thighs brings your mind back to dinner and Eddie’s curious touch, the gentle squeeze as his fingertips brushed at the crease of your crossed legs, the casual nonchalance as he kept talking even though he knew exactly what he was doing. 

It's annoying, really, how easily he infiltrates your thoughts and without even trying distracts you from your rage. Only, now he’s all you can think of as you slam the bedroom door and rifle through your suitcase. By the time you start the shower, you’ve moved past wondering why he was touching you like that when it didn’t benefit the plan, and when you strip down and step under the steaming spray you’re more than curious how far he’s willing to take this. You have to admit after shouting about how much sex you were going to have with him tonight, you’re starting to wonder how much of a possibility it could be.

Would he actually touch you? Let you touch him? He was eager to paint your skin with possessive marks earlier. Was he just that committed to the bit, or did he really just want to? 

Would it be so bad if he did? 

As much as you want to draw this shower out, slow, careful caresses of your skin as you touch yourself the way you imagine a certain guitarist might, you decide it’s not the best idea with a houseful of family. Soon enough you’re toweling off and feeling less angry than before, though no less frustrated. 

When you make it back to your room, there’s an open copy of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons and a weathered journal laid out on your bed, suggesting that Eddie had been hiding out there, however he’s nowhere to be found. You manage to get your hair most of the way dried by the time he comes back in, the faint scent of smoke and fresh snow billowing behind in his wake. The stick of a lollipop he won in your game of Monopoly earlier juts out from between his lips. 

Smiling softly in greeting, you expect him to beeline back to his notes, but to your surprise he turns your way and leans one hand on your vanity. The other comes to rest under your chin, urging you to look up at him. He smiles back, bigger, encouraging. His lips are tinted pink from the candy and he even nods a little when your own smile grows, as if he could tell that your first wasn’t that genuine. 

“Y’okay?” He murmurs, thumb stroking absently at the sharp of your jawline. “It’s been fun messing with them, but that screaming match must’ve been a lot.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “I’ll get over it, but are you okay? You were the one she was insulting.” 

He waves off your comment casually, a wrinkle in his nose and the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I’ve been called worse, and in her defense, we are trying to make me look bad.”

“I guess, but I still didn’t like hearing her speak about you like that,” you chuckle and stand, scooting the stool back in order to wrap him in a hug. After a brief pause, you mumble into his neck, “... and thank you. For checking in.” 

Eddie’s hands squeeze where he holds your hips fondly, and he pulls away from your embrace just enough to get a good look at your face. His eyes shine beneath his furrowed brow, impossibly deep brown in the low light of your room, they search your face for any hint of distress, and when he’s confident you’re telling the truth, only then does his gaze land on your lips. You swallow thickly, blink slowly, try to convince yourself you’re making this up. He pulls the lollipop from his mouth, slurping obscenely as he does.  There’s nobody around! He has nothing to prove! So then why is he leaning in? Why do you let him, and lean up onto your toes to close the gap? 

Quiet takes over the room as Eddie’s eyes fall shut, followed quickly by your own. You gasp gently, but lean into his kiss eagerly, the hand around his shoulder reaching up to tangle in the mess of curls at the base of his neck. His lips meld with yours, working you over in a deep and tender kiss that makes your stomach flip. It’s soft. Familiar in a way you wouldn’t expect. 

It might be your favorite one yet. 

He tastes distinctly of cherry and leftover tobacco, lips sticky with sugar and oh, so delicious. 

When he breaks the kiss he doesn’t go far, lips traveling to press sweetly at your temple for a fleeting moment. 

“What was that for?” You ask, breathless. “There’s nobody else around?” 

Eddie hums, “maybe I just felt like it.” Taking in your choice of pajamas, he grins even wider, “kinda like you just felt like wearing my Sabbath shirt again, I’m sure. Did you mean what you said back there?” 

Stalling, you pluck the candy from between his fingers and take a moment to savor it. Sure, it’s a little bit of a tease, the way your tongue darts out to lick it salaciously before taking the whole thing in your mouth with a soft hum, but it’s payback for both times he’d gotten you worked up earlier today. By the look on his face, payback is a bitch. 

“How much did you overhear?” 

“Oh, you know…” his hand trails up the length of your forearm, enveloping your own, only to take the sucker back from you and toss it into the bin, forgotten already. “Just the part about us going at it for hours.” Hands on either side of your face, he crouches until he’s fully in your space, lips just a hair away from your own. “How it was going to happen no matter what.” You feel his smirk more than you actually see it, and your breath gets caught in your throat. His hair curtains around you, tickling at your neck and shoulders.This can’t actually be happening – right? His thumb drags lightly at your bottom lip, “that we were gonna fuck all night?” 

“I– I didn’t know you were there.” You stutter out, afraid to admit anything more than that. 

“...Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

You don’t. Instead, you find yourself falling forward, colliding once more in a clumsy kiss. You stand slowly so that he doesn’t have to crouch, never once letting your lips leave his. It’s an intoxicating contrast to the last kiss, all bruising pressure and teeth and tongue and desperation. He licks into your mouth without asking permission, though you would have given it freely anyway, and his hands creep downward on your body, caressing your waist and falling to rest on the swell of your hips, squeezing gently. When you surge up onto your tiptoes to kiss him deeper, he notices the wobble in your legs and shifts, hooking his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifting you to rest on the edge of your vanity. You gasp in surprise at his boldness, at the strength you didn’t know he possessed, and break the kiss in the process. 

“You know, I was hoping you weren’t all talk,” he beams with pride, taking in the sight of your bite swollen lips and chest heaving with ragged breath. Placing a hand on either side of your hips, his head drops to mouth hungrily at your neck, giving the same attention to the opposite side he had earlier, pulling at the neck of your stolen tee-shirt to suck another bruise into your collarbone. In between passes of his tongue and nips at your sensitive skin, he keeps talking. Eddie Munson does not know when to shut up, not even now. “Been wanting to get my hands on you since we met,” he mumbles into the hollow of your throat, you can feel another smile pressed to the skin there, “somethin’ about being threatened by a sweet little thing like you…” working his way back up to find your lips, he basks in the small noises coming from the back of your throat. “...really does it for a guy.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugging, but before you can continue the thought, the vanity beneath you gives an awful creaking sound under your combined weight. Giggling, near mortified, you bite your lip and shift your eyes toward the bed, “you wanna…?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he jokes in return, helping you down from your perch and crossing the room. He shuffles up toward the headboard, pulling an old teddy bear from under him when he leans up against it and raises his brow at you. 

Taking the stuffie from his hands to throw it across the room with a soft glare, you settle into his lap comfortably, one knee on either side of his hips. His hands land on your own hips and pull you closer to him roughly with a soft, amused huff. He kisses you like it's his last chance, hands firm on your hips holding you in place where you can feel his cock, half hard with interest pressing against you. 

You kiss him for what seems like hours. For all you’re concerned it could have been. Eddie consumes you, the scent of smoke and leather engulfing you and invading your senses. It’s a scent so perfectly Eddie, with a little sweetness and a little bit of something dark, just like how he kisses. Sweet pecks and soft caresses of his lips against your jawline immediately followed by lewd, wet passes of his tongue and sharp, stinging bites. He kisses hard and messy, unabashed, fingers squeezing at the meat of your ass and pulling your hips harder into his.

This time when he kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop at your neckline. He pulls at the shirt collar, carelessly stretching it past the point of no return in favor of uncovering more and more of your unexplored skin. Cold fingers prod at the skin of your lower back, making you squeal and grind harder against him, heat pooling in your center. 

Your position is making you hyper aware of just how wet you are, your panties sticking to your lower lips with it as you rut against his clothed length. Your hand stays firm on the back of his neck, nervous and unsure how far to take this, but Eddie clearly knows what he wants, his own hands exploring. Not an inch of your body goes unnoticed as he caresses you, light fleeting touches here and there followed by rough, possessive hands, kneading at your curves hungrily. He’s taking his time learning what makes you tick. Thumbs brush featherlight over pebbled nipples through the worn material of your shirt, drawing another breathy moan from your lips. Though he grins in satisfaction, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and provocation. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, gaze falling on your chest as he seeks out the hardened buds again and pinching, cocky smile only growing at the responding whine you let out. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, pretty thing. Or did you forget where we were?” 

Not one to go without a fight, you grip his jaw and turn his face back up toward yours, “shut up and put your mouth to good use, baby.” 

He smirks at the pet name, capturing your lips once more and turning you both until you’re laying back against the mattress. Eddie hovers over you, staring, eyes raking over you briefly before he makes his way down your body, stopping at the waist of your sleep pants with a happy hum. He traces the elastic teasingly before hooking in and pulling them down, tossing them out of the way carelessly. You press your thighs together when he does, and he tuts disapprovingly, thumb caressing the crease between your thigh and hip. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re not gettin’ shy on me now, are you?” He teases, gently coaxing your legs back open, chilled air hitting the damp cotton and making you shudder. Lowering himself so that he’s eye level with your clothed cunt, he smirks, “that’s what I thought.” 

You expect him to rid you of that layer as well, but he doesn’t, not yet. Instead, he noses at the growing wet spot, inhaling deeply and giving a dramatic, gleeful sigh. He’s not so cruel to keep teasing you though, quickly mouthing at your pussy through the thin material of your panties. The added friction is unbearable, pleasure settling low in your belly as he licks broadly at the wet spot with a low groan, pointed tongue finding your clit surprisingly quickly. Pulling back briefly, he admires the way that the material clings to you, now wet with your slick and his saliva, the soaked cotton hides nothing. He murmurs something about “isn’t this a pretty picture?” and reaches out to touch you, fingers stroking over your clothed cunt in a rough drag, but the way your blood is rushing in your ears you barely hear him. 

When he finally peels the ruined panties off of you, you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him between your legs. His hair’s a mess, disheveled by your hands running through it, bangs pushed back from his forehead from his efforts. His lips are kiss swollen and red from the cherry candy, pulled back tight over an eager grin. He licks his lips, eyes glittering as he stares down at you, utterly enraptured. He looks at you as though you were his last meal, like you were the most delectable treat, and it makes your stomach flip.

He dives back in, tongue gliding between your lips easily and circling your clit once, teasingly, before retreating back down to your entrance. With a huff and a repressed squeal, you drop back onto the bed, hand flying to tangle in his hair as he tongues at your hole eagerly. Nose bumping your clit with his efforts, he laps at your juices until you’re whining for it, a weak little “please,” falling from your lips. Any other day he would tease you. A quipped please what, what do you need? But he senses your desperation and relents. 

“So wet, sweet thing,” he chides, reaching out to drag two fingers through your dripping folds and pushing them into you without warning, forcing the air from your lungs. You bite your lip in an effort to keep quiet, only letting out the softest whimper when his thumb joins in, rubbing at your clit lazily. “Tell me, are you always this eager?” 

“When some asshole’s been teasing me since dinner, yeah,” you quip, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide your embarrassment. 

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Eddie asks, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lap at your nub, suckling lightly until your thighs tremble and your pussy clenches down on his fingers. “Do you even know what you were doing to me at dinner?” His pace quickens, fingers drawing obscene, wet sounds from your cunt as he pumps them faster. Resting his head on your thigh to watch as his fingers disappear in and out of your dripping entrance, he continues, “The way you were lickin’ that fork clean after dessert should be illegal. Had me wonderin’ what else you could do with that tongue, I just had to level the playing field.” 

He strokes at that spot deep inside you right as his lips wrap around your clit once more and you swallow a groan. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, hips moving on their own accord, canting down to meet his eager ministrations. “Right there.”

He almost sounds pitiful as he coos, “I know, baby, I know.” 

He continues to work at your g-spot, languid, repetitive strokes that bring you closer and closer to the edge each time. Pressure builds in your pelvis, an unmistakable ache in your limbs as you tense up. He can tell you’re close, the fluttering of your walls around him and thighs caging his head in firmly. If he minds, he doesn’t let on, only doubling his efforts and adding a third finger as he thrusts back in. You’re getting close, but words are hard to find when he’s smiling so pretty at you and those long, thick fingers stroking deep within you with a come-hither motion. 

“Eddie, I’m– fuck, you gotta–” 

“That's it, Princess,” he encourages, leaning back on his heels to get a good look at you. Your whole body flushed, his tee shirt rucked up on your chest, your fingers curled in the bedspread beneath you. With his fingers still buried inside you, he reaches out with the other hand to abuse your clit, quick, messy back and forth motions that are absolutely maddening, just on the edge of too much. “C’mon, sweet thing, come for me.” 

There’s nothing you can do to stop your body from obliging, bearing down as your orgasm rips through you, your release coming from you in waves, splashing over his hands and the bedsheets between you. Your fingers go numb as you white-knuckle the bedspread, toes curling and mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he works you through your orgasm. 

Though he gives your oversensitive clit a much needed break, to your dismay, he doesn’t let up on fucking his fingers into you, gazing down at the mess you made in awe, a lopsided grin on his face. “You didn’t tell me you're a super soaker, sweetheart. What a pleasant surprise.” 

“I–” you try to interject but gasp at his unrelenting fingers. “I’m not usually.” 

“Oh?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit it again, so you only shake your head, flushing even deeper under his scrutinizing stare. It’s all too much, you’re oversensitive and spent already but god that doesn’t mean you don’t want more. 

“Please,” you start, reaching for his wrist to still his motions. You aren’t above pouting when you say, “let me return the favor.” 

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” his grin is downright evil, “not yet…I wanna see you do that again.” 

You weren’t sure that was possible. Hell, until a few moments ago you didn’t even know you could squirt at all, let alone twice in a row. But he’s determined, and he’s already kept you teetering on the edge since your first orgasm, so it doesn’t take much. He speeds up again, hand curling to cup your cunt with his efforts, and the slick slip-slide of your previous release gives him the perfect traction to continue the onslaught of attention to your overstimulated clit. Your hips can't decide whether they want to twitch away from the attention or grind down into it, ultimately going with the latter, much to Eddie’s satisfaction.

Ducking his head, he sinks his teeth into the swell of your inner thigh, relishing in the way the pain makes you clench around him yet again. 

“You got another one in you,” he encourages, “I know it.”  

And he’s right.

The coil in your belly has been threatening to snap as soon as the last orgasm dissipated, his constant attention on your g-spot enough to send you over the edge again, but it’s not until his lips latch onto your clit one more time, the delicious drag of stubble against your inner thighs a whole new sensation, that you let loose. Gripping onto fistfuls of his curls again, you take note of the wild growl the action draws from him as you spill onto his tongue, your release puddling under you and soaking into the sheets. 

“Shit, Eddie, stop, I–” You pull at his hair lightly to get his attention, “s’too sensitive.” 

Despite your complaint, he grins happily and crawls back up your body, taking the hem of your shirt with him and pulling your last bit of clothing off of your body before capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss. The distinct taste of Eddie, of tobacco and sugar and your own release is intoxicating, and you sloppily make out with him until you can no longer taste yourself on his tongue. You can’t help but giggle as you pull away. 

“You still with me?” He asks gently, damp fingers brushing through your hair, though you have no energy to care about the mess. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “just needed a second.” Reaching down to palm at the achingly hard bulge in his pants, savoring the moan he swallows, you tease, “I feel a little underdressed, here.” 

“By all means,” he hums, turning to fall on his back beside you, a cocky smile dancing on his features, “be my guest.” 

You follow suit, sitting up to straddle his lap again, lifting the hem of his shirt up and over his head. Peppering his skin with the same attention he showed you, you take your time nipping and sucking and adoring his newly exposed skin, appreciating your favorite mark (an angry looking, deep purple bruise forming just above his demon head tattoo) with a bitten lip and smug smile. He looks ruined and you haven’t even touched him yet, not really, and you take pride in the way his head lolls against the headboard, eyes heavy-lidded and crinkled from his smile,  pupils blown as he watches your every move. As you rake your nails down his chest (an act that pulls yet another deep growl from within his chest), you cant your hips down against his. The drag of denim against your bare pussy is almost too much, on the brink of both pleasure and pain in your overstimulation, and the way that it makes you shudder has his cock twitching with interest. 

Scooting down his legs, you lay between them lazily, twirling your finger around the button of his pants and savoring the impatient noises he’s clearly trying to hold back. You decide he’s been too kind to you already to deserve anymore teasing, so you make quick work of unzipping his jeans and freeing his aching member. He helps you shuffle them, along with his underwear, down his legs and as soon as you get a good look, your mouth starts to water. Flushed at the tip and weeping, it’s the most enticing thing you’ve ever seen. 

Leaning in to catch the bead of precum on your tongue, you moan at the earthy taste and let your eyes fall shut. Eddie swears above you and that only eggs you on, reaching out to take his length in one hand, you give it a long, broad lick from base to tip and around the head before taking it into your mouth, reminiscent of the way you’d enjoyed his lollipop earlier. (If you’re being honest, you much prefer this to candy). 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans, leaning up on one elbow to get a good look at you and burying his free hand in your hair. “Just like that–look so perfect like this.” 

He babbles as you suck him off, an incoherent string of desperate phrases that all circle back to one common theme – how good you look with his dick in your mouth. His praise goes straight to your throbbing core, more slick dribbling from you with every word. You find yourself clenching down on nothing, feeling suddenly empty without Eddie’s thick fingers there.

You pull off of him with a satisfying pop, beaming with pride as your hand works him over in your absence. 

“Do you ever shut up?” You tease, cupping his balls lightly with your free hand before ducking to take one into your mouth. 

He chokes out his response, “not often,” sighing as you take him back into your mouth, your tongue running over the thick vein that runs up the underside of his shaft. “But you’re gettin’ close… Get up here.” 

Pulling you off of him by the hair, he urges you back up the length of the bed. Propped up against your mess of pillows at your headboard, he pulls you back to hover over his lap and drags the head of his cock through your wet folds teasingly. Capturing your lips again, he licks hot into your mouth, positioning your hips square over his waiting member, but leaving it up to you to seal the deal. 

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by thick, delicious inch, savoring the stretch and the slight burn that comes with it. Even with proper preparation, he’s big, and fills you to the brim when you finally settle into his lap, his cock fully sheathed inside you. 

Drawing a shaky breath, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his, all sweaty bangs and shared breaths. He gives you a moment, pressing a gentle kiss high on your cheekbone and lingering there until you thread your fingers into his hair again and give an experimental roll of your hips. Both of you share a groan, breathing each other in as you slowly start to move. 

It's like a dance; you push, he pulls, moving together like you’ve rehearsed this a million times. You feel impossibly full as you bounce on his cock, lewd, wet sounds coming from where you’re joined, and the pressure builds in your stomach once again. 

Eddie’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements and holding you in place to fuck up into you without restriction. Unable to hold back, an involuntary moan tumbles from your lips and you fall forward, biting into the crook of his neck to stop yourself from making any more noise. He hisses at the sting and his hips stutter, but if he’s more affected than that he doesn’t show it. His hips continue to piston up into you, his cock forcing tiny little hiccuping noises from your throat as you clamp your eyes shut. 

“Yeah baby,” he encourages, pulling your hips down for a particularly harsh drag, the wiry hair at the base of his cock tickling at your clit from the force of it. “Y’can’t stay quiet, can you? Even now?” Reaching between you, he circles your still sensitive nub with his middle finger, kissing you to swallow the sounds you make as he spreads two fingers over your puffy lips, prodding at the taut, stretched hole where he thrusts up into you.  “Christ, if you sound this fuckin’ pretty when you’re trying to keep quiet I can’t wait to hear you when you aren’t holding back.” He speaks low in your ear, his voice impossibly deep and his words go straight to your core, zapping like static over your skin. “You’d like that, huh?” He prompts, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, “wanna make you scream my name.” 

You lift your head to kiss him, if only to shut him up, and whimper into his mouth, eyes screwed shut, but give him what he wants with a soft whine of “Eddie,” against his full lips. 

“I guess whining will do for now. Look at you, messy thing,” he’s unrelenting on your clit now, swift, circular motions made jagged by his stuttering thrusts. He’s just as close as you are, if his jerking motions and labored breathing tell you anything. “You gonna come on my cock? C’mon sweet thing, I wanna feel you.” 

“I don’t– I can’t, ‘s too much,” you babble, lost in the way his cock drags over your inner walls and the insistent swiping of his fingers at your clit. It’s so good but it’s all too much, and you’re certain if you have another orgasm, it’ll be the end of you. 

The hand that isn’t buried in your cunt comes up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him as he says, “sure you can, baby, c’mon,” then after a surprisingly tender kiss pressed into your lips, he demands through lidded eyes, “come for me, princess.” 

Even if you didn’t want to, your body obeys, the pleasure licking up from your core and spreading through your limbs like fire. Your skin burns, your cunt spasming with the force of it, and when you force your eyes shut, forehead pressed against Eddie’s in exhaustion, you swear a tear leaks out. 

He groans, the fluttering of your walls triggering his own release, pulling you into a hard, toothy kiss to dampen the sound he makes. He pulls out just in time, splattering your stomach with his seed and already you’re mourning the loss, feeling impossibly empty but sated nonetheless. 

Your mouths hang open against one another, sharing damp, hot breaths for a few moments as you come down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, rolling off of his lap to lay beside him, a delighted little chuckle falling from your lips. 

“My sentiments exactly,” he muses, turning on his side to brush the mess of your hair behind your ear. With a kiss to your temple and a soft, “wait here,” he rolls away, pulling on the first pair of pants he can find (which just so happens to be your pink snowflake pajama pants) and looks both ways before stepping out of your room and toward the bathroom. 

As you wait for him to return, you can’t help but return to your thoughts from earlier. 

Would he touch you? 

Yes. 

Would you really mind if he wanted to?

Fuck no. 

What does this mean for your friendship? 

Fuck off, don’t worry about that right now. Enjoy the moment. 

Soon he’s back with a warm washcloth that he uses to gently clean you up, taking care around your sore, red center, and then mops up his spend with a surprisingly delicate touch. In the other hand he has another fresh set of sheets, which he holds up with a snarky smile. 

“When your legs work again we can change these out,” he teases, “seeing as you ruined the ones on there now.”

Running a hand down your face, you blush. Even after everything, you blush at his remarks. “Shut up.” Giggling, you hop down from the bed and pull on his discarded boxers and the now stretched out Black Sabbath shirt before helping him change the sheets. 

In the end, you decide that it’s not worth it to finish out the weekend at home and set an alarm to get up before any of your family. It’s far too early for either of your liking, but it’s a necessary evil. 

When the car is loaded up and you drop into the passenger seat, it feels natural when Eddie’s large hand lands on your thigh. The sun is just starting to rise in the rear view mirror, and you’re eager to get a move on, but not before properly thanking him. 

Leaning over the center console, you press a kiss to his cheek, then again to his lips when he turns to meet your affection. You sigh, a dumb smile plastered on your face as you breathe your first full breath all weekend. “Thank you, Eds.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles, squeezing your thigh happily, “I’ll help you piss off your parents any day.” One more longing kiss, his lips sliding against yours without urgency, without anything to prove, just an exchange of affection between two maybe-more-than-friends who don’t have any roles to play anymore. He bites your lip as he pulls away, winking, and throwing the car into drive. As he drives away he laughs again, fixing you with an adoring stare. “My little showstopper.”

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson/you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fic #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fic

[swapmeetsimming]

Nail Art Set + Freebie!

The nail art set is up for EA! Here is a direct link to the public preview on Patreon with more pictures and information! The freebie is at the bottom

Or, here is the information all here if you don't want to click:

The Set has way too much tiny clutter items. If I had half a brain, I'd have done what other people do and made clutter "groups" instead of making everything individual.

Like always, all simlish text was made with the wonderful fonts from https://franzillasims.tumblr.com/

The set features a "travel" workstation on two variations. The open version is a mini-desk, and is fully functional as one, and is base-game.

The closed version is basically a tall end table. it has six small deco slots on the top, surrounding the handle.

Both versions have 11 swatches. Make sure to have bb.useobjects enabled to access all the slots! :)

A small rolling cart. six slots on each layer. 4 swatches.

An UV curing lamp. This turns on and off, and only glows from the inside. 3 swatches.

An Arched desk lamp. This is so cool - I would have loved one when I was customizing dolls and minitures! Glows only from the bottom and slots onto the desk!

Two neon lights. The pink one is a false light, it kind of has the illusion of glowing, but just looks pretty. The blue one is an obnoxiously bright light, that illuminates everything around it. Looks best outside! ^^ The blue one is free now!

A handheld nail drill with bits, or a dremel if you are familiar with the tool. :) The drill and bits are separate items, both in 3 matching swatches.

A dust vacuum/collector - this is absolutely necessary when you a using a drill and filing nail tips. It sucks up all the harmful residue the drilling creates. 3 swatches.

Tissue/wipe dispenser. 5 swatches.

And a whole TON of clutter.....

A stand for displaying and working on nail tips.

A nail brush and clippers.

A set of cuticle tools.

A set of files and buffers.

A set of fine brushes.

A small glass for ...something.

A small container of glitter.

A magnet wand for cat-eye effects.

A tube of nail glue.

A bottle of gel polish with 20+ swatches

A bottle of Base/Topcoat/Matte Effect. Three swatches.

A set of polishes that can also slot into the workstation top.

A set of nail stickers. 5+ swatches.

A roll of metallic detail tape. 3 swatches - silver, gold, rosegold.

A little round storage wheel for rhinestones.

A toe separator.

A pair of fine tweezers for setting tiny details.

An orange cuticle stick

You can get the obnoxiously bright neon light as a freebie, right now!

It's at the bottom of the Public preview post!

#sims 4 cc #sims 4 creator #sims 4 maxis match #the sims cc #sims 4 mods #maxis match #sims 4 clutter #simblr #sims 4 free cc #ts4 simblr #ts4 custom content #ts4cc #ts4mm #ts4 maxis match #ts4ccmm #thesims4cc #the sims 4 custom content #ts4 cc #nailart

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), normal!fem!reader, substance abuse [ reader is drunk and nicolas overdosed on celebrer ], classism, suggested age gap [ nic is 34 and reader is at least 21 ], anonymous hookup, brief description of blood and dead bodies, fingering [ her ], unprotected sex, pull out method, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day twelve [ nicolas brown + anonymous sex ]

the back alleys of Ergastulum were dangerous, especially at night if a young girl was to be walking by herself— intoxicated and carrying her heels in one hand. everything about your situation screamed danger, but you had been just drunk enough not to care.

just drunk enough to stumble your clumsy way right into you had never meant to see. remnants of blood spatter on the ground stained your bare feet, and your toes nudge cool metal. you glance down. a pair of tags lay there, with a name you didn’t recognize. Ranking B/4. when you look up again, there’s a man dragging what you assumed to be the Tag’s body and tossing it in a stack by the dumpster. he, too, wore tags; silver that dangled around his neck when he bent over, and his black tee shirt had been torn just enough to get a peak at the bulging veins in his sturdy bicep as he worked on cleaning up his mess.

your eyes flicker to the sword on his hip. a perplexing weapon, but a weapon, nonetheless.

the alcohol saturating your brain wouldn’t let you be afraid, and you felt your cheeks heat up— your belly knotting up with an unfamiliar, carnal desire. where you should’ve ran, you dragged yourself closer, using the brick wall for support so you wouldn’t bust your ass. and when the Tag spotted you approaching him, he stopped, and sharp, dark eyes narrow even further as he stands up straight and looks you over. his gaze is fixed and predatory, calculating every clumsy move that you make, but you can tell something’s off with him, too, and you simper, slow and lustful.

“You fucked up, too, Tag?”

he doesn’t answer, it’s strange, the way he’s looking at you. like he would tear you apart with his bare hands. the blood you'd stepped in had still been warm, which means he’d just been fighting to the death, and yet he wasn’t winded at all. his broad chest didn’t rise and fall with any sense of over exertion. you bit down on your lip.

“You look like you want to kill me.” you blurted out, before tilting your head. the Tag doesn’t give you yes or no, but his eyes watch the shape of your mouth, “Or… maybe something else?” you let your shoes slip from your hands and clatter against the ground by a dumpster, and his eyes follow, but to you they are already forgotten in the dark. after a moment, dark eyes train themselves on your face again, but you notice they’re zeroed in on your lips. you can’t help but smile. “What do you want to do to me? Kiss me?”

what had gotten into you?

“Touch me?”

was it the alcohol?

“Fuck me?”

or, maybe it was the stench of blood in the air, and the way his body was carved out from the moon’s dull glow that seemed to force you back to your baser instincts. when you say those two words, you watch his expression tighten. his brow twitches, and you know you’ve got his attention now.

“That’s it… you want to fuck me, don’t you, Tag?” you stumble closer, and notice how he doesn’t move an inch, so you keep prodding, “You like that idea? Fucking a normal right here, right now, in this filthy back alley—“ when you get within arms reach, instead of grabbing you like you’d expected him to, his elbow digs into your chest. with a low grunt, he pushes you against the opposite wall, his forearm pinning you in place. you choke on a gasp, eyes widening, suddenly regretting every provoking him in the first place as he steps close, plugging the gap between you with his own body. his frame is lean and heavily muscled, hard like bricks. “Y-you—?”

dark eyes, ringed from possible insomnia and age, watch your face carefully, his brows knit close together as he pins you in place. you could feel how much stronger he was than you, and for some reason, that didn’t scare you as much as it turned you on. you suck in a heavy breath, that his eyes follow as it inflates your chest, his fingers twitching when they uncurl from a fist. calloused fingertips glide along the top of your breast, before he grips a rough palm full, groping you through your skin-tight dress. a soft moan of surprise escapes you at such abrupt and uncouth treatment, your back arching into it. “Uhh…” the sharp, obsidian gems dart back up to your face, scaling along the shape of your mouth as you mutter, cheeks hot with a blush, “You don’t talk much, huh? Just… take what you want?”

he still doesn’t answer, and you don’t know which is worse.

being felt up right next to a dumpster by a stranger, or the fact that stranger won’t say one word to you.

“Why don’t you kiss me a little, yeah? Let me taste it~” crooning, you lean forward against his arm, tilting your head up. your lips are parted, waiting to be met with a fierce kiss. feeling his heat as he leans down, closer and closer, you close your eyes under the rush of anticipation. a low growl bubbles from his throat, practically vibrating against your lips as he hovers there, before his free hand shoves its way between your thighs, under your dress. in a swift motion, the Tag’s fingers slip up under your panties and jab into your slick, which frenzies and clenches around the girth of both digits working their way into you at once. “Fuck!” you hiss through clenched teeth, grasping at both of his taut shoulders. your nails dig through the thin fabric of his shirt and bite at his skin, and damn, you hope it hurts. “Easy!”

he was anything but.

a steady rhythm pumps his fingers in and out of you, as if mechanical, stretching you at a pace that your body hadn’t been ready for.

you keep one eye shut tight, but peer up at him with the other, your brows furrowed, and your mouth hanging open so the moans can fall freely from it. his eyes meet your gaze, his mouth twisted in an almost unnatural grin.

but still, it felt good.

you can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth as his greedy fingers desecrate your sex, scraping against your sensitive walls and bullying the elastic nerve clusters that he could reach. you were already so wet that you were soaking his palm, but the rougher he was with you, the wetter you got. “M-more,” you mew now, hooking one leg on his waist. the other balances you precariously on your tip toes, but with your shoulders pressed back into the brick wall behind you, you knew that you were mostly stable. “Gonna cum, gonna-“

you had been so close. your stomach was bunched up, every muscle in your body pulled taut, and you were starting to shake with need. the sensation of his animalistic groping and kneading of your breast and the way he mercilessly finger fucked you had pushed you right to the edge in a matter of minutes, and now you were just about to swan dive into abysmal euphoria when the Tag rips his fingers free from your body.

your disappointment only lasts for a moment— long enough to swear under your breath, hole clenching around air, before you felt both, massive and powerful hands on you now. grabbing your shoulders, he spins you around, pushing you against the wall, facing it. “Hurry,” you pant, needily dancing around on your toes, already spreading your legs wide when he wrenches your panties down to your ankles. you didn’t care, you’d leave them ruined in the street, if only he’d fuck you already. “Put it in, Tag!” you turned to look at him over your shoulder when you demanded attention, pushing your ass back against the groin of his jeans so you can smear your drooling cunt over the fabric and mark him as yours. he pauses, hands out, and watches the display. now, his chest does rise and fall with heavy breath, and you know why. you can feel the hard lump stabbing at your slick through his pants, and you know his cock is throbbing and wanton for you. your eyes widen when he plants a harsh slap on one of your ass cheeks, before gripping a handful of it, pushing you back flush with the wall. the way he manhandled you only made you want him more. “Please…” it was a faint whine, but you stayed in place, smushed against the wall with your hands splayed out, biting down on your lip, watching him.

his eyes had fallen from your ass, and now focused on his belt, his free hand unbuckling it with surprising skill. next, he shoved his trousers and the waistband of his underwear down just enough for his hard and ready cock to spring free, the tip spanking your ass when he does. as much as you would’ve liked to admire what he was working with, you don’t get the chance before he grabs hold of it and shoves it into you so abruptly that you cry out. at the same time, he grunts in approval at your tightness, grasping your hips with both hands now, pulling you back to meet his already greedy thrusting.

you could feel every detail of his cock as it plowed into you. thick and strong, with pulsating veins and a spongy, swollen head that battered your sweet spots until you were babbling, squirming against the wall. you could also hear him now, much more vocal, as he snorted and huffed and grunted. he must’ve enjoyed the way you felt from the inside, because he was grinding his teeth, hunching his shoulders as he hunkered down on you to pour you deeper and harder. hooking both arms around your midriff, the monster sweeps you off your feet, allowing you to bounce up and down on him, your legs dangling haplessly. he snarls in pure ecstasy, and you scramble to hold on to something, settling on reaching back to grab at his elbows.

“O-oh, fuck!” each launch sends you against the wall, but you’re pulled right back so the Tag can slam himself home, relentlessly burying his whole cock into you, and you couldn’t keep up. you couldn’t form any words that weren’t expletive cries, or breathe unless it was ragged panting. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” two words that you repeated over and over, louder and louder, feeling yourself start to drop off. you were going to come undone, but you needed for him to keep doing exactly what he was doing— fucking you wildly.

with weak eyes, glassy and on the verge of crossing, you gaze back at him, still begging him to keep going, and his own line of sight is trained on your mouth. that’s when you realized it. he had been reading your lips this whole time.

no wonder he wasn’t very talkative.

“C-cumming—“ you groan, scraping your nails against his muscles. you wanted to leave marks on him, break the skin so he remembered you, because you certainly were not going to forget him, “I’m cumming!”

when he registers your words, his bear hug around your waist tightens, and his body weight comes crashing against yours, smothering you against the wall and pummeling your guts with every ounce of strength he had until you were trembling, screaming out, and disoriented. he was in your ear the whole time, snorting heavy breaths through his nose, grunting and snarling. every time your cunt clenched around his girth, you felt it throb, he hugged you even tighter against his body, until he could take no more and released you all at once.

stepping back with a strangled moan, his cock slips from your vice just in time to shoot white streamers between your trembling legs that splatter against the dark concrete. you gasp, dropping your forehead to the brick and watch his release sink into the crevices on the ground. you feel so hollowed out, as if this man had just fucked a hole through you, and part of you wished he’d filled that hole with his cum; staring at it raining down on the street by your feet seemed wasteful. still, you knew you’d be feeling him for days, and you slowly and shakily push yourself off from the wall. turning to face him, you notice he’s tucking himself away, now, his cheeks are red and burning with a blush, even at his age he seems sheepish. you swoon; it was cute. traipsing closer, you throw your arms around his neck before he can push you away again, and pull him in for a lusty kiss, breathing hot air into his open mouth, before you suckle on his lower lip, sinking your teeth in it to tug, playfully until he grunts again, grabbing your face to pry him off of you. strings of your saliva tethers you to him, but only for a moment, and you sigh, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. he watches you, perplexed for a moment, before the pad of his thumb runs over the shape of your lips, and you can smell yourself on his skin. “You’re a pretty good lay, Tag.”

#nicolas brown #nicolas brown x reader #nicolas brown x you #nicolas brown smut #gangsta #gangsta x reader #gangsta x you #gangsta smut #gangsta anime

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [Epilogue]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 12.9k

Summary: Slay the dragon? Nah, man. Lay the dragon. Or, Dragon Courting traditions are actually very sweet, and they are going to kill you.

A/N: This is the epilogue for Donkeys & Dragons, but it can also more or less be read on its own as well! If you'd like to read only the 7k+ words of fluffier bits and not the spicier, please stop at the section that begins with '“Tell me more about your human courting traditions."'

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

If Tsunotarou—Malleus, you reminded yourself with a fizzy feeling like soda pop bubbling in your tummy—if Malleus had been sticky before the whole ‘held hostage by dragon slayers’ incident, then now he was the clingiest monstrosity to have ever existed in all four realms.  

“What can you do?” Lilia had hummed indulgently upon seeing you struggle under the weight of an entire ass dragon head. (You had lied down, and then Malleus had lied down. And now his giant, frilled, maw was no better than a paperweight. With you of course being relegated to the role of some very flattened paper). “It’s the honeymoon phase.”

“There is no honeymoon to phase,” you spluttered out, as if that made even a lick of sense.

The demon? Fae? Monster? Horror beyond your comprehension? dainty gentleman just shrugged. He wasn’t always around—only occasionally slipping out of shadows like some creeping wraith. But when he was, he seemed incredibly fond of just propping his pointy chin against his palm and watching the pair of you. Like it was his favorite play, or some gaudy theater production he just couldn’t get enough of.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he cooed, crimson eyes soft and smitten. “What a time to be alive, hmm?”

The Gargoyles, as silent or huffy respectively as they often were, seemed to rumble their agreement.

“I won’t be alive for much longer if he keeps squashing me,” you threatened.

“Nonsense,” Lilia chirped from somewhere overhead. He dipped close enough for a moment that you were able to catch a brief flash of pink out of the corner of your eye, but little else. As much as the little monster enjoyed basking in his ward’s romantic endeavors, he seemed particularly cautious about maintaining his physical distance—especially when it came to the towering nest that had long since swallowed up most of the grand ballroom. “I’m sure all his coddling is doing wonders for your constitution.”

Despite his guardian’s cheery reassurances, Malleus rumbled low in his throat at your complaints, and you felt the vibrations of it all the way from your head to your toes. He lifted his huge head, instead plucking you from the hoard of bedding by the scruff of your collar and depositing you into the warm hollow beneath his wing. He curled his head around to tuck up against you—burrowing his scaly cheek against your outstretched legs like a cat making itself comfortable in the sunny spot on a windowsill. A compromise to your aching bones, at least. Even if it was really no less claustrophobic than being used as a chin pillow.

You sighed, hoping it sounded far more put upon than you were sure it actually did, and reached out to trace the grooves in his horns.

“You’re lucky you’re comfortable,” you grouched with no real heat, and he warbled contentedly as he settled in to continue his afternoon nap.

.

.

When your next mealtime rolled around (breakfast, lunch, dinner? Who had a concept of time anymore? Not you, that’s for sure), you plopped yourself at the little, makeshift, table you’d managed to construct out of some debris, and waited patiently for whatever culinary monstrosity was about to grace  your palette this fine day.

Malleus claiming that he’d been going to see Lilia to ask after your ‘delicate, human, diet’ because the little demon ‘knew what he was doing,’ had turned out to be the worst joke ever put into existence. Made worse yet by the fact that he didn’t even realize it until one of his Pseudo-Parent’s oozing, tar-like, dishes had brought literal tears to your eyes. From the smell the alone.

So now, the quieter and more sensible of the Gargoyles—‘Silver,’ as the Angry One had called him—would duck out on occasion and return with something more or less edible. Fruits budded off near mystical plants that would glow ominously in the soft gloom of the castle’s interior. Strange roots and herbs that sometimes danced on your plate, like them waving around their little, planty, arms would make you not want to immediately murder them in coldblooded terror. The freshly carved meat off of animals you’d never even heard of before.

It was all certainly An Experience, but none of it had poisoned you yet. So you’d make do with what you had. Plus, a little sprinkle of Prestidigitation did wonders for making it all a bit more edible.

Malleus stepped forward, a suspicious lack of trays, or bowls, or anything else in his hands. Your brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before you shrugged—unbothered—and moved to lean your weight back on your elbows. Because Mister Clingy, Clingy, Clingy very much enjoyed using your mealtimes as an excuse to drape himself across your legs like an overgrown cat, and it was easier to just invite him in at this point than it was to wait for him to find a way to curl himself into your personal space.

But then, rather than plopping himself across your lap, Malleus knelt down and very pointedly swept you up into his. You definitely did not squeak, or flail around, or lose face in any sort of way. Nope. Not you. And when he settled back against the stone floor with a low hum and began to contentedly rub lazy circles into your hips, you most definitely did not melt.

Sure, it was a bit of a deviation from his usual brand of smothering, but it was far from unpleasant. And really, it would have been perfectly sweet and all. Except for that teensy, tiny (but not really ‘tiny’ at all, and holy fuck you were not going to let your brain go there), totally not something to immediately freak out about, problem. Which was, of course—

“You’re not wearing pants,” you entreated. “Or anything.” But the pants. The pants were the big issue at the moment. Because yeah. His chest was all fine sculpted planes of ivory and natural, aesthetic, perfection that would make the most accomplished artists weep with envy. And as distracting as all that normally was, the area below said spread of chiseled, lithe, muscle was what was setting off sirens in your brain.

His chin dug into your shoulder and you felt his cheek rub along yours as he ducked in closer to make eye contact.

“I am aware,” he said, arching a brow. “We’ve discussed the matter extensively.” And then a pout. “You told me to do what I found to be most comfortable.”

“This is comfortable?” You managed to squeak, incredulous. Because you knew that there were parts of you touching parts of him that surely could not have been—have been—

He hummed and tugged you closer.

“Of course,” he rumbled on the tail end of a contented sigh. “You’re so wonderfully warm. And besides, how else should I feed you? I doubt you’d appreciate me kneeling after you like a child.”

What.

“Feed me?” you spluttered.

“Of course,” he continued, nonplussed—like the idea of pressing dainty, bitesize, treats to your lips while you were stretched out across his very naked thighs was not a setup straight out of some terrible, trashy, erotica. “And while I admit the concept on its own is a temptingly enjoyable one, I’m only trying to maintain decorum.”

“What decorum?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou went quiet then, almost like he was hesitant. Or… no—like he was preparing himself to launch into one of those grand, immortal, monologues of his. Usually they were about architecture, or the strange difficulties of tending to rose bushes. He took a soft, low, breath that whistled past your ear, and then his lips quirked back into a smile.

“Unique circumstances of our meeting and your species aside, I have decided that you deserve a proper courtship nonetheless,” he responded merrily, in the tone of someone who very much believed such a declaration deserved all the head pats. “I spoke with Lilia about the matter, of course, because while I am well aware of the concepts of such an endeavor, actually putting the ideas into practice is… unfamiliar to me,” he huffed, almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to ensure that despite our differences in culture and ancestry, that I could find a way to ensure you would enjoy our draconic customs as well.”

Which was—was—

It was certainly one thing to hear Tsunotarou make casual declarations of ‘bestowing titles’ and whatever other romantically archaic gibberish made it past his fangs, but to just sort of BAM. Lay it all out. Right there. With a ‘you deserve a proper courtship’ and everything. It had heat rising high along your cheeks and something light and bubbly dancing through your stomach.

“…That’s sweet of you,” you managed to get out, so thoroughly twitterpated that for half a second you even managed to forgot that you were having this whole conversation while you were sitting in his very, very, naked lap.  

“Sweet?” he repeated, so openly bewildered it made you laugh.

“Yes,” you hummed, regaining a teeny bit of your courage, and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder with an affectionate lil’ bonk. “Very sweet. The sweetest.”

“…I do not think I have ever been referred to as such,” he mumbled, sounding torn between being content at the compliment, and baffled over its existence in the first place. And yeah, objectively speaking, there were plenty of more fitting, much grander, descriptors you could attach to such an ancient, all-powerful, creature. Majestic, incredible, intelligent, awe-inspiring, handsome—

Tsunotarou made a strange sort of strangled sound from behind you, and you realized in horror that you’d been rambling all that out loud.

That brief spark of courage vanished even faster than it’d come, and you dropped your head forward to hide in your hands.

“I did not realize you regarded me so highly, Child of Man,” he crooned, puffing up in pride at your back.

You buried even further into your palms. Maybe if you pressed hard enough, you’d manage to lobotomize yourself. And then you’d never have to worry about being embarrassed ever again.

“How could I not?” you complained, sounding smooshed and pathetic behind your fingers.

“In my experience, most creatures tend to feel quite the opposite when I am involved,” Malleus mused, sounding far too soft. “But I suppose you have always proved to be the exception in many things.”

You could feel the familiar, firm, warmth of his fingers curling along your wrists as he gently tugged you out of your impromptu hidey hole.

“Humans are many things, and you certainly continue to surprise me. But I don’t think you’ve yet discovered how to eat without using your mouth.” He gave your palm a light squeeze before letting it drop back to your side. “So unfortunately, trying to hide your face away in shame isn’t productive at the moment,” Malleus grinned, sharp with humor. “But perhaps later, if you are still feeling too overwhelmed by your sentiments.”

“I’m not overwhelmed by my sentiment,” you grumped.  

He hummed, low in his chest and terribly fond. And clearly not buying your bullshit for a second.

“And there’s not even any food for my dumb, human, mouth to eat,” you continued petulantly.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.

That little, happy, grin of his grew a bit too wide, a bit too pointy at the edges. And then he was reaching up with one hand to cup your chin and hold your jaw in place. Softly, carefully, in a way that certainly wasn’t uncomfortable, but with a firmness to it that definitely made it feel like you weren’t going anywhere.

“Open,” he ordered—kind as always, but with a haughty sort of authority that had heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly you realized that hyperbole of your earlier ramblings aside, you may actually be having a fucking stroke.

The dragon pinched his fingers at the corner of your lips, the sharp tips of his blackened nails bumping up along your canines, and your mouth fell open like your jaw had unhinged itself from your face. His other hand reached around you deftly in a grand show of ridiculous sparks and mist. And then there was something small, and warm, and mouth-wateringly savory pulled from thin air and tucked up between his fingers. He leaned over your shoulder to take a pointed bite out of the creation, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly, before moving to hold the remaining piece up to your parted lips.

Your mouth was more or less hanging open like you were trying to make a career out of catching flies, so he didn’t have much trouble setting the delicate, little, morsel atop your tongue. The burst of flavor was instantaneous, intense, and part of you wished that your brain wasn’t so high on its ‘what is HAPPENING?! AHHHH!’ madness so that you could better appreciate the taste of the ethereal treat. But it was. And your head was broken. So here you were—sitting in a handsome dragon’s naked lap, with some kind of mystical food in your mouth, and your tongue practically lolling out of it like you had brain damage.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Malleus asked, brow furrowing at your continued paralysis. Like you refusing to do anymore than sit there like a human vegetable was another one of your attempts at petty resistance.

And okay. Really. You weren’t trying to be a little brat. Your brain had genuinely fled the building—packed its bags, flipped your empty skull the bird, and sailed off into the sunset to find someone who might actually try and make use of it. There wasn’t enough ‘rational thought’ left for you tomake the decision to be a sassy little shit.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed at your completely unintentional obstinance and the pointed ends of his claws flexed against your cheeks.

“Swallow.”

You gulped, out of habit if nothing else—the rest of you spiraling away in a long line of holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—

“There,” he purred, and you were having a heart attack. “Was that so difficult?”

He loosened his grip enough for you to softly shake your head back and forth, and his countenance brightened once again at your assent.

“Excellent!” he beamed, and conjured up another one of those tiny bits of ambrosia. “What is that expression humans are always using…” he mumbled to himself, brow furrowed as he pondered. “Oh—that’s right.” He cleared his throat and pressed the next morsel back up your mouth. “Say ‘Aaah.’”

The choked off, gurgling, noise that tore out of your throat must have been an acceptable substitute, because he nodded and pushed the treat past your lips.

“Good,” he hummed, low, and rubbed more of those little circles into your hip with the clawed fingers that weren’t busy feeding you all kinds of magical nonsense. “Lilia did mention you might be adverse to this for some reason,” he muttered to himself, dragging his cheek along yours like an overgrown cat, before turning that indulgent, deadly, smile back on you with all the cutting efficiency of an assassin’s blade. “But I knew you’d do well.”

You were going to die.  

“This food is made with my own magic,” he explained, proud, and definitely at least partially oblivious to the fact that you were one-hundred-percent having an aneurism. “And I would love to feed you nothing but these creations of mine, but unfortunately, Lilia was not entirely certain how much sustenance it would actually provide to a human body,” he sighed, practically pouty.

“Is that so…” you wheezed.

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and snapped another mouthful of arcane wonders into existence. “Would you like some more?”

You looked up towards the grey ceiling and the infinite, uncaring, void of space somewhere beyond. You prayed to every God, Demon, Deity, and half-baked Patron that you could think of for mercy.

.

.

“What did you tell him?!”

“Oh?” Lilia hummed, lazily glancing over his sharpened nails. You’d found him dangling upside down from a banister in one of the sparser hallways, like that was a perfectly pleasant place to relax for the afternoon. “Did you not enjoy it?”

You squawked like the world’s most indignant chicken, and Lilia had the absolute fucking gall to laugh at you.

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it not?” he chirped, looking beyond pleased with himself.

“NO!”

He trilled merrily nonetheless and floated down to stand before you.

“I’m sure this is all still a bit confusing to you, little one. But,” he smiled, positively doting, “a smidgen of embarrassment is certainly a fair price to pay for so many future years of happiness, don’t you agree?”

“That’s not—I’m not embarrassed,” you settled on, which was a lie.

Lilia grinned at you like you were something fascinating. Or like he was a cat, and you were a very funny little mouse who’d managed to trap itself under one of his paws. After a moment, he chuckled softly under his breath and reached down to fish about in the pockets of his robes.

“Perhaps this will help bolster you courage, hmm?” he hummed and slid a strange, glass, flask into your hands.

You glared at him cautiously for a moment before uncorking the potion and taking a swig. It settled along your tongue, heavy and fruity, with a soft, herby, aftertaste. Grandiose nature of its presentation aside, the concoction was actually pretty familiar.

“This is just wine!” you complained, and Lilia laughed harder.

.

.

When you ate your (assumed) dinner for the evening, Malleus took his usual spot draped across your lap and seemed happy to let you feed yourself. You stared down at the dragon cautiously, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

“Lilia said it would be best not to overwhelm you with too much too quickly,” he said after a few long moments of your apprehensive silence, burrowing his nose against your thigh.

“I see,” you droned, still more than a little irritated at the tiny man’s meddling, but thankful enough that he at least seemed to understand that your fair constitution was not built to survive an onslaught of draconic ‘courting.’

“Unless you would prefer that I—”

“No!”

That night you collapsed atop your blanket nest like a log—physically and emotionally wrecked from trying to survive your first ever encounter with Seduction. (And wasn’t that a trip? A fully fledged Bard, stumbling over their own tongue and shriveling up like a pious little maiden at the first inklings of Romantic Intent. What a failure you were. ‘Fuck around and find out?’ Ace used to mock. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out, am I right, Bardy?’ And you’d laugh. Like you were some suave, sexy, master of love. And not just some moron who could sometimes talk their way in circles well enough to get their friends out of a tavern brawl.)

You squeaked out a yawn—some lazy, tired, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you burrowed deeper into your plush fortress. You were going to go to sleep and stay asleep for hours. Days. Months. You were going to make that ‘Sleeping Beauty’ chick look like an insomniac.

The blankets cocooning you dipped with extra weight, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Malleus looming over you, his neon eyes illuminating the dark and casting odd shadows over his cheeks.

“Are you cold, Child of Man?”

Huh. Weird. But whatever.

You hummed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Sure, the castle was gloomy and dank even when the sun was at its highest, let alone in the black of night. But you had a literal furnace camped out next to you, and no natural chill was breaking past that space heater. You yawned again and rolled back onto your side with a comfy little stretch. You were just about to sink back into the soft, foggy, cloud of sleep when—

“Are you certain?”

You sighed and scrunched your nose irritably. “Yes, Tsunotarou.”

A pause.

“Are you… too warm, then?”

You groaned.

“I’m fine.” And then, pointed. “Just tired.”

“I see.”

You waited, frowning sleepily into your pillow pile. When after a solid two minutes the dragon had made no further comments, you let your eyes slip back closed.

“But are you positive?” he asked again, and you wanted to scream. “There’s nothing troubling you about our nest? Nothing at all?” You smashed your face into a duvet and felt a panicked set of claws flutter along your shoulders. “I would only hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to inform me if there is anything amiss. If there is anything that I might do, to correct any inadequacies—”

“Malleus,” you interrupted, and you felt him freeze. Perhaps using his True Name out loud for the first time in a fit of overtired petulance was low, but come on. What else were you supposed to do? “The nest is perfect. You’re perfect. Can we please just—go to sleep?”

“Oh,” he breathed, and you watched the soft, emerald, glow around him pop in and out of existence as he blinked his wide eyes at you. The sharp, reptilian, lines of his pupils shrank to pinpricks—swallowed in a sea of green. “I see.”

You weren’t sure exactly what this great, eldritch, monster was ‘seeing,’ but he did shut his mouth with a content little rumble and haul you up against his chest to finally settle in for the night, so you couldn’t really find it in you to care about the particulars.

.

.

The next morning, when Malleus tried to feed you breakfast, you had prepared yourself enough to not keel over on the spot. You very respectably accepted his tasty treats and only thought you were about to pass out, like, three times. So overall, an improvement.

That is, until you dutifully swallowed the last of the tiny morsels he’d pressed to your lips, and he smiled at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky.

“You really are such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he sighed, and you had to bury yourself in your blanket nest like an ostrich with its head in the sand for a solid half hour before you were ready to be a functional person again.

But other than that brush with near death, you were doing great! Great enough that you were even willing to indulge the angrier Gargoyle as it huffed and puffed about whatever had managed to ruffle its feathers that day.

“I still cannot believe you thought to steal from my master! TO STEAL!” he repeated. “FROM HIM!”

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly know anyone was living here. It’s not like we intentionally tried to tangle with a dragon.”

“Well, you would have lost,” Sebek sniffed, indignant.

“We did lose,” you huffed, amused, and Lilia’s snicker echoed from some shadowed corner of the hall. “But I promise, if we’d known that we would be trespassing into someone’s actual home instead of just breaking and entering an abandoned castle, I never would have come.”

Malleus warbled out an unsettled sort of sound from his place resting at your back, his snout bumping up against your shoulder in an inquisitive little thump.

You reached out to give his giant, scaled, nose a pat.

“But I’m glad I did,” you promised. “My friends’ idiocy worked in all our favors, I guess.”

“You ought to thank them when they return next month, your grace,” Lilia called to his ward, still too entrenched within the darkness to be visible as anything other than a glinting, halfmoon, smile. “For ensuring your lovely human’s arrival.”

Malleus hummed and shifted his wings to settle back more fully once again—whatever unpleasant sort of discontentment brewing about him having clearly been assuaged.

“THOSE WHO WOULD ATTEMPT TO BURGLE MY MASTER DO NOT DESERVE GRATITUDE!” Sebek yowled, arching up like a pissy street cat.

“To be fair,” you said, “there ended up not being much actual theft involved.”

Sebek gasped and ducked in to complain straight to your face, like that extra foot and a half of distance would somehow make all the difference in his lecturing. But then, as he swung in closer, his stone talons brushed up against the edge of your mattress-nest. It was just a little thing, barely even enough to put a nick in the rippled corners of the more delicate fabrics. But with that movement, the atmosphere of the chamber melted from its usual pleasant haze into something cold, and dark, and heavy that pressed down on your shoulders like a tangible thing. Within the next moment, Sebek was falling back in a panic to avoid the set of massive, black, jaws closing around him.

Malleus reared forward with an absolutely blood curdling snarl—curling down from his perch at your hind to spit and lunge at his servant with all the terrible ferocity of the ancient beast that so many accused him of being.

Sebek reeled away in an absolutely manic frenzy, twisting from death’s maw with a slew of panicked squawking-slash-sobbing that sounded an awful lot like he was begging for forgiveness amidst his harried attempts at escape.

And as much as you certainly hadn’t wanted to be lectured for the umpteenth time about some trivial garbage, the blind rage twisting your dragon’s face was… definitely unfamiliar.  

You reached out nervously to rest a hand against his flank, and instantly Malleus was back at your side—curling the entirety of his bulk around you and only unfurling the long, slim, stretch of his neck to hiss a low, threatening, sound in the direction Sebek had fled.

“Tsunotarou…?” you called hesitantly, letting your fingers twist against the slippery smooth surface of his scales.

He lowered his head, and you could see each and every one of those sharp teeth of his glinting in the lowlight. He kept his neon-green glare locked at the corner of the hall with that same, startling, intensity, but the simmering rage that had been sparking along his canines dropped into a softer, more reassuring, rumble.

“MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES, MY LORD!” Sebek wailed, popping up stupidly from behind the pillar he was using as a shield. “I NEVER MEANT TO—”

Malleus snapped at him again—his teeth closing around empty air with an echoing clack. The Gargoyle ducked back down with an ‘EEP!’ and the dragon curled his lips in distaste. The heavy scent of smoke and sulfurpooled from his maw, and emerald sparks danced dangerously up from his throat.

Lilia materialized then from the shadows, slipping forward from the darkness with a deep bow that nearly had his nose pressed to his knees. He hovered over the pair of them—the cowering, stone, monster and the fire spitting dragon that was seemingly determined to rend his faithful servant into pebbles.

“My Prince,” Lilia coaxed, composed and crisp in the face of his hissing ward. He started to straighten himself again cautiously, only to freeze half-way when Malleus started up his grumbling again. “Malleus,” he tried instead, voice stern and gentling. “It’s alright. I’m sure it was only an accident.” Crimson eyes flicked pointedly to the rafters. “Wasn’t it, Sebek?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Sebek absolutely sobbed. “I WOULD NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER SO!”

“What the fuck is even happening?!” you gaped, beyond confused.

“Little one,” Lilia began, only to pause when Malleus curled his lip threateningly at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, please inform your dearest companion that you’re perfectly well and unharmed.”

“What?” you frowned. “Of course I’m unharmed!”

“Once more,” Lilia chirped, without any warmth to it. “If you’d please.”

Your brow tugged together tight in bewilderment, but you turned back to face the heaving hide of the dragon that was currently wound around you tighter than a bow string.

“Malleus,” you tried, perhaps far too quietly all things considered. But that terrible, earthquake of a snarl of his broke off all at once—like you’d dropped a cone of Silence over the whole of him. His great, green, glare cut down to you and instantly he was lowering his sneering maw to blow misty smoke rings over your head. “Malleus,” you said again, running a hand along his scales. “It’s alright. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”

Tsunotarou blinked at you, tight and fast. And then after a very, very, long moment of that sneer twitching on and off his face like a flickering light, his pricked pupils relaxed back into something curved and long—still thin, but no longer constricted to the point of near absence. He lowered his head to crash into the heap of comforters, and pillows, and soft, cozy, things. The sigh that blew past his fangs was all kinds of exhausted—sounding like it’d clawed its way out from the very marrow of his bones. The little lick of green flames that accompanied it was a teeny, bright, thing—lacking that sharp bite of heat and sulfur.

Lilia sighed too, like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Silver relaxed from the perch where he’d tucked himself away at the start of it all (high enough to be out of range, but close enough to dive in if needed), and Sebek nearly doubled over in hysterical tears.

The strange, little, demon turned then on the spiked Gargoyle with an unhappy click of his tongue.

“Sebek,” he huffed. “You should know better.”

“I know,” the Gargoyle hiccupped, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Would someone please tell me what that was,” you begged, running nervous hands along Tsunotarou’s purple crests like they were a giant, wavy, set of stress balls.

“Drakes are naturally protective creatures. There’s certainly a reason that so many tales of our Lord’s ancestors stalwartly guarding their hoards have passed into legend,” Lilia explained, some of that black severity finally seeming to fade from his soured expression. “And, of course, when one is partaking in an event as monumental as the courtship of a perspective mate, they can understandably be… particularly tetchy about their territory being disturbed.”

“But it’s not like you’re intruders or anything! He’s known you all for ages,” you frowned. “And this is just—you’ve all been in here plenty of times before. It’s just a pile of pillows.”

“Not to him it’s not,” Lilia mused, soft.

You worried at your lower lip, and your gaze slipped back to the dragon pressed up against your side. He was busy fanning his tail out, carefully smoothing the fabrics that had been disturbed in his upset—fluffing up the blankets that had fallen out of place and rucking all those comforters up around the both of you.

‘A perfect nest,’ you had called it. For a perfect dragon.  

Oh.

You cleared your sticky throat and patted reassuringly at the softer, more delicate skin at the base of Malleus’s horns. He paused his fretting to glance back down at you.

“Why don’t we hit the hay early today, yeah?” you offered, and he let out a relieved sort of huff as he settled more heavily at your side. His eyes slipped closed like they were physically weighted down, and his tail whipped up and around to encircle the two of you in a set of soft loops. Lilia sent you a look that was half-appreciative, half-outright fond.

“We’ll leave you both be for the next few days,” he said, before gesturing for the pair of Gargoyles to follow him out the door.

You nodded, and then called out just as the more haggard of the duo was about to slip past the threshold.

“He probably didn’t mean to get so mad,” you offered as kindly as you could, and you weren’t sure if a Gargoyle could actually get misty-eyed (what with the whole ‘entirely constructed of stone’ thing being a bit of hindrance), but Sebek was certainly putting the effort in to try.

.

.

Not that this whole thing had been entirely one-sided, but as you laid there in your nest with your dragon—carefully carding your fingers through his black hair and along the divots in his horns—you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been putting a whole lot more effort into this ‘fairytale romance’ of yours than you had.

Okay, granted, you were apparently the one being courted in this whole situation. Which theoretically meant that you were also the one who was supposed to be getting spoiled with attention, and food, and… whatever that whole territory debacle had been. But still… It felt a bit selfish not to be doing something for Malleus in return. Particularly seeing how much of himself he was putting into all of this. And again, sure, you were technically originally a hostage or whatever. Sure, not a few weeks ago you would have laughed off this entire thing like it was a bad joke. But now you were… sort of in it for the long haul, weren’t you?

Because Malleus was kind and startling intelligent, even if that big ol’ brain of his sometimes stumbled over the silliest things. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and an inquisitiveness that was entirely endearing. And on top of it all, he was ungodly attractive and a motherfucking dragon. What sort of fool would turn that down? Idiot you may be, but man, even you weren’t that stupid. Deuce, maybe. But not you.

So you sighed, feeling very much like a haggard old maid doing their best to walk some moron through their own burgeoning romance—except in this case you were both the old crone and the idiot, and—Ugh. This metaphor was too much for your brain. You carefully slipped out from beneath Malleus’s arm, and man, if it didn’t say all the more about just how much he’d exhausted himself the other day that he didn’t immediately spring awake to demand to know where you were sneaking off to. You patted his silky hair and tucked him in a bit tighter before carefully making your way over to the corner of the nest where you’d stashed your travel pack.

You knew better than to try and start your own fire at this point, and while heating a kettle with the lingering, wispy, sparks of Prestidigitation was a bitch and half, you did it. Because you were—ugh—in love. Or at least getting there. And people who were (maybe) in love did all sorts of ridiculous, taxing, nonsense for the sake of making their Person (dragon) happy. You brewed a pot of warm tea, tossing in all the fancy, dried, leaves that you kept bundled in the little side pockets of your bag. Chamomile as a base, to settle his nerves. A pinch of lavender to aid that calm. A sprig of lemon balm for tartness and… also calm. Everything you had for relaxation. Just. Dumping it in the pot. You were halfway through debating if adding a bit of Passionflower would just make your already questionable concoction taste absolutely vile when a sleepy grumble dragged you out of your musings.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Tsunotarou complained, head only just poking out from the mound of blankets you’d buried him in. And, wow, he must have been… He hadn’t even scuttled his way down to latch onto you like the leech he normally was.

You gingerly climbed your way back up the pile, balancing the mug of tea in your hands so, so, carefully—making sure not to spill a single drop.

Malleus had sat up fully by the time you arrived, and he was busying himself with rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still looked a bit woozy—a bit out-of-body. You leaned forward and pressed the warm cup into his clawed hands, only pulling back once you were certain he had a good grip on it.

“I made tea,” you said lamely. “To, uh, help with… To help. Tea helps,” you finished, more lamely.

And then, because you never knew how to stop when you were ahead (and to be fair, you were never really ‘ahead.’ And your dumbass bumbling certainly didn’t land you anywhere near that), you leaned forward, valiantly fighting the butterflies having an all out rave in your fucking intestines, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Erhm,” you mumbled as he stared up at you with wide, wide eyes. “Feel better.”

Malleus gaped at you, and then slowly—like his limbs were moving through a vat of honey—he reached up to rub at the skin you’d just pecked.

“What was that?” he asked, bewildered but not… unhappy. No. Definitely not unhappy. 

“A kiss?” you squeaked, warring with all Seven Levels of Hell that were fighting for real estate in your cheeks. “It’s… uh. It’s something humans do to… show our affection?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but the statement twisted up high-pitched and thready at the end either way.

“I see,” he murmured, gaze still a bit distant. Though perhaps not for the same reason anymore. He blinked a few times, as if to clear away that cloudy haze, and then smiled one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “May I have another?”

You spluttered, and fought the urge to bap him over the top of the head like an unruly bar patron.

“After you finish your tea,” you managed to squawk. “Maybe.”

And so he went about sipping at the concoction you’d brewed for him with all the steadfast determination of a good student. By the time he reached the bottom of the cup, his eyes were drooping all over again and he was stretching out to lounge back against the pillows with a sleepy little sigh. He slipped back off to sleep quickly enough, but you leaned forward anyways to give him a peck on the cheek—as promised.

.

.

“Tell me more about your human courting traditions,” Malleus demanded the next morning, clearly feeling well enough again to be back to his usual, sticky, habits. He had situated himself with his head in your lap—bumping his forehead up pointedly against your navel until you sunk your hands into his hair.

“I thought Lilia told you plenty,” you grumbled. “You just want me to kiss you again.”

His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”

You sighed and fought the urge to titter into your palms in embarrassment. You were a bard, goddamn it! And you would not shame your profession further!

“Well, from what I understand, one doesn’t exactly see their intended in your sort of state until much later in the proceedings,” you sniffed petulantly.

“My sort of state?” he repeated, canting his head.

“Naked.”

He laughed, sharp and loud.

“Of course,” he trilled, twisting to bury his nose into the seam of your thigh and sending shivers all along your spine. “I always forget about your antiquated sense of modesty.”

“My antiquated—?!You’re thousands of years old!”

“And yet, you are always the one so caught up in the notion of my propriety,” he sighed, that clever smirk still tugging at his lips. “Trying to defend my honor, perhaps?”

“My honor,” you hissed, giving into the urge to burry your head in your hands. “What do you do then, huh? What do dragons do if they don’t kiss each other?”

“Bite,” he shrugged, and the spark of something that shot through your gut like the first sparks off a campfire was entirely fucking unfair.

You swallowed.

“Like—erhm. When you’re like this?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly to his human-fied form.

“I suppose some must,” he hummed, eyes going lidded and dark as he pondered your inquiry. “But most prefer their scales, I’m told. Mating bites are a fairly universal practice—both in their practically of providing a physical telltale for differentiating those who have been claimed from those who have not, and also as a… more romantic overture.”

“How is biting romantic?” you huffed, only to immediately regret the question when the dragon’s eyes lit like firebugs.  

Tsunotarou sat back on his haunches, dislodging your hand from his hair in the process.

“It’s all very poetic,” he enthused, face awash with genuine fascination. The same sort of way he got when he was talking about his precious gargoyles or the wonderful uniqueness in flavor of the different variations of frost giants. “It leaves the impression of a mortal wound that was, of course, in reality anything but. The careful curation of allowing one’s life to fall so easily into the hands of another. It really is all very lovely.”

“But dragon teeth are…” you trailed off, debating if you were just regurgitating the obvious. “It must leave some pretty nasty scars, at least.”

“Of course it does,” Malleus hummed. “That’s certainly the point of it. And usually, the goal is to bite deep enough that the scales can never regrow.”

“But, that’s—!” Again you tapered yourself into silence. He wasn’t saying that like it was bad thing. In fact, he sounded a bit dreamy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked instead, quiet. “To lose some of your armor like that?”

“Oh, certainly,” he crooned, reaching out with one, clawed, finger to trail the tip of a blackened nail along the hollow of your throat. “The most common sites are here.” You gulped, and he dragged that talon of his down to rest at the center of your chest. He tapped at the skin there slowly, lightly, like the rhythm of a ticking clock. “And here.”

“I—uhm.” You swallowed. “That just seems more dangerous.”

“The hope behind it is to show your unwavering conviction—your faith,” he explained, his nail still tap-tap-tapping just above your heart. “That the one you’ve chosen to entrust yourself to will be the one willing to protect those delicate places instead.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, eyes wide. Because… alright. That was a bit—It was at least a little…

The hand lingering over your ribs reached out to tangle with your own, and he brought your palm up to rest against the soft, alabaster, curve of his neck. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingers.

“I know your teeth aren’t quite strong enough to scar a dragon’s hide, but I’d be happy to gift you my scales, if you asked them of me,” he sighed, content. And woah. Holy fuck. Holy fuck— “Perhaps you could fashion your own armor from them,” he mused, looking far too invested with that burgeoning idea for it to be something he’d just magically thought up on the spot.

“I’d rather not do anything to hurt you at all,” you rambled, because your brain had evaporated.

“Oh?” he droned. “Even if I asked you to?”

And fwoosh went the ashy remnants of your intellect, completely blown out of your head.

Malleus leaned forward into your little bubble of space—the one that had more or less popped out of existence the moment he’d decided that he would very much like to keep you at his side. But somehow, despite all the times he’d crowded in on you before, this time felt… more significant. He kept your palm pressed into the hollow of his throat and ducked down to press his nose into the sensitive nook of your own. You could feel the whistle of his breath against the thin skin there—warm, and slow, and with just the slightest bit of humidity that pulled goosebumps up all along your shoulders.

“Of course I would never mark you while in my scales,” he assured, like that was even an option to begin with. “Your flesh is far too delicate. And while I know I could heal the damage, it’s not something I’m keen to inflict in the first place.”

You shivered and tilted your chin—away (exposed), not down. Not into the protective little bow you ought to have.

“H-Hypocrite,” you spluttered, and Malleus chuckled, delighted.

“I suppose so,” he hummed. “But it does make me wonder, what could we do, hmm? In these forms?”

You could bite me like this, you almost said. Like an absolute, suicidal, maniac.

“Oh?” he trilled, enthusiastic. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Holy fuck you needed to get your rambling under control before it killed you.

“I do hope you keep at it,” he mused, tilting forward so that you could feel the brush of his bangs tickling along the back of your neck. “You say the loveliest things when you’re not burdened with those poor attempts at filtering yourself.” His lips curled up into a smile and you could feel it pressing into your throat like a brand. “Incredible, you called me. Do you remember? Majestic. Handsome—”

“Yes, yes,” you spluttered, head still tilted way too far back for someone putting up any kind of token protest. “Mock the afflicted.”

“Afflicted?” He grinned. The points of his canines dipped past his lips to skim along your skin and leave the teeniest, little, divots in their wake. Never pushing forward, never breaking that soft barrier at your throat. But there. “With what, dearest?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you begged. Because you were already likely to keel over twitching from a stroke at any moment now, let alone if you tried to say—if you actually admitted out loud that you—you were—

“Should I, then?” he asked, a streak of something stalwart and genuine mixed in with the teasing.

And then, like a horribly unwanted Divine Intervention, Ace’s voice flicked through your thoughts with all of the stereotypical ridiculousness of a beam of sunshine parting a cloud covered sky.  

‘Fuck around and find out?’ he’d laughed. And then you’d laughed. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out.’

And goddamn it all, you would never, ever give that smarmy, ginger, bastard credit for anything—let alone bestowing you with sage life advice. But, well—

“Fuck it,” you gasped and you threw yourself forward to tangle your arms around Malleus’s neck and pull him into a kiss.

It was perhaps the most inelegant smashing of lips ever put to record, and you immediately nicked yourself on one of his fangs. But after a moment of working past that driving ‘get as close as you can, get so, so, so close—’ you managed to maneuver things into something that was more a wave of particularly enthusiastic kisses than just outright gnawing at each other. Malleus didn’t seem particularly put off at your messy attempt to jump his bones, and leaned into whatever you were throwing at him with ardor.

You parted your lips and Malleus’s own opened immediately beneath yours. His tongue flicked out and you felt it run along the fresh cut there—tracing the little, red, graze and soothing the sting. It was a little longer than you were expecting, a tad thinner. Not quite reptilian, but different enough that you recognized it as something alien. But if there was any apprehension to begin with (hint: probably not. You were too far gone on this idiot), it was wiped clear when he tilted his chin forward to harshen the angle and attempted to plunder your mouth in earnest.

There was still all a bit more teeth and biting than the glorious romances heralded in all those garbage tavern songs, but for someone who’d only just yesterday been asking you ‘what’s a kiss?’ this felt like great progress. And honestly, there was something better about this too. Maybe because the feel of his sharp canines dancing so perilously close to your sensitive skin was a bit thrilling. Maybe the mess, and the heat, and that ‘closer, closer, closer’ made it feel more real. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that this was your Tsunotarou.  

Eventually the kisses tapered off to dot along your cheek—with another long, slow, lick along the barely-bloodied nick in your lip for good measure—and then down the curve of your jaw. Malleus pressed forward, and you could feel the sharp intent there as he meticulously began to cover every available inch of your throat in little, stinging, love bites. His clawed hands began to work their way under the hem of your shirt, rucking it up along your abdomen until the fabric caught just beneath your ribs. He dug his thumbs into the newly exposed skin, and you fought through a wave of shivers to reach down to help him pull it the rest of the way off you.

The brief barrier of your shifting clothes cut you off from the world like a blindfold, and when you were back again, facing the softly lit gloom of the familiar cavern, you realized that you were staring down a fully naked dragon. Who, yes, was technically always running around in his birthday suit. But now—I mean—if you were doing this sort of thing with him, and he was really courting you and all… You could look now, couldn’t you?

So many painful hours you had spent counting pebble piles, and reciting mostly made-up religious verses, and smacking your cheeks like a school matron threatening rowdy teens. So ceaselessly hard had your poor eyes worked to never just look down.

And finally, you let yourself take in the entirety of him.

Woah.

And thank fuck he didn’t lurch forward with that wide, self-satisfied grin of his, because at least that meant you’d managed to keep your internal ‘!!!’ to yourself for once.

Malleus had always been unfairly pretty. Because naturally, if you were one of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this planet, you also had to be one of the most beautiful. It was the logic of fairytales and mythos only, and now all that ethereal allure was staring you down almost like a challenge. Like, ‘see? You thought people this stupidly hot could only exist in your dreams? Hardy, har, har. Have fun with your hypertension and newfound inability to feel anything below your navel.’

And now he was just there. All sculpted planes of white marble that cut sharp angles at the jut of his hips, and then the rest of him. Which was equally as well cast and pale, with just enough of a pink flush to look like something alive rather than some untouchable statue in a museum.

You averted your gaze with a self-conscious little ‘eep!’ Because surely being leered at like a slab of meat had to be all sorts of unpleasant. I mean, if Tsunotarou had been looking at you like that, you’d—Well. Actually. Maybe it wouldn’tbe that bad. But either way, you were practically drooling over the guy, and that self-indulgent ogling had to be at least a teensy bit embarrassing.

Instead, when you finally managed to lock gazes again, the dragon was practically preening.

“Do you find me pleasing, Child of Man?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and dark.

You looked back up at the ceiling and cursed all those stupid deities that had never deigned to grant you even a single sliver of that mercy you’d ask for.

“You know I do,” you finally said, fighting a losing battle against the rampant heat overtaking your entire face.

Malleus leaned back in to press a drawn-out peck to that same little cut, letting that thin tongue of his peek out to clean around your swollen lip one more time. You could see his pupils jumping within his irises—shrinking to tight, tiny, pinpricks before rounding out into something nearly human. The gaping black there practically swallowed the neon, green, sea of his eyes whole.

“You can take from me whatever you’d like,” he hummed, reaching out to drag the hand that had caught at his ribs down to rest along the sharp dip of his hipbones.

“You are literally going to kill me,” you hiccupped, cheeks burning like you’d just taken a merry jaunt through all Seven Halls.

His brow furrowed loosely in the familiar start of that ‘I am an Immortal Drake King and Have No Real Concept of Over Exaggeration as Comedy’ bewilderment of his, and you leaned forward to press a kiss against that little crease.

“In a euphemism sort of way,” you clarified with a flustered grumble. “I promise.”

“Of course,” he nodded, in a fashion that made it very obvious that he didn’t really get it, but also easily acknowledged that now was neither the time nor place for a lesson on human vernacular.

Instead of focusing on your so-claimed impending demise, Malleus leaned forward and picked up exactly where he had left off—even taking the time to pause over the last of his little love bites to soothe at it with his tongue and get it darkening up all over again. As he trailed those sharp, sticky, kisses down your front, you felt your own fingers begin to slip further south—naturally skating down deeper along the slope where he’d placed them.

Your knuckles brushed against sleek, near silky, skin and the shudder that worked its way up the dragon’s back had the teeth he’d buried at your collarbone near vibrating into your skin. Which was… probably good, right? Actually, you know what? If anything, it was a hell of a lot better than good. So you reached forward with a bit more confidence to twine your fingers around him in earnest, and the groan that rumbled out from Malleus’s chest was deep enough to rattle your bones.

The first few strokes were a bit clumsy as you tried to feel out what he enjoyed best. There was something not quite human about it all—just like how even though he had two legs, two arms, and a perfectly lovely face, there had always still been something just a smidge off about this form of his. A little too ethereal to be real.

Though he certainly felt real now—with the way his hips were rising in short, sharp, jerks against your sliding palm, and in how his breath was beating a brisk tempo against your throat.  

“You know,” you admitted a bit shakily. “Do you realize how hard it was to just not stare at you every freaking hour of the day when you were waltzing all over the place with—with this,” you complained, giving the aforementioned ‘this’ a pointed squeeze. Malleus made a punched-out sort of noise that tapered into a growl, and he rutted back against your grip hard enough to nearly topple you over.

And then he kept pushing forward until you did fall backwards into the nest of blankets at your back. You landed with a breathy little ‘oof’ and he crowded over you immediately—bracketing you in between his knees. The clawed hand that had been playing along your waist shifted to better mimic the position of your own busy digits. He ran a blackened nail sluggishly along the inseam of your trousers before flicking it back up to undo the button there with a pop.

“You were always more than welcome to partake,” he beamed, sounding far too delighted for his own good. “I’d hoped my parading around was obvious.”

Well now it was!

“I was trying to be polite—” you cut off on a gasp as he pressed his own hand past the waistband of your pants andspread his fingers out like a fan, searching. “You—You were the one who said clothes weren’t—weren’t—” His skin was cold, smooth, and when he found what he was looking for, he pressed down so, so, carefully. You bit back an absolutely obscene gasp and managed to spit out, “—weren’t comfortable.”

“Of course they aren’t,” he sniffed, and took a long moment to lay another sucking mark at the bridge of your shoulder. “But I don’t make a habit of crawling into the lap of every adventurer who wanders through my home.” All at once his hand stilled against you and you fought the godawful impulse to whine. “Am I welcome as well?”

It took your scattered thoughts far too long to process that he’d been asking you a question.

“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.

“To partake?”

Fucking hell in a handbasket—

“Yes,” you wheezed, squirming up against the wide, flat, surface of his palm. “Of course you are. Just—"

Malleus surged forward to capture your lips once more and immediately licked his way into your mouth—intent and probing. His fingers matched the pace, and he swallowed each of your squeaks, and squawks, and unintelligible nonsense enthusiastically.

It should have come as absolutely no shock just how attentive he was to… everything. Malleus always seemed so eager to soak up new information like the gigantic, draconic, sponge he was. Always so excited to learn. And he approached this new venture with all that usual enthusiasm and more. Like the terrible, embarrassing, noises pouring out of your throat were a symphony that he could not only learn to conduct, but fine tune to his liking.

Oh, he was happy to venture forth and explore the entirety of this unfamiliar territory, but he was conscientious to circle back to the softest, most sensitive, bits of you again, and again, and again. The parts that made you buck back against him and burry your nose in the crook of your arm like ‘hiding’ from your buzzing nerves was an option at all at this point.

Your pants were worked down to your knees before you’d even realized they were gone, and you kicked awkwardly out a few times to try and untangle yourself from the remainder of them. And then it was just you—laid out atop all those blankets and as bare as he was.

His bitey little kisses kept with their descent, until he’d slid himself far enough down that you couldn’t keep your grip on him anymore. He slipped out of your hand and you made a little grumbly noise of protest that only cut off when he dropped a particularly harsh nip at the inseam of your thigh. He nosed along the delicate skin there, laving his tongue indulgently over the teeny wound he’d left, and you gulped when his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. His fingers were still tracing along the core of you, but slower now—steadied. Like his once rapt attention had clearly been snagged by other prospects.

Malleus’s neon leer ticked back up to lock with your own, and he rested his pointed chin atop your inner thigh with enough weighted intent to have you nearly leaping out of your skin.

“Is something the matter, dearest Child of Man?” he asked, brows jumping a bit in a way that gave away the fact that his polite, little, inquiry was far from the innocent fair he was putting on.   

“You know,” you laughed, breathless and dazed. “When I first came here, before I actually got to know you, I was always so worried that you were going to eat me alive.”

“Is that so,” Malleus mused, pointed nails tracing the shivers that were dancing up your legs. “And now?”

Another startled laugh, and you hid your flaming cheeks behind the cage of your fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you insist,” he hummed, perfectly unruffled, before ducking forward to bury his face in the heart of you.

Your head fell back with a frankly startling yelp, and your hands immediately moved to twist into his hair. The inky strands melted like the finest silk through your fingers, and you had to take a moment to physically ground yourself to keep from yanking on him—only for one of Malleus’s own hands to reach up and tangle your fingers up all the tighter. He ran his tongue along the entirety of you, and you dug your nails into the soft skin where his horns met his skull. He rumbled out a moan, and that naturally vibrated all the way up from where his mouth was currently very busy devouring every part of you that he could reach.

It was messy, and wet, and occasionally you could feel the razor-sharp tip of a fang dance too close to things that were already far too sensitive. But maiden clumsiness aside, there was certainly something to be said for his enthusiasm. Soon enough, that embarrassing keening of yours was even starting to make your own ears ring, and it only got worse when he shifted his grip on you to maneuver your calves over his shoulders and lock your ankles behind the curl of his horns.

His mouth left you with a soft pop, and he looked up at you with eyes that were shot through with so much black that you could hardly make out anything else. His too-long tongue poked out to trace along his wet lips and you absolutely did not let out the most embarrassing whimper known to man.

“Do you remember the story you told me, about the Cheshire Cat and the Man with the mad hats?”

You blinked, not even sure if you were coordinated enough to manage that right. Your melted mind tried its best to put meaning to words, and then words to context. Eventually you managed to muddle through something that felt half-familiar.

“I think so,” you said, still not entirely cognizant.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and nuzzled his nose back against you. “I remember lying in your lap that day. And that was the first time I could really smell you.”

Oh fucking hell—

“And you felt so wonderfully warm,” he sighed, like your absolute mortification was one of his most pleasant memories. “I would have loved to savor you then as well, but you hadn’t entirely seemed amenable.” He burrowed deeper and gave one, last, long, lick that had you nearly shivering out of your skin. “And either way, that tall tale of yours was too compelling to speak over.”

“It was a children’s story about an acid trip,” you complained. “You are more than welcome to interrupt any of my godawful retellings of penny novels to—”

You cut off with another wholly undignified noise when Malleus surged back up to kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue coiled around yours and you could, you could taste—

“But I do so love hearing your voice,” he sighed, pulling away again with a little rumbly purr that was far too besotted. “And, actually, I find it to be quite a shame. And perhaps one of my many failings,” he drawled, that teasing, spiked, smirk of his curling across his mouth and doing terrible things to the butterflies trapped in your stomach.

“What?” you managed to eek out as he pulled you back flush up against him.

“You’re a traveling minstrel, are you not?” he hummed, rubbing his cheek along yours as he had so many times before. “And yet, I’ve never quite managed to make you sing.”

You gasped into the next kiss and let him maneuver you so that you were pressed back-to-front, with his looming horns casting shadows over the both of you. And gods above, you knew you’d promised that the whole ‘killing you’ comment had just been a playful euphemism, but even you weren’t really sure about that anymore. Your heart certainly seemed determined to beat its way out of your chest, and you did probably need that to go on living. Not that you could find it in you to care even a lick. If you collapsed after all this and never woke up again, you would have at least died happier than most.

Malleus pushed forward, draping his bulk across your back, and you wound up on your knees—collapsed forward on your elbows and cushioned by the soft piles of blankets, and pillows, and every other comfy treasure that the pair of you had worked to find together.  

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, trailing wet, openmouthed, kisses across your shoulder blades.

“What did I say?” you mumbled, arching up under his mouth like a cat being stroked along its spine.

“That you would let me mark you like this,” he said, closing the last of the kisses off with a gentle nip.

Your head lolled to the side as if of its own accord, bearing your throat in a way that had the dragon flat out groaning from above you.

“My fangs are sharp,” he rumbled, rolling his hips down against yours and letting his lips pull back over his canines in an expression that in any other situation you would have called a snarl. “So sharp you might not even feel it. But,” he continued, with another languid grind, “I think I would prefer that you do.”

And how on Earth would you ever have been able to say no to that?

One of the hands ensnaring your waist slid back down south, trailing over the areas he’d already well acquainted himself with. You rolled your hips back into his palm, and something not unlike a hiss ripped its way out of his throat. And then he was pushing forward again with that same, near agonizingly gentle, probing. Even if this time there was a great deal more intent behind it than just feeling around for all the best spots to have you shaking out of your skin.

The glide of his fingers was smoother than you’d been expecting without the aid of oil, or, well, whatever. But then you remembered that magic was a thing, and briefly thanked all those gods you’d been cursing, because at least that was something. And also the fact that this gloriously wonderful dragon had only literally just eaten you out like his fucking immortal existence depended on it, and that’d probably helped quite a lot with the whole ‘making things a bit more slippery’ logic.

That same desperate call of ‘closer, closer, closer’was singing in your blood again, and by the time he’d worked up to two fingers, then three, you were writhing around like all the most ridiculous, overblown, Bard Stereotypes that you’d always hated. Because no one was really that wanton or clingy—it was just shitty, tavern, gossip that Ace liked to use to get a rile out of you. But man alive, if all those busybody bargoers who’d had to sit through your staunch ‘Bard’s Aren’t Actually Like That!’ speeches could see you now.

(Not that you had any delusions about Malleus letting anyone see you like this—what with the way his guttural growls were rolling through your bones like a tangible thing with teeth, and claws, and fire.)

“You look a bit flustered, darling,” he mused, the words a muddied kiss against the hollow of your throat. You couldn’t see his expression past your own, squinting, ridiculousness, but you had a feeling he was teasing you. Or at least really fucking good at ripping the thoughts out of your brain to comment on at his leisure.

“Really?” you gasped, hoping it sounded more annoyed than it probably did. “Why ever might that be?”

You managed to drill enough focus back into your brain to will your eyes to turn and glare up at your enchanting, wonderful, perfect tormentor. And didn’t someone have a lot of nerve trying to poke fun at you when he looked half-a-step away from feral—a fevered red stained high across his cheekbones and mouth parted with a perpetual sort of panting that had thin trails of grey smoke seeping past his fangs to swirl in the air around you.

You breathed in that heady fog and put every last remaining thread of your Bardic Charisma on the attack.

“Well?” you demanded, swaying your hips back against the pulsing heat of his own. “Was all this courtship stuff to make me your mate or wasn’t it?

The sound that punched out of Malleus’s gut was nearly wounded in its intensity, and then he was bullying his way as close into your space as was physically possible—latching onto your mouth from over your shoulder with something that was far more ‘bite’ than ‘kiss,’ and sinking all the way in to the root of him with one, long, push.

Your toes curled on a yelp and you just barely managed to swallow a noise that was even more humiliating than that. It took a few, solid, thrusts for him to figure out how to settle himself inside you without just shoving the both you forward at the hips—skidding through the unstable surface of the fluffy blankets pooled beneath your knees. His clawed fingers came down to dig into the pillows by your head, bracketing you in and creating a point of stabilization amidst all the senseless heat. And with that, your brain had officially abandoned the building. Malleus dipped his hips forward in a particularly sharp roll that had something inside you twitching and tightening on a gasp. You could see the muscles cord along his lower arms, how the tendons of his wrist stood out taught against all the smooth, sculpted, white of him.  

Your elbows shook and your shoulders curved forward as you tried to steady yourself. Malleus slipped one of the hands that had bracketed itself by your head to instead curl into the space beneath your chin and help keep you propped upright. The support had your back arching into something new, and his hips rolled down against that fresh angle like it was a challenge. You squeaked, and that horribly embarrassing noise twisted up into something long, and high, and thready when he ground down hard.

“Ah,” he trilled, all animal satisfaction. “There’s that song of yours.”

Whatever sort of obligatory, whining, protest you were about to make was overridden by a hiccupping gasp when he dragged you back against him only to shove forward with enough force that you wound up with your face buried in fabric and your back aching. In a pleasant sort of way—not the ‘he may have literally just fractured my fucking spine’ way. Which, who knew? Maybe that was a possibility here. You were human, and small, and mortal. And he was a beast that sat only a ladder rung down from godhood. But with the heavy, hot, push push push drumming away at your core, you couldn’t find it in you to care if you never walked again.

You’d been prepared for a build—because that’s how it went, right? The slow, romantic, cresting of sparks that would eventually unfurl through the rest of you like a dream. But instead, one moment you were gasping like a damn asthmatic against the strong arm keeping you upright, and the next your gut was snapped tight, and sharp, and hot, and you were wailing into your pillows as a dam you didn’t realize was wearing away broke. You shuddered through the electricity searing your veins, and Malleus snarled over your shoulder.

He bit down into your neck with something that was practically a roar, and you felt your own teeth sink less impressively into the arm that he’d propped beneath your head. He was right—his fangs were sharp. And you were left less feeling like you’d had a chunk of your shoulder chewed into bits, and more like there was just a heavy, hot, pressure burrowing its way into your skin as far as it could go.

You gasped through the lingering, jerky, sparks zipping along your spine, before eventually that endless grinding, and fullness, and the new and very obvious flood of liquid warmth became too much, and you slumped fully on your front to pant into the blankets. Malleus collapsed at your back not long after, and immediately moved to curve himself against you like a pair of foxes in a den—entwined from head to toe. You could feel the snuffle of his breath as he sighed against you, his hands kneading almost absentmindedly into the sore flesh at your hips.

It took a great deal of time for your heartrate to settle back into a semi-stable rhythm, rather than continue its valiant attempt to gallop straight out of your chest. And you could feel the dragon’s own great pulse slowly gentling into a low thump-thump, thump-thump against your hide.

Once you’d melted into something a little less shivery and fucked-out-of-body, Malleus shuffled himself forward and began to drag his tongue in soft strokes against the weeping mark he’d left at the junction of your neck. That weighted pressure had faded into a tempered throb—nothing more sore than the rest of you, to be perfectly honest. Even if you could feel the beginnings of tacky blood trailing down your front. He cleaned you diligently, delicately. Like this new wound of yours was a treasure that rivaled those he kept hoarded away in the cavernous rooms beneath your feet.  

“Is it what you expected?” you asked softly, mostly referring to the stark mark now stamped into your skin like a brand, but also too swirled up in contentment to differentiate too much from the pleasant ache burning through your hips. Through your everywhere.

“Better,” he trilled, chest rumbling with something that was too deep to be a purr, but was certainly something like it. He lifted his arm to observe the faint impressions your own teeth had left against the pale skin there. “Though this one will certainly need refreshing.”

“My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours,” you lamented, and he raised a lazy thumb to trail the pad of his finger along your blunted canines. “It’d probably hurt a lot if I tried to leave something more permanent.”

“You speak as if that’s any sort of deterrent.”

You huffed in fond amusement before rolling onto your back to give your muscles a good stretch. With all that jostling around, the sticky sort of wetness beginning to seep along the inside of your thighs became much more obvious. Malleus stared down at the mess between your legs with an expression that was half fascination, half frustration. He reached out with a stern sort of pout on his lips to run a finger through his cooling spend and press what he could back inside you. The sharp, hot, tug that yanked from below your navel was so much worse than any kind of wincing oversensitivity.

His petulant leer shifted back up to your own, uh, not entirely composed expression, and he huffed softly—sending a puff of warm, smoky, breath along your cheeks.

“I’d prefer for you to keep as much of it as possible,” he rumbled, like that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally debauched things you’d ever heard come out of another living being’s mouth. “Your human nose may not be able to discern the difference, but for us drakes, the change in scent is certainly a strong indicator that a mate has been properly claimed and is no longer free for the taking.”

You sniffed pointedly, and all that swam through your head was the heady, musky, perfume of sex—all underlaid by that familiar smoke and petrichor smell of his. Heavier now, maybe. Like the charred remnants of a forest fire being doused beneath the fat drops of spring rain for the first time.  

“What?” you giggled good naturedly. “In case some other immortal, all powerful, dragon comes along to steal me away?”

He rumbled under his breath, and the claws at your hips flexed into pinpricks against your skin. Lightly enough to let you know he understood it was only a joke, but probably one that he wasn’t overly fond of nonetheless.

“You are certainly a worthy enough prize,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” you lamented. “With my spindly spells and impeccable ability to regurgitate the most garbage fairytales in existence. You’d have to go to war for my hand.”

“Of course I would,” Malleus said, with such quick certainty it had your heart kicking up a fit all over again.

“Well, if it’s that much of a concern, we can always just keep working at it,” you hummed, a little of that cheekiness tapering off into genuine fondness at the end. “You know, like a layering process.”

“Is that so?” he droned, a lazy, satisfied, grin working its way across his mouth. It was crooked and a little odd on his face—just like the lopsided smile he’d gifted you after you’d handed him a bundle of cheap fabric and stuffing and called it a friend.

“I mean, I still have a whole side of my neck with no teeth marks or anything, Tsunotarou,” you pointed out, and the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat was all dark, velvety, warmth.

“Oh, my dearest little human,” he sighed, far too besotted for a creature that could likely rend the world in two if he so wished. Instead, Malleus Draconia—last of the Great Briar Beasts of Old and Master of the Castle within the Lava Lakes—just tucked his silly, little, bard up tight into his chest, like he could crack open his ribs and hold you there forever. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

.

.

.

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #SPICY CONTENT #Lilia Vanrouge #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver TWST #Donkeys & Dragons #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 5 #Monster Mayhem Malleus Epilogue

[virgo-barbie]

bimbo starter kit ✨💖

it can take a while for a bimbo to feel comfortable with cosmetic procedures, or even just to secure the necessary finances to take the next step in her journey! here are a list of things you can start on right away while you figure out the rest.

1. exercise! a bimbo's body is her best weapon. try to aim for a couple times a week at least. if you don't like running, try pilates, yoga, dance, anything. it's just important that you feel connected to your body in some way.

2. spray tans! for me, this really amps up my sex appeal. my skin has a golden hue that a spray tan really brings out. if i don't have time to go get professionally tanned biweekly, i'll use a tanning mousse instead. it gives a similar effect, but the spray tan is a bit more realistic.

3. manicure and pedicure! what is a bimbo without her claws? i personally love having acrylic nails. i don't have them right now because i can't have acrylics when i go in for my breast augmentation, but i almost always do otherwise. i like barbie pink or long white claws. both are very feminine and look great wrapped around the base of a cock or squeezing a beautiful boobie! having your toes done is also important - nobody wants to suck on and lick mangled feet, and you need to be prepared to be worshipped at any point in time.

4.new clothes! i literally threw everything out and started fresh with a wardrobe of basics. 5 pairs of tiny short shorts, about 20 basic tops in pink, white, and black. I am working my way up towards more exciting statement pieces and building up my shoe and purse collection, but this all takes time. In the meantime, you need clothes that look good on your body and show off your best assets. after my breast augmentation, i will be getting a bunch of new clothes from brands like skims, alo, for love & lemons, etc. for my more bimboish pieces, i kind of just shop around, but i think it's important to have a ton of basic pieces so you can create endless outfits. the mini skirts, fur coats and heels can come later - once you have things to wear them with that make you look super stylish and more importantly... show off your body.

5. get your hair done professionally! most bimbos like to be blonde (myself included) and unless you're already blonde to start with, i see absolutely no reason you should do this at home. save up some money and find a hair stylist in your town who specializes in blonde hair. you won't regret it, and there's nothing bimbo about having crusty, fried hair. if you're not certain if blonde is the best route for you (it probably is), ask a stylist! pink also looks adorable on bimbos with a more cutesy y2k style. a good haircut with some face framing layers can also completely change your whole look.

6. whiten your teeth! invest in a whitening foam and tray, or just use strips. i've had a similar effect with both.

7. get good with fake eyelashes! they elevate any makeup look from fresh to sexy. once you've had lip filler, lip gloss and lipstick will also become your new best friend.

8. silly little accessories! may i suggest a pink lollipop or bubblegum? this will help keep the attention on your perfect little mouth all day and will also give you something cute to distract yourself with while you fantasize about being used out in public.

#hyper femininity #bimbo doll #girlcore #bimbo babe #bimboification #coquette #dollette #it girl #coqeutte #girlblogging #bimbolife #bimbo goals #bimboization #bimbo hypnosis #bimbo training #bimbofied #bimbocore #bambi bubbles

[optimist-pine]

Dream

Summary: in which Daryl discovers something about his heart

Warnings: Typical TWD content

Word Count: 1,021

Era: Season 4, the Claimers

A/n: The most selfish thing I've ever written - but also my favorite <3

Wooden boards creak beneath the soles of his boots as he climbs the stairs of the cozy cottage. Beside the front door, using the wall as a brace, he toes off mud-caked shoes, adding them to the pile of others, all smaller than his own. Dried clumps of dirt scatter about, some falling through gaps in the porch to join the barren ground below. The lanky old tomcat abandons sunbathing to rub lazily against his pantleg with a purr, and Daryl appeases him with a good scritch under the chin.

The screen door is unlocked as always, and as he crosses the threshold into the home his heart settles into a comfortable lull. A breeze flows in through open windows, ruffling faded curtains and artwork made by tiny hands taped to walls; fluttering the pages of a book laying open and knocking over pieces of a board game strewn about the floor. It fills the space with the gentle sounds and smells of early summer. Blooming flowers and birdsong.

He sets his kill down as he passes through a kitchen that bears the remains of freshly baked muffins, few left intact in an abundance of crumbs. Out of a cooling teapot wafts a pleasant blend of lavender, cinnamon, orange, and clove.

He pauses for a moment before the back door, listening as laughter and high-pitched squeals echo just beyond it. Then, pushing his way to the other side, his heart leaps. He's barely taken a step when he's bombarded.

"Daddy!" Voices shout as a tangle of little arms entrap him, tiny bodies clinging to his legs and stepping on his toes. A baby's happy shrieks add to the clamor of giggles as he ruffles sun-warmed heads, attempting to tug his feet forward.

But then they get him down and he lands with an 'oomph' in the soft grass, sharp elbows and knees clambering across him like he's a new piece of playground equipment to explore. The dog's licking his face, and the baby's hands clap excitedly and now everyone's laughing.

"Woah woah woah, time out." And there you are. You lean over the chaos with a grin, the sun framing your silhouette as tree branches sway behind you. You smell like spearmint and lily of the valley, cheeks pink from working the garden, and as your hand comes to rest on the slight bump of your belly he knows he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Did ya leave somethin' dead on my table again, mister?" You question, hands moving to your hips in an attempt to be stern.

There's no getting away with denying it, so he'll plead his case instead. "Ain'tcha gonna help me out 'ere?" He asks, reaching a hand up to you.

You ignore it with a shake of your head. "Guilty men must pay for their crimes." With a sharp nod, you turn to the children. "Show 'im his punishment." You instruct, bare feet making way to gather up the baby who's beginning to feel left out.

Those itty-bitty fingers are too good at finding every secretly ticklish spot, and he can only hold out for so long before he has to wriggle away from their assault.

On his feet again, he reaches out and spins you toward himself breathless and spirited. "Guess if 'm already a criminal I migh' as well steal'a kiss." He says, moving his hand to cradle your bump and the little one growing inside.

"Might as well, huh?" You repeat, the smile on your face so radiant that when your lips touch an overwhelming contentment courses through him. A soft, pudgy palm lands on his cheek and the two of you pull apart to the wide eyes and dulcet coos of the baby. He cups his other hand around the little head, placing a tender kiss on top.

The little rascals waste no time returning to their ruckus, tugging at him to follow. "Daddy, c'mon! We gotta show you somethin'!"

"Yeah! C'mon, Daddy!" The voice cries.

But he's stuck in place, unable to move as everything begins to fade away.

... No... Daryl can feel consciousness pulling at him, roughly dragging him into a new day. He begs his mind to stay; to linger. He never wants to leave this moment, a memory of something that never happened - that would never happen. But he can't stop it and he wakes on the cold cement, eyes opening only to focus on the bloodied floor where a man took his last breath a few hours ago.

He knows now. He can't stay with these people. The desperate ache in his chest reminds him of everything he'll lose if he gives up now. Even if all he loses is a dream. It would be too much.

That night, ready to make his move and depart from the men while they're distracted, he hesitates, just for a second, his heart dropping suddenly into his stomach. It's Rick, and Michonne, and... you. Sitting on a log right there, so close, face illuminated in the flickering firelight. Even in the darkness, he can see the swell of your abdomen holding his future - your future.

Your eyes find him at the same time that the barrel of a gun is aimed at your head. He's never felt a fury like he does now, all-devouring and consuming...

When it's over, you pull him close, burying your face into him like you can hide away in the folds of his clothes and the beat of his heart. His arms wrap around you so tightly, and oh - how he wishes he could keep you right here, where he knows you'll both be safe and protected. But he can't.

You pull away slightly, just enough to whisper, "We're okay. We're gonna be okay."

He nods, one hand on your belly and the other bringing your head back to his chest. Just for one more moment. He desperately wants to tell you his dream. To tell you that he believes that too. But he settles for, "I love you."

Your voice echoes back, clear and true, "I love you too."

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 4 #optimist pine

[lousypotatoes]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

90 years ago...

Soft jazz music played in the dimly lit club. People all around were dancing, drinking, and laughing. 

At the bar, stood a woman, taking a long drag off her cigarette, waiting for her date. She wore a green flapper dress, white satin gloves, and had the most beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes.

"This gent better hurry up," she muttered, taking another drag off her cigarette. 

"Can I get you anything, miss?" the bartender asked. 

"Just a little martini please," you said, keeping your eyes on the door.

"Right away, miss,"

As the bartender made her martini, she looked around the club, seeing people dance and having her fun with their friends. 

'I wish I had people like that,' she thought. 

"Here's your martini miss," the bartender said, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

"Thank you sir," she said, pulling out some dollar bills out of her purse and placing them on the counter. 

"Apologies for the delay, Gloria," said a voice. She turned her head and saw her date walking towards her. "I hope it didn't cause you any inconvenience, darling."

"It weren't no bother, Edward," she said, a fake smile on her face. "I already ordered from the speakeasy, hope you don't mind." 

"I don't mind one bit, sweetheart," Edward said, looking her up and down. "You're looking mighty fine this evening," 

Her eye twitched. She hated men like this. "Why thank you," she said. "It took me quite a while to get all dolled up like this."

"It surely was worth the effort," he said, licking his lips. "Care for another round, Gloria?"

"No thank you," she said chuckling. "I haven't even polished off my first one yet,"

"Suit yourself, darling," he said. "Hey barkeep, mind pourin' me some whiskey?"

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"Care to dance?" Edward slurred, finishing his sixth glass of whiskey. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I promise I won't bite, doll," 

She bit the inside of her cheek. She really hated having to deal with people like this, but it was her job, and she couldn't turn the money it offered. 

"Ain't no harm in it, I suppose," she said, putting down her glass. "I'm a little bit rusty when it comes to dancin'." 

"No worries sugar. As long as I'm tanglin' with you, I'm alright," Edward said, grabbing her arm. "Say, I could show you a thing or two," he said suggestively. 

She had to hold back a laugh. Men like this really were simple creatures. "If you play your cards right, who knows what might unfold," she said, winking at him. 

This caused Edward to smirk. "Alright then, let's see what the night brings us, shall we?" 

"We shall,"

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After two hours of dancing, talking, and drinking, all that she learned about Edward was that he was self absorbed asshole. He never asked her about herself, instead just talking about how much sex he'd had. 

"The dough better be worth puttin' up with this jerk," she muttered, as they swayed on the dancefloor, their bodies pressed up against each other. 

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"I reckon it's high time we go back to your place," she got on her tip toes and whispered in his ear seductively. "Don't ya think, Ed?"

"It's about time you asked, darling," he said, squeezing her ass. "You'd be downright stunning with all those threads off."

"Sounds like a plan," she said, removing herself from his grip. "Let's blow this joint,"

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"Oh Ed," you panted, your back up against the alley wall. "Shouldn't we wait till we get to your pad?"

"I've been waitin' all night already," he growled, nipping at your neck. "Ain't waiting no more."

"That's what I was hopin' for," she said. 

"What's that supposed to mean, doll?" he said, still nipping at your neck. 

BANG!

With a scream of pain, Edward slumped onto her, but she just pushed him off her and onto the ground. 

"Men like you, they turn my stomach, see," she said, polishing off her gun with her dress. "Ain't that a hoot? You really thought I was into you." 

Edward was writhing in pain. He tried to get up, but she just kicked him back down. 

"Who-" he sputtered, blood coming out of his mouth. "Who- Who the hell are you?" 

"Well, I'm not Gloria, that's for certain," she smirked, putting her finger back on the trigger. "I'd sure love to stick around I chat, but unfortunately, I cannot. 

She aimed the gun at his head. "It's been a real pleasure knowin' ya, Edward."

"Wait! Please don't sho-"

BANG!

Edward's head lolled to the side, his eyes lifeless. 

"Serves ya right, you filthy pervert," she said, putting her gun back into the strap under her dress. 

She moved Edwards body further down the alley. Nobody would find him till morning. 

"Damn! He got blood all over my new shoes," she said, walking out of the alley. "Guess I'll have to get them cleaned proper."

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The walk home was uneventful, besides men hitting on her. She felt very calm and at peace.

Everybody in town knew her as the sweetheart who owned the most popular flower shop in New Orleans. "Oh, if only they knew," she said to herself, giggling as she opened the door to the 'Employees Only' room to her flower shop. 

Stepping inside, she heard the barking off her Yorkie. "Honey!" she exclaimed, scooping up the dog in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much, my love!"

She put her back down on the couch and went over and turned on the radio. "We'll go home as soon as finish some work up." she said to the snoring dog, as she carefully took out her blue contact lenses, revealing E/C eyes. 

The phone started to ring, walking over to answer it, she took off her blonde wig and set it on her big, oak desk. 

"This is Y/N, to whom am I speakin' to?" she asked, ruffling her fingers through her H/C hair. 

"This is Winston," a deep voice said. "Did you off him?" 

"Well that all hinges on you, Mr. Winston," she said, sitting down. "You got the dough?"

"Yeah, I got the dough,"

"How much?"

"One thousand,"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Let's rendezvous at Broussard's at noon tomorrow. Does that work for you?"

"I suppose so yes,"

"Marvelous! Till then, Mr. Winston," she said, as she hung up the phone. 

She didn't like the song that was playing on the radio. Picking up the phone once again, she dialed the radio station number. 

"You've reached Alastor Altruist!" said the voice at the other side of the line. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speakin' to at this late hour?" 

"The names Y/N," she said into the phone. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

"What a beautiful name you have, Y/N," he said, making her smile. "The pleasure's all mine, I assure you."

"I was hopin' I could put in a request for a song?" she asked. "If it's no trouble, of course."

"Why it's no trouble at all, my dear!" he exclaimed. "What's on your mind?" 

"Singin' In The Rain by Cliff Edwards," she said, "It's a wonderful song."

"It's a real classic, ain't it?" he said. "You'll be hearin' it right after this song,"

"Thank you so much," she gushed. 

"You're quite welcome, dear," Alastor said. "Have a good night, Y/N."

"You as well, Alastor," she said, hanging up the phone. 

There was something about each other's voice that the both of them enjoyed. They both hoped they would hear it more often. 

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I really wish I was in hell with him right now :(

xoxo, Izzy

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #character x reader #alastor altruist #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel alastor #charlie #vaggie #husk #angel dust #lucifer