#I should draw something nice for y'all

[gureumz]

come to me, make it right

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

notes: fem-bodied reader, backup dancer!reader, slight dom!heeseung, canon-compliant (?), dirty talk, semi-public sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, cum-eating, reader breaches professionalism lol

a/n: let's give heeseung a break and let him have his (your) cake 😔 so here i present the backup dancer fic! don't lie to me i know y'all wish it was you bc i do

"he's really something, isn't he?"

the question catches you off guard, your head turning abruptly as you give your friend a look. sion, dressed nearly identically to your all-black get-up, scoots closer to where you're seated on the floor, shoving her shoulder right up to yours.

"what are you on about?" you question before taking a big gulp from your water bottle.

"heeseung," she whispers, gesturing with her eyes to the tall figure standing across the practice room. he's typing on his phone, back turned to you.

"what about him?" you ask.

"he's good. like really good. one of the better idols i've worked with," sion explains, hooking an arm around yours.

"oh, please, you wish you could work with him personally," a different voice whispers from your right. serin, another one of your co-backup dancers, slides up to where you're sitting.

"too bad _______ got the gig first," serin adds, nudging you. you roll your eyes as the two of them collapse in giggles.

it's been two weeks since you were onboarded onto this project for enhypen's comeback. today was the dance practice filming and you can say that so far, it's been smooth sailing for the most part. the company was generous enough and the performance directors were easy to work with. the members themselves gave you no problems whatsoever, though you could only truly speak for one of them.

heeseung was nice enough, extremely polite, but also tremendously serious when it comes to performing. you've only known him for all of the two weeks, but you know better than to get in his way. you stepped on his foot once and you remember wanting to disintegrate right then, but to your surprise, heeseung merely smiled, reassuring you that it was fine.

it was rather easy to fall into rhythm with him. you don't know if it was your doing, or his, or both, but it's like the two of you spoke the same dance language. there were barely any words uttered, but understanding passed between you effortlessly.

he was kind of sweet too, always asking if you've eaten, if you need any more water, if his hand placement was too much. you appreciated it, a far cry from some other people you've worked with that barely spared you a glance. you'd be fine with the bare minimum of friendliness, if it was all out of courtesy that heeseung asked you all these questions. but the way he stares down at you attentively has your stomach churning. whether that's a good or bad thing, you've yet to decide.

your eyes draw towards heeseung as he pockets his phone, his gaze somehow finding yours in a split second. before you could look away, he smiles, waving rather cutely at you.

you wave back politely, quickly signing a 'have you eaten?' to him. heeseung shakes his head and points back at you as if to ask, 'how about you?'.

you reply no and heeseung pouts.

'eat soon, okay?' he mouths to you. you hold up the 'okay' sign and heeseung nods, satisfied.

sion and serin fall silent as the three of you watch heeseung gather with the rest of enhypen, all seven excusing themselves to go eat. heeseung locks eyes with you briefly one more time and smiles, eyebrows raised.

and then they were gone.

"what was that?" sion asks, grinning like a feline.

"he's being nice," you contest. "doesn't jungwon tell you to eat when you should?"

sion balks at that, clearing her throat. "he does. he's very considerate."

"but that," sion continues. "that look is different, ________, i'm telling you."

serin nods enthusiastically in agreement. "right? do the two of you talk outside of practice?"

"you guys are so unprofessional," you complain, though a smile creeps onto your face.

"and, no, we don't."

---

"did you see my kakao request?"

you peer up at heeseung, eyebrows knitting together. it takes you another few seconds to register what exactly he was asking.

"you added me on kakao?" you finally ask back.

his hands are in his pockets, a fluffy blanket wrapped tightly around his frame. the weather in poland is more than a little chilly this time of year, a struggle for you all as you drag yourselves through the music video filming.

heeseung chuckles, his eyes squinting down at you. "yeah, last night."

"sorry, i must have missed it," you reply sheepishly, pulling your own blanket tighter around your shoulders. "i have about a dozen requests at any given time."

"ooh, someone's in demand," heeseung teases, nudging you lightly. you laugh nervously, scanning the set around you.

the members and their respective dancers have gotten friendly over the course of the comeback preparations. nothing too chummy, but all of you are comfortable enough to strike up conversations with each other on and off schedule. it was nice, getting to know the guys of enhypen a little better.

but the way heeseung caught up to you in this dark, secluded part of the set where you were merely looking for cell service makes it look a little too suspicious.

'what do you want?' is what threatened to come out of your mouth. you often think you would rather be dead than be caught in a dating scandal with an idol. not that you're assuming anything, but you've seen this behavior before, and heeseung really is just a man at the end of the day, so who's to say that—

"um, is everything okay?" heeseung asks, waving a hand in front of your face. you blink, your surroundings coming back into view. you look up and are met with heeseung's grey-colored lenses. you stop a shiver from running down your spine at how hard he's staring down at you.

"yeah, sorry," you respond hurriedly, clearing your throat. "what i meant to say is, i have messages from people asking for dancers for a program or shoot or what-have-you, all those stuff."

heeseung nods before looking away, eyes scanning the staff as they arrange the set. before neither of you could say anything more, jake's head pops out from behind a stack of equipment boxes.

"hyung? oh, there you are," jake says with a start, noticing you at the last second.

"hi, _______!" he adds cheerily.

you smile warmly at him, slightly relieved that someone is there to interrupt.

jake turns back to heeseung. "jungwon says to drop by the hair and makeup tent for a bit."

heeseung nods at the younger, brushing past you to get to jake.

"see you in a bit," heeseung says, fingers lightly curling around your forearm. you tense up but nod in reply.

"see you," you return weakly.

you wait until the two of them are gone before sighing, stalking off to the other end of the set to where the dancers' tent is set up.

---

studio choom is one of your favorite parts of being a backup dancer. the staff was nice, the set was wide and airy, and the lighting was amazing. your excitement concerning the last part was evident in the way you couldn't take your eyes off your phone as you held it in front of your face.

"i look so good," you comment with a laugh, surveying yourself on the camera display. "even with the mask and all."

"right?" serin agrees from behind you, getting into frame with you. you quickly snap a couple photos.

the director barks out an order to get into blocking and you quickly hide your phone away, silently thanking in your head one of the other dancers for bringing in the large tote to hold all of your devices.

you walk under the bright multicolored lights onto the actual filming set, hovering over the general area of where you're supposed to be blocked. you wait for the members and other dancers to find their places, eyes downcast as you try to find your exact spot.

a hand brushes your arm and you look up to see heeseung smiling down at you.

"you look good," he mutters quietly before walking to center, getting on his hands and knees as he settles into his starting position.

serin passes in front of you, eyes expressive enough that you instantly get what she's saying despite half of her face being obscured by the mask.

'what was that?!' her eyes seemed to cry out.

you shake your head. 'i have no idea,' you respond as best as you can with your own confused gaze.

the director calls out another command and everything else is dropped as all of you fall into performance mode. autopilot takes over you, every take passing by quickly, much to your surprise.

an hour and a half later and on the last take of the chorus, you find yourself restless, stomach already grumbling. you pick at your long black gloves, wishing for this day to be over.

enhypen are in formation in front of the camera, with the dancers at the wings, ready to approach for the chorus. somehow, despite blending into the shadows of the set, heeseung finds you, tilting his head to the side in a sort of greeting.

you mirror his action and heeseung instantly smiles. you can't help the grin that breaks out behind your mask.

"last take, everyone!" the director calls out.

with a little more difficulty than you'd like to admit, you rip your gaze away from heeseung's, a tingling feeling settling in your stomach.

---

almost all thoughts of heeseung disappear from your mind as you get home later that day, too exhausted to pore over every interaction you have with your dance partner. you lay sprawled out on your bed, having just finished freshening up, eyes heavy as you feel drowsiness creep into your consciousness.

the keyword is almost.

you hear a notification ping from your phone and your sleepiness is immediately replaced with pure adrenaline. your read the notification over and over again just to make sure you weren't imagining it.

이희승 (lee heeseung): hi

you sit up, your heart pounding. leaning against your headboard, you watch as another message comes in.

이희승: you up?

you snicker, opening your kakaotalk app. heeseung's name is at the top of the chat room, easily indicating just who you're talking to. you quickly type a reply.

너 (you): ooh he finally messaged ㅋㅋ what an opening tho

you chew on your lower lip as you send the message, the 'read' sign immediately appearing. you watch as heeseung types out his reply.

이희승: lol sorry did that come off too creepy?

너: not at all. why the sudden message tho? was my performance that bad that it has you staying up at night?

이희승: oh no nothing of that sort. just wanted to say thank you for your hard work today

you blink, cheeks growing warm. he messaged you at ass-o'-clock to thank you?

너: thanks! you did super well today too

이희승: don't i always? (pouting face)

it's at this moment that you realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that lee heeseung, a member of a globally renowned k-pop idol group, is flirting with you.

you lock your phone, laying back down on your pillow, contemplating on what to do.

you could always flirt back, then act as if nothing happened the next time you see him. see how far the two of you can take it. you might end up sneaking around green rooms and closets, but, hey, half of the fun is the thrill of getting caught. or you could shut it down now, rejecting him gently because what kind of unprofessional loser would fold at the slightest display of romantic interest from an idol?

you sigh.

you would.

you're a (slightly) unprofessional loser that would fold at the slightest display of romantic interest from an idol.

you open up your phone, fingers moving at lightning speed.

너: my bad. you always do well (wink)

a whole minute passes by, heeseung typing then stopping then starting up again, before he stops once more for a few seconds. you feel anxiety seeping out of every pore on your body.

이희승: good girl ㅋㅋ that's what i like to hear

you gape at your phone, a strange tingle spreading all over you.

you take a moment to scream into your pillow.

---

you're waiting for it to boil over. to culminate into something. for shit to hit the fan, as you would inelegantly put it.

you left heeseung on read last night, at a total loss for words at his reply. he doesn't press further, either. in your mind, he's probably thinking one of two things: 1) that he deeply offended you, or 2) that he's achieved the desired effect.

you don't have to think too hard about which one of those is true.

you enter the assigned green room to you and the other dancers, poking your head in first, eyes landing on your coworkers lounging about.

"oh, _______!" sion calls out excitedly. the rest of them turn their heads to you, erupting into similar squeals.

"close the door!" serin orders. too stunned to protest, you do as you're told, leaning against the wall as all of your friends talk over each other.

"heeseung was looking for you," sion's voice rises above the rest and your eyes unconsciously widen, your heart rate picking up.

"yeah, he came here himself and asked where you were," serin adds, nodding.

"what's going on with you two?" another dancer, yeeun, asks in a singsong voice.

"n-nothing's going on," you say with a laugh, waving them off nonchalantly.

"like we'll believe that," sion retorts. "we'll keep it a secret, promise!"

the rest of them agree, sounding like a chorus of schoolchildren hearing about their teacher's boyfriend. you sigh, setting your things down on the floor.

"we're messaging on kakao, that's all," you admit, shrugging.

"sexting already?" serin chides with a laugh. you give her a look as the room erupts in laughter.

"you guys are hopeless," you say with a shake of your head, but you can't help but laugh along.

"we're not sexting. not...yet," you add. there's a pause before the laughter grows louder, all of them throwing jokes around about being safe and dating scandals.

"luck you," yeeun says with a sigh. "it's taking jake forever to make a move."

the whole room shifts its attention to her and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief. your phone vibrates and you feel your whole body grow hot as you read your screen.

이희승: come out for a second

before anyone can stop you, you quickly slip out of the green room, looking down in both directions of the hallway. to your right, you see heeseung standing outside enhypen's own waiting room, eyes staring at you intently.

with a nervous glance back behind you, you make your way to him. the hallway seems empty at this time, with most artists and staff in their respective rooms, the early prerecording hour hanging heavily over everyone.

"hi," heeseung says with a grin the moment you're near enough to hear him.

"hi," you respond, fidgeting with your hands. you scrape over your knuckles with your nails, waiting for heeseung to continue.

"about last night, i'm sorry if i went too far," heeseung begins, voice dropping, eyes looking around nervously.

oh.

so he's thinking option number 1.

"oh no, not at all," you reassure him. "i appreciate the gesture. i know you were only trying to be friendly."

heeseung raises his eyebrows as you say this. he purses his lips before speaking.

"friendly isn't the right word, exactly...," heeseung says, trailing off. he bites down on his lip, eyes momentarily flitting up and down over your figure.

it's your turn to be surprised.

"i see," you reply.

there's a long stretch of silence after this, both of you avoiding each other's eyes. an awkward laugh escapes you and heeseung follows, scratching at the back of his head.

you finally look up to meet his eyes, his pupils blown wide as he seems to consider his next words.

"i mean, i'm down if you are," heeseung says, stepping closer. "i won't hold it against you if you aren't, though."

you don't need to be told what his words meant. with the way he's staring at you right now, eyes unmoving but filled with something you can only describe as desire, you know full well what heeseung is implying.

"i am," you say after a moment. you're still fidgeting, hands clasped together in front of you. heeseung notices, his own hand coming up to lay on yours, stilling your movements. his fingers curl around your wrist.

"are we waiting after the recording or...?" you ask, letting heeseung pry your hands apart. he grips you firmly and you feel yourself practically igniting from his touch.

"i could use a pick-me-up right now" heeseung throws out casually, as if merely suggesting that the two of you get coffee. he jerks his head towards the door right next to their waiting room.

"this one's empty," heeseung informs. "i checked."

you can't help but grin up at him. he licks his lips as if he's looking down at his next meal, which you know, isn't that far from the truth.

"and no surveillance cameras, either," heeseung says, leaning down to whisper next to your ear.

without replying, you walk backward in the direction of the empty waiting room. heeseung follows, still gripping your arm, letting you pull him along. you never break eye contact, even as you reach behind you to turn the knob, pushing the door open.

only now do you avert your eyes away from him, stepping into the dimly lit room, a single weak lightbulb turned on in the farthest corner. with heeseung right behind you, you hear the door close, and without missing a beat, heeseung tugs you back, hands grabbing you by the waist.

he shoves you against the door, his face impossibly close to yours, your breaths mingling as you practically pant in anticipation. heeseung reaches down, locking the door, the click of the mechanism deafening in the silence.

"you can still say no," heeseung whispers.

"why would i do that?" you say before leaning forward to kiss him.

heeseung sighs against your mouth, his hand holding one side of your face to keep you steady. you're both still in your casual clothes, and you thank the heavens for this because your hands slip easily underneath his oversized hoodie. your palms smooth over his toned stomach and up his chest where you lightly rake your nails back downward.

you gasp when you feel heeseung roughly grab one of your boobs through your shirt at the same time he pushes a knee between your legs. you belatedly realize that it's today of all days that you've decided to wear a miniskirt.

"making my job easier," heeseung teases, as if able to read your thoughts. he smirks at you, planting a brief kiss on your lips as he angles you better on his thigh.

"your job...," you say in between labored breaths. you feel yourself growing wetter as you grind down on the taut muscle. "...is to fuck me before anyone notices we're gone."

heeseung grunts, pulling his leg away, ignoring the way you whine at the loss of friction. he pulls your skirt up roughly, letting it bunch around your waist. you gasp as you hear the sound of ripping fabric.

"heeseung!" you say in disbelief as he pockets your now torn-up lace panties. he merely chuckles, leaning in to kiss down from below your ear to your conveniently exposed chest, a feat made possible by your skimpy tank top.

"turn around, baby," heeseung whispers, planting another kiss, but this time, on your nose.

you stare at him for a moment, eyes bleary. are you really about to do this?

"please?" heeseung adds, eyes wide and round as he utters this one word so sweetly.

with weak knees, you do as you're told, letting heeseung press his chest flush against your back. you mewl when you feel his rough fingers slip between your slick folds, rubbing up then down, circling around the relative area of your clit. he finds it a second later, pressing down and working it expertly.

"fuck," you say, voice trembling. you let out a startled noise as you feel heeseung press a large hand over your mouth.

"no one can see us here but that doesn't mean they can't hear us," heeseung says against the shell of your ear.

"so i need you to be quiet for me, baby, okay?"

melting at these words, you could do nothing more but nod. heeseung kisses the back of your head tenderly. you hear him tugging his sweatpants down, letting it pool around his ankles.

you whimper when you feel a hard poke on one of your asscheeks, anticipation bubbling in you. you wriggle around, spreading your legs slightly apart and sticking your hips out.

"good girl," heeseung praises you, pressing his tip right against your hole. "doesn't need me to tell her what to do."

heeseung keeps his hand pressed firmly on your mouth, ensuring to muffle any sound that escapes you. and it's a good thing, too, because you're tempted to sob when you feel him push in, filling you in one swift motion.

"god," heeseung grunts as he bottoms out. "spent so long imagining what it would feel like to fuck you like this."

heeseung lets go of your face in favor of bracing himself against the door. you gasp out, the feeling of him quickly overwhelming you. and to think he hasn't even moved, yet.

"tried so hard not to let my hands wander but, fuck, you make it so difficult," heeseung says directly into your ear. he gives his first thrust and you decide to take on the responsibility of covering your own mouth because the stretch from his cock threatens a scream out of you.

"those goddamn stylists putting you girls in those tight dresses," heeseung continues. "and they expect us to keep our eyes and hands still?"

your eyes roll back at the filthy admission. heeseung grips you harshly by the waist and the whole world falls away from view when you feel him hammer in and out of you.

it's unknown to you how you could keep yourself upright, your knees feeling as if they could give out any moment. heeseung fucks into you roughly, your words about finishing quickly before your absence raises any questions seemingly spurring him on.

"so good, so fucking good," heeseung blabbers on, surely lost in his own pleasure. you lean back against his large frame for support and heeseung is quick to wrap a hand around your throat.

"yes!" you gasp out, blood rushing loudly in your ears as you feel heeseung squeeze down around your neck.

you wonder what you must look like right now. if anyone on the off chance would walk in on you and see your clothes and hair disheveled, your already short skirt pushed up even further, back arched in pleasure as heeseung fucks into your throbbing, drenched pussy. as if reading your mind again, heeseung prods against your mouth with two fingers, slipping them inside, leaving you no choice but to suckle on the salty skin.

at this moment, the two of you are possibly the very image of sin.

"squeezing me so tight, babe," heeseung breathes out against your neck. you gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, soft moans escaping his own lips.

heeseung pulls his fingers out of your mouth and drool drips down your chin. he grabs at your neck once again, tighter this time, his other arm wrapping around your midsection as he picks up the pace.

"fuck, i'm getting close," heeseung practically growls, maneuvering the two of you away from the door.

"help me out, baby," heeseung pleads in your ears. "tell me how good you're feeling."

you finally let out the sob that's been fighting its way out of you.

"h-heeseung you feel so g-good," you comply, voice breaking from heeseung's vice grip around your neck.

"want you to ruin me like this every day. need you to f-fuck me in front of the practice room mirror," you continue, trying to find the right words despite the growing haziness in your head.

heeseung lets out a noise. "yeah? wanna watch yourself get split open like this? every day, huh?"

you nod frantically. "yes, yes, yes! d-didn't know i needed you this bad."

heeseung grows quiet as he holds you against him, hips snapping up erratically. you're sure that you've made a mess on the floor by now, seeing as you're absolutely drenched. the thought pushes you closer to your own release.

"c-cum for me please," you implore, feeling yourself shake at the thought of your impending orgasm.

"yeah, angel, gonna cum for you. g-gonna cum in this tight, gorgeous pussy. so good for me, letting me fuck them in s-some dark room right next door to m-my manager and members and all the staff, fuck—!"

heeseung abruptly stills, hand falling away from your neck. you take in a gulp of air, your fingers frantically reaching down to rub at your clit. you feel heeseung twitch and spill himself inside of you and you squeeze your eyes shut, coaxing yourself closer to euphoria.

finally, the floodgates open and your whole body seizes up from your orgasm. heeseung's face is buried in your neck and you can vaguely register him encouraging you through it.

you relax after a few seconds, leaning hard against heeseung as you feel your body nearly give out. heeseung pulls out but quickly replaces his cock with two of his fingers. you whine weakly, head lolling back against heeseung's shoulder.

"i got you," heeseung coos, working his fingers in and out of you at a languid pace. you twitch in oversensitivity, complaining how it's too much.

heeseung retracts his fingers and you catch him licking them clean just as you turn to face him. your eyes have adjusted in the dim lighting, heeseung's features coming into focus.

"you just tasted yourself," you say in half surprise and half bewilderment.

heeseung breathes out a laugh, letting his fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop.

"had to keep it in somehow," heeseung says nonchalantly. "seeing as i, ah, compromised your underwear."

you roll your eyes, giggling. "i think you more than compromised my underwear. you tore it in half, heeseung."

heeseung shrugs, donning an unapologetic expression. you swat at his chest playfully but you stop mid-laugh when you feel something drip out of you.

"oh god, fuck—," you start to complain, but before you could get another word out, heeseung drops to his knees, doe eyes peering up at you.

heeseung prods your legs apart, sticking his tongue out just in time to catch his own cum dribbling out of you.

"i'll clean you up, baby," heeseung says, mouth already pressing against your leaking hole.

all you can do is grab onto his shoulder, eyes rolling back as you feel your clit twitch with newfound arousal.

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung scenarios #w: heeseung

[rip-quizilla]

Meet the Teacher

Pairing: Modern!Older!Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Summary: Eddie meets his daughter's new kindergarten teacher and he's pretty sure you're his wet dream come to life. AKA: single dad!Eddie fantasizes about you while he jerks off.

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, modern au, masturbation, implied road head, pervert!Eddie, switch!Eddie (sort of)

A/N: She's a short queen, standing just over 2k words tall- barely more than a blurb. Quick 'lil read, but I hope y'all enjoy her ❤️

🍎🍎🍎

Eddie needed to calm down.

This wasn’t the time for him to be straining against his jeans, getting hot and bothered at seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Wasn’t the place. Hell, given his history with school in general, he should feel uncomfortable as fuck in all sorts of other ways, sitting in a classroom for the first time in over a decade. The last time Eddie remembered being happy to be in a classroom was Miss Adami’s fifth grade class. She had always been nice to him. 

Eddie wouldn’t mind if this teacher were nice to him…

Fucking. Stop. You horny bastard. Eddie chided himself mentally, Get it together, Munson.

He crossed his leg over the opposite knee, willing his half-mast dick to soften the fuck down, and fast. Eddie did his best not to draw attention to himself as he readjusted his position in the too-small plastic chair, scooted about a foot away from the hilariously low table he was currently sitting by. 

He focused his gaze on Raven, his daughter, who sat criss-cross-applesauce on the rainbow-colored rug at the front of the classroom. Her big brown eyes were wide, rapt as she watched her new teacher leading her and all the other five-year-olds in a song that required various hand motions and claps and whatnot. Eddie couldn’t help but grin fondly at the little tyke as she listened intently to every direction, determined to do every little thing her teacher asked of her without a single flaw. 

The only problem was that no matter how cute his daughter was, no matter how much Eddie tried desperately to control himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes off you.

He knew schools were loosening up on rules and regulations and all that- more and more school districts now allowed teachers to dye their hair unconventional colors, show tattoos, have more than just their earlobes pierced, blah blah blah…

But he hadn’t expected his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to look this fucking hot. 

You were something straight out of his fantasies. Like some hybrid rockabilly/alt girl/teacher hybrid, with hair that shone such a vibrant red that he knew there was no way it was natural. Fine by him. Tattooed sleeves of black-inked flowers crawled up your arms, showcasing some of the most beautiful linework and shading that Eddie had ever seen. His eyes followed the vines without his permission, taking account of the foxglove at your right forearm, the hyacinth on your left elbow, the cluster of lilacs that peeked out of the capsleeve on your shoulder. 

And oh, god, he couldn’t look at the snake that coiled around your knee. He hadn’t seen it at first, but when you’d sat down in your chair at the front of the classroom, your dress had crept up your lower thigh, allowing the snake to slither into view, and fuck, Eddie wasn’t sure he’d be able to pay much attention to whatever information you’d be delivering that he probably needed to know. All he could hope was that you’d been considerate enough to print out any necessary information so he could read it later.

Tearing his eyes from his daughter’s teacher (christ, Eddie really was a horny bastard, this was in no way okay), he pulled his phone from his pocket in an effort to provide himself a distraction.

“Ahem.”

Eddie’s gaze shot up from his phone screen, realizing shamefully that your eyes were trained on him, catching him red-handed in the middle of using his phone in class (which was funny, since he technically wasn’t ‘in class’, just in a classroom). Still, that didn’t seem to make a difference to you as you raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to do anything other than slip that phone back into his pocket. Trapped under your authoritative glare, Eddie gulped, cock twitching slightly as he slid the phone back into the pocket of his charcoal jeans. 

The moment your eyes left him, you were back to wide smiles that crinkled around your lashes, clapping along with the kids who already adored you, even though you technically wouldn’t be their teacher until next week. It didn’t matter- they were infatuated with you, a sentiment that Eddie could understand completely. 

When Eddie stepped up to shake your hand on the way out of your classroom that evening, his heart had leapt at the look that you gave him- one eyebrow raised, the corner of your lipsticked mouth clipping up in a wry, knowing smile. 

Just like you’d done for every child before they left your classroom that day, you first crouched down until your eyes were level with Raven’s and asked if she would prefer a hug or a high five. Unsurprisingly, the little firecracker had responded by simply throwing her arms around your neck, clinging to you with the reckless abandon and generous trust that only a five-year-old could give so freely. When you stood to shake Eddie’s hand, he had to bite back a what, I don’t get to pick a hug or high five? 

“Raven,” you said, voice still lifted with excitable inflection that would make any little ankle biter’s ears perk up like a doberman’s. “I can already tell you’re an excellent student. Do you think you can help your daddy remember all of the things we talked about today?” 

Raven’s eyes lit up, and her wispy curls shook as she nodded her head in agreement. “Uh-huh!”

Eddie gave his daughter’s hand a squeeze and nudged her lightly with his knee. “Yes ma’am.” he prompted, and it was echoed in her tiny, polite voice upon hearing his reminder. 

Your eyes flicked up to his, approval in your gaze dancing with the teasing sarcasm in your smile. “Excellent manners.” you praised, and Eddie wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or to his daughter. Either was fine with him. 

You took his hand in yours, shook it all-businesslike with a polite “Nice to meet you, Mr. Munson.” and before Eddie knew it, he was out the door. However, his mind was still on the cherry-red shine of your hair. The crimson varnish on your nails. The sweetheart neckline of your fifties-style dress, and how when you crouched down and he stayed standing he could see the top of a black lace bra underneath. 

Good god, he was a pervert.

It was all he could think about on the way home, all he could think about while Raven watched one of those Minions movies for the twentieth time before bed. All he could think about after he’d tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and retreated to his own bedroom to think about you while he touched himself. 

Eddie was old-fashioned- he didn’t need porn. His imagination was a talented machine, fine-tuned after decades of dreaming up campaigns and writing songs. When he laid down on his mattress, it didn’t take long for him to conjure up the image of you there with him, climbing onto his lap, hiking up that black and white polka dotted dress until he could see the tattoos that he imagined must decorate your thighs. 

He spat into his hand, sighing as he felt the slick coat his cock with each pass of his hand. He applied the most pressure with his thumb, flicking it over that ridge beneath the head that felt fucking phenomenal when touched the way he liked. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine your red-painted nails slipping over the head of his cock, tongue poking out to kitten-lick the very tip while you looked at him with big, bright, forbidden eyes.

Your crimson-stained lips, shiny with spit, would envelop him warmly, causing him to groan ecstatically as his hips bucked into your mouth. His cock, fully hard and throbbing, would slide down your throat as you shoved your lips- no, as Eddie shoved your lips further and further down his shaft until your nose smushed against the hair at his groin. His hand would span across the back of your head, pushing you down and holding you there until you gagged around him, and God, that would feel so good, your desperate swallowing around his throbbing dick and the noises you would make- what noises would you make?

He imagined your voice as he fisted his cock, wove melodies of moans in his head that he could pull from your mouth. Would they be deep? Guttural? Or would you be the kind of moaner that whimpered at the highest register you had? Would you be loud, so loud that the neighbors would hear- either that, or he would just have to gag you. Slap his hand over your mouth. Stuff your panties between your lips (which he was sure were black lace to match your bra). Or would you be more assertive, quick to put Eddie in his place like you did today when he’d taken out his phone?

Which did he want to call you: baby? Or ma’am? He imagined trying both out on you while he was balls-deep in your wet little pussy, and thought about which word would make you squeeze him tighter. 

God, Eddie was so fucking horny. It had been so long since he’d cum inside anything that wasn’t his own hand. He thought about whether or not it would be inappropriate to text the cell phone number you’d provided in the email you’d sent out to the parents/guardians of your class. What would he even say? 

Evening, miss. Was nice to meet you tonight. Feel like grabbing a drink? 

Could he? Would that be appropriate?

He got harder just thinking about it. It definitely would not be appropriate… but what if you said yes anyway? What if you actually agreed to see him? What if you both hit it off? What if you actually did come back to his place with him, let him slide his hand around your waist, hold you close enough to smell the perfume on your neck? Let him see that lacy bra in all its glory?

The fantasy of an evening played out in his mind’s eye: Eddie would pick you up at your house, and you would answer the door wearing a cherry-colored dress that hugged your curves, painting you red to match your hair, your nails, and the angry shade of his cock. In the car, his fingers would brush the skin of your thigh, tracing the inked designs that lived there as you answered his questions about what you liked, what you didn’t, what you wanted or hated. Your hand would snake over to his thigh in turn, trace the seam of his black jeans- the ones that hugged his legs in all the right places- and the sensation would get him hard on the spot, right there in his car. 

Would you be scared away by that? By how quickly you turned him on, drove him nuts. Or would it turn you on too, making you sigh, a rumble through your chest as he felt your delicate, red-tipped fingers brush his hardening cock through the tightening fabric. Would you unbuckle his belt? Unbutton his pants? Unzip his fly and free his throbbing dick into the cool night air, only to shock him with the warm, wet feel of your mouth while he continued to cruise down a Hawkins country road?

Eddie groaned, feeling his release creep up on him. Closer and closer he drew, and with every stroke of his cock he succumbed further into his hazy vision of you. Now you were back in bed with him, naked and bouncing on his cock. You were rubbing your clit as you moved your hot, wet pussy up and down his shaft, leaving milky white wet in your wake. In his fantasy, you were arching your back, moaning as he thrust himself into you at a pace that hit places within you that made you cry out his name. 

His movements were getting faster, his grip growing tighter as it slipped over his cock at a speed that he knew would result in a sore arm tomorrow but he didn’t care- his release would be worth it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, imagining your knees quivering as you made yourself cum on his cock. Imagining your body convulsing under waves of pleasure, your thighs threatening to close against his strong hands holding them open. You would moan and mewl and chant his name, and conjuring up the sound of his name as it left your lips was what did it for Eddie.

Heavy, white ropes of cum dripped over his knuckles, painting his stomach and sliding over the shining crevices of his rings. He stroked himself slower, coming down from his release with a shuddering sigh. 

It only took a few moments for the fact that he just jacked off to the thought of his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to sink in. 

Eddie didn’t feel… creepy… but he could tell there was a definite line he’d crossed somewhere. However, he was tired, and decided that he would deal with the moral implications tomorrow. 

***

The next time Eddie saw you, you were working the car line after school. He’d taken note of the Metallica shirt you were wearing, and rolled down his window, turning up the volume on his stereo. He watched as your smile broadened when you recognized For Whom the Bell Tolls. 

“Here for Raven?” You’d asked with a lopsided grin. Your voice was just as sweet as he remembered.

“Yep,” he’d replied, nodding to your t-shirt, “but if you want to keep her for a few more hours, I think I just decided I trust you with my kid even more than I did before.”

You grinned, showing all of your teeth this time. “She’s a cool kid.” you paused, as if debating whether to finish your sentence. “...I can see where she gets it.”

Eddie beamed, his smirk reaching up to the crow’s feet at his eyes. “You think I’m cool?”

You matched him, smirk for smirk, going as far as to lean your forearms onto the passenger side window sill. “You carry yourself like someone who knows they’re cool.”

Eddie stared at you for a moment, debating for an entirely too-short length of time whether or not he should shoot his shot. 

Fuck it. 

“Cool enough to buy you a drink sometime?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fic #older!eddie munson #single dad!eddie munson #teacher!reader #dad!eddie munson #rip-quizilla

[highwayorgantrade]

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing 

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

 However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks. 

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area. 

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next. 

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind. 

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. 

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began. 

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath. 

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.” 

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.” 

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed. 

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was. 

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted. 

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime. 

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap. 

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.” 

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.” 

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

#mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

[starsandsugars]

Burning Desire

PAIRINGS: shiv roy/f!reader

SUMMARY: you had hoped that working on a work assignment with shiv might make her open up to you. Instead it lead to you 'opening up' in an entirely different way. (NSFW • MINORS DNI)

TAGS: coworkers hooking up, degredation, praise, office crushes, cheating (if you squint)

NOTES: hi guys :) this is my first fic I'm posting on tumblr and my first piece of smut so please be nice and I hope y'all like it!

-

Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Shiv's hand press firmer against your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet even as she continued to pump her fingers into you at that ruthless pace. Each stroke of her fingertips hit that perfect spot inside you, drawing out animalistic sounds that were just barely concealed by her. Every little touch made you feel electric, every inch of your body practically vibrating from the pleasure.

As your head tilted back and knocked back against the door, you thank whatever God there was for putting you in this situation.

You had seen Shioban Roy countless times around the Waystar offices, normally in some meeting or getting into an argument with her siblings that half the staff had to witness.

You knew very little about her initially other than what was public knowledge. You had no reason to pay her any mind, but you always felt your eyes drawn to her anyway.

At first you reasoned it was because of the effortless way she commanded the room or the fact that, as Gerri's second in command, she was kind of your bosses boss but as your curiosity began to change shape it became harder and harder to deny.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her if she walked by your desk, the simple twirl of her hips enough to take your breath away. When she leaned over her desk to talk to you, you just about lost your ability to think clearly. And the one time you saw her kiss her husband in the lobby it filled you with a feeling you refuse to admit even to yourself.

It was ridiculous, and beyond irresponsible.

For one, she was your boss. If that wasn't enough she was married - to the head of news at the company that you work for no less!

You did your best to convince yourself that it was just an office crush. She was a beautiful woman with a touch of power that turned you on more than you wanted to admit. That was surely all it was.

Or it least, that was all it had been, until you got assigned to work on an agreement that Shiv, as President of Operations was hwading. t really wasn't an overly complicated assignment, which is why Gerri handed it over to you, and you expected to be done with it in a couple of days.

As it turns out, that was far from the case. The other company refused to sign, and what could have been a couple meetings turned into long days and nights cooped up in Shiv's office hunched over paperwork.

Your silly crush hadn't gotten away, and had gotten even harder to manage. Now you were close enough to smell her expensive perfume, close enough to hear the edge her voice took when she was telling you to do something.

You tried to push it down, smother it, but the flame only grew brighter with each day you spent together.

Finally, after a million emails and a formally worded threat of litigation, the smaller tech company signed the contract and became a part of the growing monolith that was Waystar Royco.

You had never seen Shiv happier, practically beaming as she went immediately to gloat to her father. You took your things and disappeared back to your own office, expecting that would be the end of your Shiv Roy saga.

You were a little sad to see it end, but you're sure your vibrator will thank you for a break now that you won't have to constantly be so close to her so you prepare yourself to just move on.

You should have known things with her could never be that simple.

Just as you began to catch up with your other work you've been neglecting to help her she pops her head into your office.

"Come out with me to celebrate our win." She says without so much as a 'hello', "Drinks on me."

It wasn't a request so much as a command, but you found yourself agreeing anyway.

With that she turned on her heels, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your stomach.

You were distracted the rest of the day wondering what she was up to. Did she really just want to celebrate? What was her game here? You knew the Roys well enough to know they never did anything without an agenda.

By the time she came to get you from your office at the end of the day you were all but convinced she was going to fire you. You went with her anyway, heart thumping in your chest as the two of you sat quietly in her private car.

She had her driver take you two to a high end bar that seemed to be pretending to be a dive bar. It was busy, with warm bodies and loud music everywhere. It could almost pass for a normal bar if it weren't for the suits all around and the fact that one of their drinks rang up for twice as much as your hourly wage.

She (thankfully) bought you your drink and turned to gave you fully once you had both settled into a leather booth.

It started off perfectly innocently, talking about you success with the deal and your future at Waystar. Your anxiety began to melt as you realized she really wasn't firing you. In fact, she seemed like she genuinely wanted to talk to you.

You talked your way through another 2 drinks each, both of you slowly opening up to each other. You told her about how much Gerri gets on your case and she tells you about her open relationship with Tom.

She drops it into the conversation casually but the way she blinks her eyes gives her away. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"I mean, I don't control what he does. Why would I let him control me?" She leans a little closer, and the finger tracing the rim of her drink turned into a heavy hand on your thigh.

Her voice lowers as she continues, sending shivers down your spine.

"I sleep with whoever I want. Whenever I want."

Your voice choked up a little as you responded, voice sticking in your throat from the sheer shock of it all.

"Yeah, me too." You manage, drawing a laugh from the redhead.

"Oh yeah?" She teases, eyes twinkling as she whispers into your ear.

"Why don't you come show me?"

Before you can even begin to think better of it her ingers splayed are across your back and she's guiding you to the back of the bar.

She opens a door knowingly and you realize she had planned this. If she had to have an angle, you were glad it was this one.

Once the two of you were inside she pressed you back against the door. The cold metal pulled a shiver from you, but the second her lips were on yours it's like every other sensation melted away. She kissed you like she wanted to consume you and you would be more than happy to let her.

As if reading your thoughts she bit your lip, pulling a little yelp out of her. She grinned and moved her lips against your neck as her hands slid up under your dress. You preened under her touch, breathy moans escaping you despite yourself.

It took only a moment for your panties to be tugged down your legs but she paused before actually touching you. You tired rolling your hips but all she did was brush your clit all too softly.

"Shiv, please." You begged, tapping into the want for submission she so clearly had in her normal life. The tendency clearly extends to sex because as soon as you give her what she wants she finally pushed her fingers into you.

She was clearly skilled with her fingers and she worked you up in no time. You moaned loudly, and she gripped your chin to warn you.

"Be. Quiet."

When you couldn't comply she shoved her hand over your mouth, gripping your cheeks to keep it in place. When you whimpered enough to be heard through her attempted gag she crowded you further against the wall.

"Shut up."

She spoke into your ear, equal parts threat and promise.

"Unless you want us to get caught. Maybe you'd like that. Maybe you want everyone to see what you let me do to you in this bathroom."

She strikes just the right spot inside of you and your thighs begin to quake, fingers clutching desperately to her shoulders. You know you should try to maintain some level of basic self respect but when she looks at you with those hungry eyes you just can't find it in yourself to care.

"God you're such a slut." She says, sounding pleasantly surprised. The words send sparks down your spine and you feel yourself tumble over the edge.

Your mind is hazy and your legs shake so badly she has to use her thigh to prop you up.

Once you had calmed down enough to do something that resembled normal breathing she let you go, smiling like she's just won some kind of contest.

"Good girl. I knew you had it in you." She says, and it's a struggle not to let the praise go straight to your head.

She starts to check her reflection in the mirror over the sink as you stay against the door, trying to make your brain work properly again.

Eventually you come to your senses enough to straighten up and try to appear half as nonchalant as she is.

You approach her, leaning against the sink as you watch her fix her hair.

"You're not going to let me return the favor?" You ask with a tone od faux innocence, trying to talk as if it were about a business deal instead of the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

"Oh trust me, you're going to." She grins at you in the mirror. "But we're not doing this again in the bathroom. We're going back to my apartment."

She strides right out of the bathroom, knowing you were going to follow her without you having to say a word.

She's not wrong, and you chase after her before you even have the time to realize your panties are still discarded on the bathroom floor.

#shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #succesion #smut #succession smut #shiv roy smut #wlw smut #succession fic #tom wambsgans #kendall roy #roman roy

[anonymooseforever007]

Romantic Escape

(Tommy Shelby x female reader)

Summary- After being confined to Arrow House for a week because of a small concussion, Y/N is determined to get out. But considering how overprotective Tommy's been recently she'll have to be smart if she'd to make it. To trick Thomas Shelby is a feat many enemies have tried but few have succeeded. But then again, not many of his enemies have the advantage of knowing him the way his wife does...

Or at least they're scared to get that close....

A/N: Hi y'all! No specific TW's for this one other than usual Peaky Violence, Language, and implications of smut (but non actually happens). There is one mention of a past attack but nothing's graphic. Also this was going to be one part, but then I didn't like how the breakup between scenes flowed, so there is a second part going to be posted in a few days probably! Anyways I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️ WC- 3.0k

Romantic Capture (Part 2)

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a week and a half since the bad accident occurred. 

Well, your husband called it a bad accident. 

You called it "being a imbecile who'd gotten so distracted trying nicely draw a baby chipmunk out of the house she didn't realize the stairs ended two steps ago."

But in fairness, every other idea for the poor thing your beloved family suggested involved guns or stew. Besides, Thomas Shelby wasn't about to let even his wife herself, label his darling love as a common 'imbecile'....so 'bad accident' it was. 

Truth be told you didn't even think it should be labeled as such. Sure you were dizzy for the first two days, but you only almost passed out when you stood up once. AND there wasn't any blood so you didn't even need to go to a hospital. Polly was insistent it was a mild concussion and a couple days rest would be all you needed. But your husband thought otherwise, and here you were days later, still confined to the premises. 

You'd laughed at the irony of it. Your husband, who once decided to medicate a cracked skull with cocaine, practically ordering you to stay in bed. The hypocrite. Thomas Shelby was an undoubtedly smart man, but when it came to medicinal advice, he should probably have been the last one giving suggestions. 

In the beginning, you could understand why he was worried. Yes, technically you had been "shot" a few months ago, by a rather rude man trying to prove he was more dangerous than your husband. Truthfully, you'd had sewing accidents that bled more. One time when you were 15, you had accidentally sliced the side tip of your left pointer finger off using a pair of scissors. But luckily you father had been a doctor and was able to fix it up at the house with ease. If held up straight though, it did still look like the tip of that finger was slightly crooked, but that's another story. But the man who'd shot you must have been drunk, because even your blind uncle had better aim than him, and all you were left with was a small nick on your shoulder and a small tear in your dress. Yes, it was still terrifying, and both you and you husband still woke up some nights, hearts beating fast with the thoughts of what would have happened if he had better aim. But in the end you were, for lack of better term, just fine. 

That didn't stop your husband from worrying more though. It seemed the incident had flipped a switch in him, often shared by new mothers or teachers, who tended to be hyperaware of everything that could go wrong for their young steeds. For weeks after, Tommy had been on high alert, not even letting you go out with Polly alone, and everyone knew she could handle anyone just fine. Though maybe there were some good points to his overprotectiveness.

For about a month after, Tommy had decided to work from his home office so he could be closer to you just incase. This meant he didn't have to drive over half an hour to the office every day and could spend more time in bed with you in the mornings, something neither of you complained about. Then you spent many of those days in his office with him, working on your own projects or trying to convince him to let you play boss for the day. That idea was a quick no, but it didn't stop you from stealing his coat, sitting in his chair and, pretending to bark out orders to invisible blinders while he went to the bathroom. Nor did it stop Alfred Solomons from laughing like an hyena the time he had called right as you picked up the phone. You still weren't over knowing he heard you (as Tom) threaten to "make a pie out of the testicles out of whatever coward dared feed the horses Scottish hay instead of Irish!".... Luckily it hadn't been the time when him and "Tommy" were planning how to hide their secret affair. 

In the end, Tommy had eventually gone back to working at the office and only the maids were left to witness your "brilliant" impressions. Soon life went back to its usual order... atleast until you'd gotten hurt again. 

At first you thought it would be fun like before, and that you could spend time trying to convince Tommy he'd had better things to do than sign papers all day. Namely you. But unfortunately, it seemed your husband decided that your injuries weren't serious enough to warrant the both of you a bed rest this time. And truthfully, you also didn't mind that too much either. You adored your husband and loved spending time with him, but that didn't mean you didn't have plans that not involving him. Most days were spend either helping the maids around the house, planning the next gala with Lizzie, or going out with your own small friend group. You had plenty of things to do without him. 

That was until you realized for some reason, the things you wanted to do weren't able to be done. For starters, you had a suspicion all the maids and been ordered to politely decline your offers to help with anything, even laundry. They'd simply smile at you and let you know you didn't have to worry about it, before offering to make some tea so you could rest your head. Then it appeared that both of you and Tommy's spare cars were in the shop for "repairs" meaning you'd have no way to out to meet your friends. Yes, they could come over, but still not all your friends were lucky enough to have cars and you were often the one driving everyone around. Not even Esme or Polly were able to come over, as Polly had gone to take care of a sick Ada in London, and half of Esme's lot had their own mini cases of colds. Even Finn who lived with you and Tommy, had gone with Isaiah, Curly, and Uncle Charlie to Wales for the week to bring home the new horse Tommy bought last month. After a week stuck at home it was getting old, and you wanted out.

So you decided to hatch a plan. And because you had a sneaking suspicion he started it, you had a good idea who your unwitting accomplice was going to be....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was now 6:34 and you had made plans to meet Lizzie at a silent film at 8:15. Though some may not have expected it, you got on quite well with your husband's secretary, and the pair of you could often be found going out to lunch on days when Tommy was particularly stubborn, or having tea with the other Shelby women on the weekends, laughing over whatever foolish thing you'd seen that week. It also didn't hurt that your sweet older brother had shown an undeniable interest in Lizzie, which seemed to be reciprocated anytime they'd meet at a Shelby party. You smiled remembering how many questions he'd asked about her after she'd left the night they'd met, or the grin on her face when he'd "run into" the pair of you on the way back from lunch one day and offered her a flower from a bouquet for your mother. What a wonderful coincidence of course, that your mother and Lizzie had the same favorite flower. So it wasn't an unusually occurrence for you to be seeing her, though you had a feeling if you tried to tell your husband, the last car might just happen to be out of gas. Eventually, you simply decided not to tell him and now all you needed was a way to get there...

And at 6:46 that way came rolling up the gravel as your husband finally returned in the only "working" car left. Standing on the front steps with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a blanket over your shoulders, you waited until your husband had stepped out of the car.

"TOMMY!"

Running up to the man, you smiled wide, quickly embraced him, greeting him with a passionate kiss leaving you both warm. Then you handed him the whiskey, letting him hold his briefcase in the other hand.

"Now, I'm not complaining Love, but can I ask what new trinket I bought today, that deserves this kind of welcome?" Tommy inquired cheekily, bending his ear closer to yours as you lead him inside by his tie. 

He knew very well you loved him, and he absolutely loved you, but usually when he came home you were waiting in the living room or helping in the house somewhere. It had become a small game of y'all's too. If he managed to find you before dinner he'd get some kisses and some praises about how fast he'd found you, "your smart love" he was. If he didn't see you until dinner he'd still get kisses but it just wasn't the same. 

You'd never tell him your dogs played the same game when learning to play fetch. He didn't need to know that. 

Besides, it was all in good fun, and an easy way to try and get him home earlier. He could always work after dinner, but one thing you'd practically demanded the night you'd gotten married was that he was always home in time for the last meal of the day. And for the last two years he'd actually kept his promise, except for the days he was out of town on business. Even then you'd convinced him to have what you called "telly dinners". You'd sit by the telephone with your dinner plate on your lap and tell him about your day. While miles away he'd be listening, happy to hear your voice after being with Alfie all day. Hell, one time you'd even gotten impatient waiting for the call and inadvertently interrupted a meeting. You'd ended up having a lovely conversation with the other gangster himself about how his dog was doing, while your husband mumbled about "fucking betrayal on both ends." He didn't really mean it, but he'd always find something just plain odd about the friendship between you and the gruff man. If was as if the two most opposite ends of his world would come together sometimes and try to take a few more years off his life. But if being friends with Alfie made you happy then he'd likely have to deal with him forever. Or at least until he found a way to make the murder look like an accident....

"Can't a wife just be happy her husband's returned home? I missed you."

"And I missed you every second I was away." One thing about Tommy was that he could be quite romantic when he wanted to. And even if he did bottle up his feelings too often, he still had a sweet talk like no other. "But I seem to remember my lovely wife being slightly irritated with me this morning. Something about keeping her in a cage," Tommy rebutted thinking about the small argument you'd both had this morning. 

Yes, he did know that he probably should let up a little on the overprotective precautions he's set up these last few days under the guise of letting you rest. But what he'd not yet told you, is the same day you'd gotten hurt, another enemy had made a threat on your life. And then getting a call, not even an hour later, from Frances about your concussion had thrown him in to a small panic, remembering the last time he'd almost lost you. So he'd taken his chances and used your minor injury as a way to keep you at the house for a few days while he had the man delt with. He knew he should have just told you from the start, but then coming home and seeing you curled up in the master bed, asleep in one of his shirts with a melted ice pack by your pillow, he'd decided to wait. It wasn't until today he'd finally had confirmation the danger was over and he could be sure you were safe. Maybe if your head really was better, he could take you out to dinner to celebrate.... Hopefully that would also soften the inevitable lecture he'd receive upon you learning the truth.

"Well yes I did say that, but I've had time to think, and as long as you promise to make it up to me later tonight, I'll forgive you," you replied coyly, lips brushing his as your words left no room for confusion on exactly how he'd have to make it up to you. "And besides," you said stepping back from him in the front hall, nudging his arm slightly so he'd drink the whiskey, "My head really is feeling better now, so maybe tomorrow we can go out to dinner too. I've been at the house all week you know?"

Tommy drank the whiskey and smirked, spreading his arms open wide as playful show, "With an offer like that how can I refuse, eh love? You want a real romantic escape from this place huh?"

You laughed, before pulling him close again wrapping your arms around him tightly, not giving him the chance to set down his briefcase or the empty glass. After all, if his hands were full, how could he stop you from digging your hands into his coat pockets during the embrace. Loving kisses on his face and neck helped distract him from your less than honest intentions. Well, partially less than honest... you still did fully intend for him to make it all up to you, especially with the small noises beginning to come from his throat as you kissed the small spot beneath his neck he loved. BUT that would happen only late tonight after the movie and maybe a few drinks with Lizzie. 

Quickly but efficiently, you moved a hand under the blanket you'd wrapped yourself in outside, to muffle the noise and pulled back from him again. But this time, Tommy has plans of his own.

"In fact," he said slowly backing you up to the nearest wall, finally putting his case and glass on a nearby table and taking the blanket from your hands. You hopped he hadn't noticed the slight jingle it made when he threw it to a nearby chair. "Why don't we start now," he whispered, beginning to leave light kisses on your neck, "I do have a lot to make up for after all. Telling the maids not to let you help at all, and then I had the cars brought to the shop so you couldn't leave incase you almost passed out again." If he hadn't been kissing your own sweet spot right now you might have pinched his ear and began to lecture him on just that. Letting out one soft moan, you ducked your head to press his lips against yours once again. You pulled him closer and grabbed his tie, taking control of the kiss again.

"Nope Tommy Love, I'm sorry but that can't happen just yet."

Hearing those words your husband frowned as he was the one to pull back lightly this time. 

"Why? Does your head hurt? I can get something if you need it," he asked concerned. Maybe the fall was more serious than Polly said if it was still bad a week and a half later.

"No love, my head's just fine Tommy, but I got a call from Polly earlier, saying there were some papers you needed to get done by 11:00 tonight. They were the ones you neglected when I surprised you for lunch last week and got knocked off the desk," you cooed at him, running your finger down his chest slowly to remind him exactly what kind of lunch it was. Plus, if he got too worried about your head again he may not let you out of his sight, and your plans would be ruined. It was 7:00 now and you'd need to leave soon. "She said they were very important and you really need to finish them. Therefore, I insist that you immediately go to your office and get them finished. And finished properly too, don't just rush it to make time for me."

"Love you know I'd never rush with you,"  and you have a small snort at the truth in those words. "Besides, I guess you do make a point and we wouldn't want to anger my aunt would we," Tommy chucked, knowing at least six things he'd said today to piss his aunt off.

"Exactly, so why don't you go to your office and close the door. I don't want to see you until at least 10:30 Mr. and don't forget to double check spelling. Those papers better be fit for a queen because that's exactly what your aunt deserves," you commented, lightly pushing Tommy towards his office. You had him now. So close!

Tommy smiled lightly and leaned over to grab the blanket from the chair, intending to bring it back in his office where it came from. Shit.

"Eh eh eh," you scolded lightly, stepping in front of the chair and grabbing Tom's wrist lightly right before he could pull it up. "I'm not done with that," you took the blanket from the chair yourself and bundled it to your chest, "You. Office. Now. And remember," you pulled close to Tommy one final time, "after 10:30 when you're done with your work, come and find me. And Tommy?" you teased, teeth lightly biting his ear lobe drawing a small groan from him as his eyes closed, "Tommy I did do some gardening today. Why don't you start by looking places where one can get a little less," you lightly kissed his other earlobe, "dirty? Maybe the bath will still be warm..."

Tommy cursed lightly as you placed one final, deep kiss to his lips before pushing back and sending him on his way. You were still in the front hall when he looked back over his shoulder, waving happily to him. And he was none the wiser that underneath the blanket was your other hand....gripping tightly to his car keys.

Romantic Capture (Part 2)

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders

[frogserotonin]

Hii, could you do an Anthony lockwood x reader where they just have a nice chill day. They are together and have nothing to do so they just stay in bed all day sharing Stolen kisses, words of affirmation, cuddling, talking, bed hair, morning voice, makeout?

y'all don't understand this is so different from what i write on ao3 for my other fandom, i am an angst machine there, all of these fluff requests are terrifying bc idk how to write fluff 😭(/lh dw i still love writing them)

as long as you're next to me(just the two of us)- anthony lockwood x reader

(@citizen-01, @gibby31)

a/n: hope i could do justice to what u wanted!! was just listening to beabadoobee when writing this lmao warnings: none??? unedited, kissing ig, idk cursing?? ooc

Waking up in the morning wasn’t something you enjoyed all that often, the prospect of another day not that appealing when the Problem was still a prominent…problem issue. You’d never grow tired of waking up to the sight of Lockwood next to you though, limbs shot out in all directions-and yet always with an arm over you. Sometimes he’d have a little frown on his face when he was very deeply asleep that made you coo and smile so widely it hurt your cheeks. To be fair, who could blame you?

Waking up this morning was no different from most for you, a flash of disappointment at the world around you, and then giddiness at the realisation of Lockwood’s arm being slung around your torso and the most adorable fucking frown on his lips. You sigh happily, sitting up slightly, careful not to move his arm from its place. You glance at the clock on the bedside table-7:36am- dismiss it because it’s cold as shit, and weave your fingers into his hair, stroking his head and humming a song you don’t remember the name of. Today is a good day, a free day. Lucy will probably stay in bed until 9 and then make herself some toast, a cup of tea and then head back to bed and draw with the radio on. George won’t be up until around the same time, going to the kitchen to grab a pastry, make some tea and then bury himself in research about the Problem. 

If he could help it Lockwood would probably not awaken for another couple hours also. Unless you moved. He’d probably wake up to drag you back to bed to cuddle with him then.

You wouldn’t be opposed to that actually. 

Slowly you remove your hand from his hair, and then his arm from around you, letting out a small huff of laughter when he immediately moves it back, although still very unconscious. You swing a leg out from the quilt and place it on the (really fucking cold) floor, allowing for the majority of your weight to shift to that side. His other hand shoots out and grabs yours. For a couple seconds all you can pick up is incomprehensible mumbling, and then-

“Darling, come back.” It was a miracle you didn’t swoon, the nickname and the morning voice were a lethal combination. More grumbling and then he cracked an eye open and offered you a hopeful grin. “Please?”

Wow. How are you even alive anymore? It’s like your heart is simultaneously beating faster than humanly possible, and not at all. 

You feel his arms completely embrace you and drag you into them. He props himself up on one elbow and kisses your forehead, whispering a ‘good morning’ onto it and then attacking the rest of your face with lazy kisses, his other arm still securely hugging you to him.

“How’re you so pretty after having just woken up?” he asks, and it sounds so curious and genuine, you almost melt, right there and then. 

“I should ask you.” You try to play off how completely smitten you are by bantering with him, “Your morning hair is gorgeous dear.” you giggle at the hand that shoots up to try and smooth it down. It doesn’t work but you don’t particularly want to tell him, simply dragging his arm back down to cuddle you again. 

You lay together, you in his arms and his chin resting on the top of your head, for a little while, simply enjoying each other's presence. You turn around, burrowing yourself further into the blankets-because it really is fucking cold as balls, far out-and you wrap your arms around his middle. Neither of you are quite sure when you started kissing or who started kissing who but neither of you were planning on pulling away first.

Kissing Anthony Lockwood was many things. Sometimes it was rushed and breathtaking, like after a particularly terrifying case, when he’d push his lips to yours with a certain sort of vigour, reassuring himself of your stable and safe condition. Sometimes it was heated and intoxicating, deep kisses that doused you in gasoline and lit you aflame. 

These kisses are slow and idle, just the both of you enjoying the feel and existence of each other. You feel like you’re floating, tethered only by the feeling of his lips on yours. You’re infinite in his arms, your hands have found their way back to his hair, running your fingers through his hair. He pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose.

“You’re absolutely stunning.” His eyes lock with yours and his voice is hoarse and breathless from the kissing but still gravelly from having recently woken up. “You deserve everything and anything you so desire and I will go to the ends of the earth to provide you with that.” You kiss him again, just once, but it's hard and full of as much love as you can convey.

“I think that everything I want at all in this world is right here.”

“That is disgustingly adorable.” His smile is all the stars in a clear night sky.

“Thanks', I try.”

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #mars's fanfiction stuffs ✨ #lockwood x reader

[tizniz]

WIP Wednesday 🌙

Tagged by: @theotherbuckley & @diazsdimples (such a little shit with his post)

Happy Valentine's Day to those who celebrate 🩵 and happy Wednesday to those who don't!

SURPRISE! I PICKED UP CUPID!BUCK AND WROTE SOMETHING! I'm determined to work past everything that stopped me from continuing it and am going to keep going. So we'll see what happens.

I'm doing a few snippets (treating y'all for being so nice and because it's V-Day) from what I wrote last night, so there's more under the cut along with tags!

Valentine’s Day sucks. You’d think being a descendant of Cupid, one would be all for the holiday. Not Buck. Buck hates the day. Look, he loves love. Is first in line to admit that he is a supporter of love and will happily help anyone and everyone find their one true love. Has done exactly that with many a people. Has developed a reputation because of it. But Valentine’s Day? Valentine’s Day can go die in a deep, dark pit for all he cares.

...

He absently scratches at his arm as he tries to focus enough to pick out a sauce. But he can’t do that until he picks out a type of pasta. Because Eddie is surprisingly picky about what pasta goes with what sauce, and so Buck staggers his way over to the pasta. Boxed, not fresh, because Eddie is also peculiar about that. It honestly makes Buck love the man more. Except the thought of loving his best friend has a shiver running down Buck’s back unpleasantly; not because of his love for Eddie, but simply because it draws in more love from around him. He feels a bit like he’s suffocating. He’s sweating and shivering at the same time. Everything is blurry around him. There’s a couple at the end of the aisle whispering to each other, their new love pouring off of them and over to Buck, crawling along his skin.

...

As Buck is sat down on the edge of the bed, he realizes something with a frown. There’s nothing coming from the house. There’s no feelings or emotions or anything. Which Buck has learned to adapt to with Eddie, had actually sought it out tonight. But it does mean something, or someone, is missing. “Chris?” “Valentine’s Day dance, remember?” Eddie places some clothing on the bed beside Buck. “You helped him pick out his outfit.” Right. He did. Buck frowns deeper. He doesn’t really remember it though. “You’re really not feeling well, are you?” Eddie mutters, fingers moving through Buck’s hair once more. It eases some of the throbbing in Buck’s head, and he falls forward until his face is planted into Eddie’s stomach, the cotton of his shirt soft against Buck’s itchy skin. This had been the right move. This is where he needed to be. Already he could feel the silence and lack of emotions from Eddie muffling the too loud noise inside of Buck’s body. He really should have listened to his sister and stayed home. Love sickness was a nasty thing.

...

“Good.” Eddie echoes, leaning over to place the glass on the side table. “How you feeling?” Buck wrinkles his nose, eyes falling closed again. “No’ good.” “Get some sleep then.” “Stay?” “I…” Eddie sighs, and then there’s movement before Buck feels a body settle next to his. He shuffles closer until Eddie’s arm winds around him, slotting a leg between Buck’s. “Get some rest, Buck.” “Knew you’d help.” Buck mutters, feeling himself drift off. But it wasn’t spinning and scary like before, in the store. No, here, he feels safe and secure, on steady feet. “Always help…”

NP tagging: @daffi-990, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @jesuisici33, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @exhuastedpigeon, @bucksbackwardcap, @disasterbuckdiaz, @hippolotamus, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @monsterrae1, @actualalligator, @epicbuddieficrecs, @elvensorceress, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @spotsandsocks, @spagheddiediaz, @fortheloveofbuddie, @wildlife4life, @evanbegins, @devirnis, @buckaroosheart, @perfectlysunny02, @nmcggg, and anyone else who needs a tag :)

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #cupid!buck #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic

[smokingtiger]

We Need To Talk About Shipping

I just want to put this out there since this website seems to be full of delusional shippers who are pushing fictional narratives or chains of events that literally never happened irl. Now personally, I don't mind casual shipping (big gasp, I know). Like if you think two people are cute together or have great chemistry, that's fine; ppl tend to reflect their own desires onto other people/things, whether they be fictional or real ... create your stories, write your fics, draw some nice pictures ...  the problem lies when you can no longer decipher your own fictional stories of your favorite ship from reality. If you have gotten to the point where you feel the need to argue over what ship is REAL in a space where these types of relationships haven't even been confirmed or acknowledged ... kindly exit the fandom and only come back after taking classes in human decency. If BTS hasn't confirmed a relationship, then we as fans must accept that as our reality. Of course, many of us have our speculations, but we should never overstep and promote those realms of possibility as true. You are allowed to think something might be real, but don't turn that idea of realness into false delusions about fabricated events. If you are in the ask box of a stranger accusing a BTS member of cheating on another BTS member with another BTS member... please take the time to reevaluate your life choices. I've seen jkkrs and tkkrs argue for hours over things that literally never happened. How can you guys accuse BTS members of purposely sabotaging another member in the name of a ship? I saw a jikook post that said JM was purposely trying to tick TH off by being 'intimate' with JK. Are you sure you're talking about Jimin? Like, Park Jimin? Kim Taehyung's best friend? That Jimin? One of the best examples that I can think of (right now) is JK's 25th birthday live when he told Jin that none of the members came to visit him for his birthday except for JM and HS. He confirmed TWICE that TH did not come to see him. Now normal people would look at this and just move on, bc we can understand that the other members probably sent happy birthday texts or even gave him a phone call. Just bc something is not done publicly does not mean it didn't happen. But anyways, tkkrs had the AUDACITY of accusing JK of lying, running with a fictitious lie that he had only said he didn't come to 'protect' TH. So are HS and JM not relevant in this equation at all? Did JK purposely mention JM and HS to put them in danger? You DO NOT get to accuse people that YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW of these types of things. Who the hell do you think you are? (also, I'm not targeting tkkrs, I understand that not every single one of you is a bad egg, but this is just the first example I could think of) Y'all need to throw blogs and youtube channels (*cough* taekook-lives *cough*) that have fake stories and leaked photos as evidence away. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, DO NOT SUPPORT SASAENG/STALKER PHOTOS, EVEN IF IT'S OF YOUR SHIP. Some shippers are far too comfortable using photos that were taken of BTS without their consent as ammo. You are gross. BigHit has protections! Half of these delulu shippers can't even interpret Kor words/sentences correctly and spew false garbage that is both utterly offensive toward BTS and the Kor lang. If you can't even take the time to properly consume the nuances of what is being said, what makes you think that you're such a good detective and can sniff out a relationship? Hell, they can't even tell when honorifics are being used or if they're speaking satoori! Is it so hard to consult actual Koreans and Kor speakers to see if what you're consuming is actually correct? The Korean culture and language are not yours to maliciously weaponize when you're trying to prove a 'point'. But like I said, I feel like this community needs a lot of cleaning up. I want you to enjoy your time in the fandom, but don't attack other people on false evidence or speculations. Take care of yourself and others. Don't let your ships make you into a monster.

And as always, LOVE all seven. SUPPORT all seven. Understand that BTS' bond is so pure and lovely and there's nothing that delusional stans and shippers can say/do to ruin that.

#kookmin #jikook #taekook #vkook #sope #yoonkook #jinmin #yoonjin #2seok #hopekook #vmin #namkook #vhope #taegi #namjin #yoonmin #namgi #taejin #jihope #minjoon #jinkook #namseok #vmon #jungkook #jimin #taehyung #v

[marihem]

Helloo i just wanna confess that im so in love with your frans dynamic 😭😭💙💙💙💙💙 their interaction, their platonic relationship.. aahh somehow whenever i see them i can feel their vibes as a someone who loves platonic partner so bad, the calm vibes and their own shenaningans- which i couldnt stop laughing

Like, romance but most dominated with platonic?? Homies but at the same time love each other but still friend agdhd like that idk how to describe their relation but damn i just love them

How you draw sans and frisk are my most favorite especially your frans dynamic, hope you have a nice day and keep making what you love about them!! 💙

AAAA THANK YOUUU 😭 I'M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW 🥺💙

I've been reading what you wrote over and over and I'm just so glad to hear these from you! Indeed, those are the vibes I'm aiming for these two. Like other people around them, they couldn't really make out of what their relationship status is based on the binary "platonic" and "romantic" relationship. But you just know that they love and appreciate each other and always stick together and that's for sure 😌

I say they're "queerplatonic" because that's the most accurate "label" we can match to their relationship but if you actually asked them what they are, hehe you know what they'll say XD (omg I just love things that exist outside of the established standards made by Society TM)

I should tell y'all the story of how I slowly developed these two's relationship cuz it is also something that's connected to me personally haha ;D

EEEE again, I'm so so happy that you like my interpretation of Frisk and Sans!^^ What being obsessed with these characters for years does to a mf:

Please I'm more than happy to share my own take on these two as an individual and how they got to the being the people I've been drawing now as you can tell that these versions of Frisk and Sans are canon compliant and takes place years after the events of the game úဗù my ask box is always open 👀

Thank you so so much! Your words made my day and night and I'll still come to re-read this again and again! Please accept these humble lil doodles and I also wish you a wonderful day/night 💙💙

#asks #thank you for the ask! #my art #sona #frans #sansfrisk #sans x frisk #frisk x sans #frisk #sans #qpr frans #indeed i love them so much too T.T #my blorbos! i'm shaking them so hard- #there are days and nights where i spent so much time thinking of them that it's actually kinda concerning haha- #also i should drop my frans' queer identities later in a seperate post/ask (if i get any) #again thank you very muchhh TvT #i'm holding your words gently and i'll try not to squish #these 2 keep me from going insane #or they're the ones that's making me going insane? #you decide #wow you read all of this? awww <3 #imma go back to my lil dent where i vibrate like a hair trimming machine

[torra-and-the-toons]

I want to start off by saying thank you to all y'all who left nice messages and checked in on me lately, it means a lot that so many people care, and even if I didn't respond directly to you, I saw you and I appreciate you.

I've been in a rough spot mentally for a long time now, even before that kerfuffle, but it was this one little thing that just sent me spiraling downward. I over-reacted, when I really should have just ignored it and moved on, but with so much going on in my life, I just snapped.

I don't want to leave entirely, though. I still love to draw and share what I've done with people, it's been one of the few things the past few years that's brought me joy. And I definitely don't want to give up on the massive projects that I've worked so hard on.

I won't be as interactive. I've erased all pending requests and from now on, I'm sticking strictly to what I want to draw. Sorry to those whose requests I didn't get to. I've turned anon off and the likelihood of me answering headcanon-related questions is low.

All I ask is that if you see something you disagree with in my art or in something I say, please just ignore it. It's better for both of us if you do. Unfollow me, Block me, do whatever you need to create a safe space for yourself, I won't hold that against you. I'm really not out here with the intent to hurt anyone.

#torra rambles #personal shenaningans

[westernbitch]

Owen Hunt FanFic

First time writing something different. Wondering if I should write more..... please comment if you want more!

Owen Hunt comforting reader after she finds out her shitty bf cheated on her. Reader is Derek's little sister. I hope y'all like it!

------------------READ MORE

I wake up to the sound of shuffling around my room, I shoot up with a scream and find Karev crawling into the window of my room. I roll over with a groan, “Y/N, if you didn’t let me in, I told you I would find a way in!”

“Y/N! Are you okay,” Derek runs in with a baseball bat in one hand, a phone in the other, and he is breathing hard. “I will kill you-,” Meredith screams with a spatula in her hand, “shit Karev what are you doing?”

I cover myself with the warm comforter, hoping if I hide under it enough, the whole world will be blocked out. Just my luck, I hear Owen and Sloan follow behind Karev, “sweetheart, I know you are upset, but you’re better than him and he shouldn’t have slept with that little hoe of a resident!”

“Jake slept with a freaking res-” anger booms through the room as Derek talks. “I swear to god I am gonna kill him,” Sloan nods and agrees with Derek. 

“For the love of God, get the hell out of the room! Please-” I try to get everyone out by being grumpy, something hard for me to pull off, but it sometimes works. No one budges, everyone just stands around. 

“Can I get a minute with Y/N alone,” Owen says, apparently everyone follows because I hear footsteps exit the room.

“Is this why you won’t laugh at any of my jokes?” Owen whispers as he lays down next to me and pulls down the covers to see my face. “Y/N, please,” he pulls me to his chest, which breaks down every border I have put up, sobs start coming out of me freely.

“I am so fucking stupid, I fucking let him do that. Everyone knows I am the dumbass that let her boyfriend cheat on her with some newbie dumbass from peds.” His arms pull me tighter into his chest and our bodies melt together. “He has been an asshole for months and I just let him be because I thought he loved me. He acts like we aren’t even in a relationship and now I know why. I am so fucking stupid”

“Please don’t say that, you’ll make me cry,” this makes me stop crying and look up into his deep blue eyes. They crinkled a bit as he smiled at me, I can’t help but giggle. His thumb wipes away a stray tear, “ahh there’s my girl,” his deep voice grumbles in his chest. 

“Now, what is one thing that we could do right now that would make you feel better? Something that will make you forget about that fucker who was a complete asshole to you all the time.”

His question is a deep question, part of me wants to go egg his house or slash his tires on his brand new sports car. I know if I said that, Owen and everyone down stairs would hop on that chance as I said I wanted to do it.His hands are rubbing my back, rubbing aimlessly and drawing random shapes, making it hard to focus.  “Scissors”

“Scissors? Are we going to cut all of his shit up?” His eyes light up as he laughs at the idea of cutting his stuff up. 

I slide from his arms and walk to the dresser, grabbing the hair cutting scissors from the top drawer. I quickly grab one side of my long dirty blond hair and chop it off, then I do it to the other side. My eyes glance down at what I just did, the thrill that is running through me is intense. When I look in the mirror I see I actually gave myself a cute ass bob, my curls falling right around my shoulders. 

Owen walks up behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, “fuck.” I give him a questioning look in the mirror, “you look fucking gorgeous.”

I feel butterflies in my stomach and my face turns a light shade of pink, “he fucking loved my hair long. He said if I cut it he would break up with me.”

“What a dick,” his eyes darken with the words I just said, “Long hair, short hair, bald, I don’t give a fuck, I would date you.”

“Owen, you don’t hav-”

“No, Y/N, I have been nice and respected him by being kind enough not to flirt with you. Now that douche is out of the picture and I am going to remind you every fucking second of my life how fucking beautiful you are.”

#greys anatomy #owen hunt #owen hunt x reader #comforting reader #greysedit

[amazingmsme]

You're The Mouse

AN: I was having a hard time wondering just what I wanted to do for the chase prompt, and then I met Distortion Michael & the rest is history! This was an absolute blast of a fic to write, definitely one of the longer ones you'll see this month. I already miss Tim a lot so he gets a nice lil spotlight too. Posting this at 2am because I'm excited & the one time I did that it blew up. Hope y'all enjoy day 6!

It had been a long, tiring day with some rather harrowing statements he had to hear and record himself. His back ached from hunching over the desk for hours without a good break, and he felt tired down to his bones. Even his eyes felt tired, burning from the strain of staring at small font and lack of blinking. He couldn't wait to get home and crash in the couch. It was only Wednesday, which for him didn't bode well for the rest of the week.

He should've noticed the static. That fuzzy ringing in his ears that started out quiet, only to grow in intensity. If his mind wasn't so frazzled, he would've noticed that's not his usual office door.

A chill ran down his spine when he stepped through the doorway and found himself deep in the tunnels.

"Oh God," he muttered to himself, backing up and turning to run, but it was too late. The door was gone, and he ran straight into Michael's arms. Though he didn't remain there for long.

He screamed and started trashing, managing to elbow him in the stomach and stomp on his foot. Temporarily hurt, he recoiled enough for his grip to slip so Jon could free himself. He whipped around to face him once he felt there was a suitable distance between them. Although with Michael, he wasn't sure there even was such a thing.

"What the hell do you want now?" he growled, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly. Michael let out an echoing, disorienting chuckle.

"Oh archivist, I simply want some fun."

That was quite possible one of the worst things he could've said, at least in Jon's opinion. Because when Michael had fun, people usually ended up dead or insane, or in a cruel twist of fate, both.

"Maybe you should pick up a hobby, like drawing or golfing, or literally anything that involves leaving all of us alone," he suggested, though it felt more like a plea once it left his tongue. Michael let out a shrill giggle.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked with a tilt of his head. His wide smile was unnerving. "You're my favorite little toy."

Jonathan's face scrunched up in disgust as he looked him up and down, clearly not amused by his statement.

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter archivist, I didn't mean it like that," he scolded. "It's more like... when you were a child and you'd build fantastic cities out of blocks just so you could watch their destruction at your own hands." He took a step closer. "I'm just looking for a bit of fun amidst the chaos."

His held his hand out in front of him, reaching for Jon. His eyes widened in fear, stumbling backwards. Michael's hand distorted and stretched before his very eyes, long fingers growing in the darkness of the tunnels. Jon was already halfway down the hall.

Michael loved the thrill of the chase. He loved hearing the rapid thud of a racing heart, the panicked gasps for air as they ran for an escape. They were all the same, really, if he thought about it. Just a mindless chase through endless, winding halls that always ended victoriously. (For him, at least.)

Jon was frantic. Why now, of all days? He was so ready to walk through his front door, kick off his shoes and enjoy a nice hot frozen meal on his couch. It really was the least he could ask for, and yet, he couldn't even have that. The only saving grace was the fact that he was in the archive tunnels instead of whatever weird pocket dimension the Distortion liked to trap people in. His lungs ached as his feet pounded against the hard, dirt floor, eyes searching through the dark for something, anything to register with him and give him a clue as to his whereabouts, but it all looked the same.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!" the voice was shrill and empty, the words hollowed out and stuffed to the brim with static. It echoed through the tunnels, and Jon couldn't tell where it came from, but the echo made it sound so fucking close and that sent him into a panic.

He ran ahead, ducking in a small alcove to catch his breath. He felt like he'd put a sufficient distance between them to be safe enough to do so. He gulped down air until the burn in his lungs subsided. He raised two fingers to his neck, checking his racing pulse and willed himself to calm down. Every reaction was just giving Michael exactly what he wants.

He needed to conserve his energy, move slower to remain quiet and keep his wits about him. He was pretty sure he had his bearings now, which was a plus. But if he really was where he thought he was, then they were deep in the underground maze. It took the better part of 30 minutes to even get to this point in the tunnels!

At least he knew where he was, he told himself, forcing himself to focus on the bright side of things. He walked at a brisk pace, a borderline jog really. He wanted to get out of here quickly, but he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of causing him to panic.

"Believe it or not, I don't want to hurt you, archivist. I simply want to have some simple, haaarmless funnn together, ehehehehehe!" His voice went shrill and warbly and distorted towards the end of his unnerving giggle so much that it became almost inaudible. And fuck, if it didn't make Jon run.

Could you blame him though? There was no way that- that thing actually meant what it said. It was absolutely going to hurt him. And it was probably going to do so in the most terrible ways imaginable.

Jon hated the deep, guttural scream that ripped from his throat when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the blonde monster.

His feet scrambled on the packed dirt and he was already turning around, but arms that were too long wrapped around him from behind, dragging him back as they retracted to a more normal length. He was screaming and kicking the air, arms fighting to free themselves.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?" he chastised, holding a single finger to Jon's lips to quiet him. He went silent out of shock more than actual compliance.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?" Jon demanded, mustering enough confidence to glare him down. Michael just laughed.

"Like I said, I'm just looking for some fun. You humans aren't the only ones who get bored you know," he said condescendingly. Jon remained silent.

"I tend to- peak in, from time to time, just to see how my favorite sheeple are holding up," he mused, causing Jon to visibly cringe and roll his eyes.

"Good to know there's actual reason behind always feeling like I'm being watched," he grumbled.

"Oh no, I'm not the only one, but trust me, I'm your favorite."

"Quite the opposite."

"Well, I will be your favorite," he winked and giggled to himself. "But last week, I noticed you playing with your friends. You looked soooo happy then... I'd like to make you happy like that too, Jon."

What a nice sentiment from such a not nice entity, not to mention he had no clue what he was talking about. "Bullshit, you don't want to make me happy, you want to ruin my life!" he snapped, still continuing his struggle.

"Oh, but can't I do both? Life ruining is such a long process, and I'd really like to hear that laugh in person."

Realization dawned on him the same time terror wracked his body, body going stiff and eyes bugging out. Michael cocked his head, that unnaturally large smile forming into a curious pout.

"Why archivist, if I didn't know better I'd say you look frightened," he cooed. "There's no need for that. You didn't have that look when Martin snuck up on you in the break room," he pointed out.

"You keep his name out your fucking mouth," Jon growled, and in a moment he was pressing into the Distortion's space. He had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him so hard his neck snapped at the momentum, their noses almost touching. A few flecks of spit even landed on Michael's cheek from the force of Jon's rage. It genuinely took him aback before a wicked grin took over.

"Your boy toy's off limits, lesson learned."

"He's not my-" Jon cut himself off, seeing no use in arguing with him. His eyes were closed and he pressed a free hand to his temple. "Look. You said you wanted your sick fun, but all you've done since capturing me is talk. I'm a smart man, I know I can't escape this. But I'm fucking tired, and I just wanna go home, so the sooner you shut up and get on with it, the better."

There was a beat of silence, and then a shit eating grin followed by, "If you wanted me to tickle you already, you could've just said so."

"No, I want to go home you assho-" Jon cut off his own rambling mid sentence as Michael started fluttering his fingers over his sides, prompting him to clamp his mouth shut. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing this so I can hear that cute, funny laugh of yours archivist! The longer you hold out the longer I have to tickle tickle tickle you!" his taunt echoed off the walls. Jon flushed and hid his face in his hands.

"Y-you're sohoho fucking weheheird!" His voice pitched higher towards the end of his sentence when Michael tweaked his sides before drilling in his thumb. He tossed his head back with a discordant cackle of his own, seemingly amused by the response.

"Is that really the best insult you can come up with? How adorably pathetic!" he cooed, reaching around with his other hand to knead his belly. Jon writhed in his grip, snickering and squealing with no way to escape.

"Shut up or Ihihi'll- nohoho wahahait!" the threat died on his tongue, melting into frantic giggles. He kicked his feet in the air and gently shoved at the offending tickly hands, but to no avail. He slumped in his hold, leaning back over his arm and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh? And what exactly am I waiting for?" Michael asked, cocking his head. The way he was so calm while picking Jon apart made it all the more maddening. Those long, spindly fingers were able to work their way into every tickle spot they could find, and it was perhaps the most horrendous thing he's ever felt in his life.

"I-Ihihi dohon't knohohow!" he whined, yelping when Michael pinched and prodded at his soft tummy. "Just shuhut up!"

"Hm, I don't think I will. Especially if it gets you all worked up like that," he taunted. Ironically, he started tracing a large spiral over his stomach, closing in on his bellybutton. Jon snorted, covering his face with one hand while trying to push Michael away with the other.

"Ohoho you've gotta behehe johoking," Jon groaned through his giddy laughter, rolling his eyes.

"What? It's my signature, I simply have to," he said casually, closing in on the center of his stomach. Jon's deep chuckles morphed until they were high pitched and bubbly. He was blushing like a fool behind his hand, shrieking and wiggling in Michael's arms all the while.

~~~

Tim had the worst luck. He had been halfway home when he realized he'd not only left his wallet, but his keys as well, at the institute. He backtracked, grumbling to himself the whole time.

He hated nothing more than being alone in the archives. It was bad enough being there during the day surrounded by people, but at night when those endless halls and rooms were empty? It might as well be straight out of a horror game.

He was trying to get to his office as fast as possible, but slowed as he neared Jon's office. The light was off, and he couldn't hear talking, sure, but the door was left open. Jon never left his door open.  The sight filled Tim with dread.

"Boss? You still here?" he called out, but received no answer. He walked to the door and peeked inside, greeted only by a dark and empty room.

Maybe he just forgot to shut the door when he left, he tried to reason with himself. But none of them were that lucky, especially not Jon. Still, he went back to retrieve his things and be on his way.

Execpt that's when he heard it.

Muffled screaming. Coming from below.

Tim froze, unsure if what he was hearing was true. He bent down, putting his ear to the floor and listened.

He could just make it out.

"Please, no, have mercyyyyy!"

That was someone pleading for their life. That was Jon pleading for his life... He raced to the trapped doors.

He had the sickening feeling that he'd walk in on Elias standing over Jon's body, having killed him deep within the tunnels just as he did Gertrude. Well not today.

He descended into the tunnels, pausing when he heard frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the halls, but he could swear it sounded like... laughter. And now that he was within the tunnels, he could hear that it was undeniably Jon's.

Just what the hell was going on?

~~~

Jon knew he was going to die here, in these godforsaken tunnels. He had no way of stopping this, and Michael proved to be just as relentless now as he's ever been. And those long fucking fingers of his were absolute torture. Just one hand was big enough to vibrate over his entire stomach and still wrap around to dig  into his sides and scribble at the base of his spine. Jon was effectively in hysterics, shrieking and giggling with no end in sight.

He should hate this. Should hate that it was Michael of all people doing this to him, but an overwhelming part of him was relieved that he wasn't subjected to legitimate torture. A more foolish part of him thought that maybe Michael was warming up to them: that maybe he wasn't so downright malicious after all.

And then he felt sharp nails scratching behind both his ears, and that thought was gone as soon as it had arrived. If he hadn't been cackling so loud, perhaps they would've heard Tim calling out for Jon, telling him to just hold on, he'll be right there.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

If Jon hadn't been so preoccupied, he'd have jumped and shrieked in fright, though he was shrieking for an entirely different reason at the moment. Michael on the other hand, did startle, having been caught red handed. He almost seemed embarrassed, and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Jon landed flat on his back, the breath being knocked out of his already breathless lungs. Tim was frozen in place, taking in the scene. He was knocked out of his daze when he saw Jon hit the ground, and he immediately rushed over to help him up.

Jon was gasping and wheezing, face red and hair messy, but he still had that rare, genuine smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that, I had thought the archives was empty," Michael said in lieu of an explanation.

"Yeah, it was. Good thing I had to come back," Tim snapped. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. I didn't harm a single hair on his head."

"You fucking dropped me!"

Michael let out a shrill chuckle. "And that was a complete accident! But you can't really blame me for wanting to have my own fun with you. Especially after everyone else made it look like so much fun."

"Hey, you stay away from him! Only we're allowed to torture Jon like that!" Tim scolded weakly, but it was all he could think to say. Which just made him feel stupid when Michael continued to laugh at them.

"Oh, so you're the only ones who can toy with the archivist, is that it?" he asked tauntingly, cocking his head. Tim opens his mouth to answer, but stops short. Jon is sitting curled in a ball, hiding his face in his knees.

"No, you've got it wrong. We do it because we care about him, and want him to be happy, even if it's short lived. You do it for your own sick kicks!" Tim accused. Jon's head snapped up when he admitted their reasoning for why they always seem to tickle him out of the blue. It brought a shy smile to his face as he recovered from the ordeal.

"... Well that's a rude assumption. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Tim snorted, "My point exactly." They were all quiet, the three of them engaged in a bit of a stalemate. "Aren't you going to show yourself the door?" he boldly prompted. Jon choked on his own spit in shock.

Michael's smile widened. "You know, I wasn't quite finished yet. And I'd hate for you to feel left out," he playfully threatened, and his limbs stretched ever so slightly as he spoke. Tim took a step back, eyes wide. Jon was just now making to stand, and pointed at him sternly.

"No." He stood up and dusted himself off, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and cleared his throat. "Haven't you had enough? You leave him, and everyone else alone." And just because he knows better than to trust Michael, added, "That includes me too."

"I'll think about it. It'd be easier if you weren't so fun to tickle. Isn't that right Tim?" Michael asked, even winking at the pair. Jon blushed and turned away, and Tim failed to fight back a smile.

"Heh. Right." He shook himself out of it, glaring at Michael as he stood by Jon protectively. "B-but you just mind your business."

"Ha! Unlikely, diet archivist."

"Hey!" Tim snapped at the insulted and Jon stifled an amused  snicker. He was just about to give him a piece of his mind when Michael opened a door that hadn't been there a second ago, standing in the doorway.

"Until we meet again," he waved at them, closing the door behind him, leaving them stunned and alone.

Now that Michael was gone, Tim turned to Jon with a teasing smirk. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'll be fine. I'm honestly... more confused than anything." Tim barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"You and me both."

They began their trek out of the tunnels, walking side by side quietly until Tim broke the silence.

"So, what's it like being tickled senseless by the Distortion?" he asked in a teasing tone. Jon flushed and shot a glare his way, but he had that happy, sheepish grin plastered on his fast, just like every other time they wrecked him.

"Oh, should I have let you find out for yourself?" Jon quipped to mask his own embarrassment.

Tim looked down with a faint blush. "Fair point." A beat, and then, "You know we have to tell the others, right?"

Jon choked on his own spit, and Tim stopped walking to give him a moment. He looked at him expectantly, while Jon looked at him with a floored look.

"Are you joking?" he asked.

"As much as I wish I were, no." The shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. "You heard what that thing said. We're all fair game in his eyes." Jon gave a noncommittal hum. "They deserve a bit of a warning, don't you think?" It was true, but he didn't have to be so damn smug about it.

"Yes," Jon begrudgingly agreed through a growl.

"Think it might be best if you made a statement. You know, so we have an accurate account for the record."

Jon groaned and hid behind his hair. "I would literally rather die." Tim barked out a laugh and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Always with the dramatics! So you're saying you'd rather tell them in person? Look them in the eyes and admit how I saved you-"

"Don't-"

"From the big bad ti-"

Jon didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed. "Stop!"

"The big bad tickle monster named Michael!" Tim rushed out in one breath, laughing at the flustered squeak he made as he marched ahead. It took him no time at all to catch up, thanks to his long legs. "Oh come on, you know it's funny!"

Jon huffed, unable to hide his lingering smile. "Only because it wasn't you, asshole."

They continued their playful banter back and forth, unaware of the tape recorder that had appeared in Jon's pocket the moment he entered the tunnels, listening in and capturing every word.

~~~

Tim was relieved when he made it back home, slipping his key in the door and stepping inside. Strange, how he didn't seem to notice the change from handle to doorknob.

His eyes flew open when he was met with the sight of an endless, shifting corridor. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, his ears were ringing, his head filled with static and he stumbled in an attempt to get his bearings. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, and he felt so trapped.

Michael walked out from the nothingness, grin much too wide for his face. Tim hugged his arms to his body and stepped back, fighting an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

"Y-you stay back! I'll fuck you up!" Tim cried, bravely putting his hands up, balled into fists and ready to swing. Michael laughed, and it was a sound that unsettled Tim to his very core. He held his hands up, and Tim couldn't help but flinch at the movement.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here to torture you. I'll save that for a rainy day," he added, chuckling at his own joke. Tim lowered his arms, staring at him skeptically.

"Okaaaay. So what the hell are you doing in my home?"

"But I brought you to my home," he corrected, and that wide grin turned just a tad condescending. Tim narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Yeah, through my front door!" he argued before sighing in defeat, pinching the bride of his nose. "So what do you want?"

"I wanted to give you something." Tim perked up, looking at him in shock. He jumped and yelped when Michael was standing right in front of him. He held out the tape recorder.

"A little... souvenir from earlier. I doubt Sasha and Martin will believe you without proof." He placed the tape in Tim's hand, leaving him dumbstruck. "And I really have a hard time believing Jon will corroborate your story, don't you?"

Tim didn't know what to say. "Um... thank you?"

Michael winked at him. "You're welcome." And because he couldn't help himself, he skittered his fingers over his belly. Tim jerked back with a surprised laugh, a blush and a growing look of fear on his face.

"Relax. Like I said, rainy day."

He gave him a small wave and opened a door off to the side and left. Everything melted into his flat, and he was safe in the middle of his living room.

~~~

Jon walked into work the next day as if it were any other, eager to forget the events of last night. He went to the break room for a cup of coffee to start the day and walked in to see Sasha, Martin, and of course, Tim, huddled around a tape recorder. They all wore a look of concern. Well, except for Tim.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. Sasha and Martin jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice, whipping around to meet him. They looked rather guilty, but more concerning, they looked worried.

The next thing he knew, Martin was hugging him.

"I'm sorry, what's-" A voice on the tape interrupts him.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!"

"I-I'm so sorry, we left you here alone, and Tim said Michael got you and-"

"Did he now?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Now Jon, is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?"

"Oh please, you're not my bloody knight." He spoke over the sound of his own erratic breathing and feet pounding against hard packed dirt.

"Were you even gonna tell us Michael attacked you?" Sasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. "Because I really doubt it."

Jon floundered for an answer, face going red. "Um- it- look, it really wasn't as serious as Tim undoubtedly made it seem." He glanced up at his smiling face and said, "Would he really be grinning like that if it was?"

Of course, as soon as they looked at him, he schooled his features into a serious expression, but they each caught a glimpse of a fading smirk.

"Okay what's... what's happening right now?" Martin asked, looking between the two.

"You wanna tell them yourself Jon? Or uh, let the tape do the talking for you?" he asked, holding up the tape.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?"

Jon refused to meet his friends' gaze as he spoke over his previous conversation. "Look, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, didn't psychologically scar me, the only thing damaged was my pride."

The tape played on in the background as Jon tried to explain himself. Michael's endless talk of having fun did nothing to calm Sasha and Martin's nerves for past-Jon. "I-I don't really know why he t- uuh, did what he did, but he seemed almost... friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use, maybe tame? Toned down?" That was about the time Michael mentioned the rest of them, and how they all "played" with Jon. A hesitant smile ghosted over Sasha's lips as she thought she knew what he was hinting at, and judging by Jon's reaction, she might be right, but there was just no way... Was there?

"Jon, did Michael-"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Yeah, he uh, said you all made it look like fun, so he decided to try it out," he said, staring at the faded break room carpet.

"Wait, so it's our fault?" Martin asked, and Jon immediately felt guilty for saying it like that.

"No! God no, you guys are just trying to make me loosen up. Michael's just... morbidly curious."

"Right," Tim agreed, suddenly more serious. "He uh, told me he was waiting for a rainy day. So obviously, he has his sights set on all of us. Which is... unnerving to say the least." He locked eyes with Jon, a soft smile on his face. "So I'm not just doing this to fuck with you. But that is an excellent perk!" Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "But I thought everyone deserved a bit of a heads up. And maybe ease some worry while I'm at it." "Where'd you even get this?" Jon asked, pointing at the recorder just as his own bubbly giggles  started pouring out.

"Michael gave it to me."

"Very funny." When Tim's expression didn't change, his jaw dropped, "You're serious."

"Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"Fair point."

A loud shriek followed by shrill cackling and snorts emitted from the tape. All heads snapped over to look at him with amused grins and fond expressions.

"Right. Well, I lived through this once already. No need to stick around for a second time," he said, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He paused in the door. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Not likely."

"Nope!"

"Absolutely not."

He gave a curt nod, lips pursed together. "Thought so."

#tickletober #tickletober 2023 #tickletober day 6 #michael shelley #michael distortion #jonathan sims #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #sasha james #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #tma #tma fic #tma tickle fic #ticklish!jon

[thepaintedlady00]

Is this what I should be writing? No. Is it what my brain has become obsessed with? Yes. 😅😂 SO, my friend and I have been playing Baldur's Gate 3 and last week she just sent me a piece of fanart for Enver Gortash and a The Dark Urge Tav. She wrote me an essay about how a story about these two and their tragic pasts and sexy chemistry and eventual love affair and angst was just so perfect and blah blah blah. No big deal, right? WRONG! WRONG! Because now it's stuck in my head and I've been writing long ass blurbs for a fic that I did not have planned whilst I'm supposed to be writing like 2 other things right now! 🤣 Well, anyway, here this is because *looks at script my friend wrote out for me* "I'm the boss (writer) and I can do (write) whatever I want" 🧍‍♀️. Let me know if y'all enjoy this because boy oh boy do I have more (it's literally turning into ANOTHER 20 plus chapter series). Thanks for the brain rot you bitch (said lovingly), I hope you enjoy the tiny peek into the fic you want so badly!

The glinting steel reflected the vision of pale skin - skin I wanted nothing more than to slice open. The man made a slight, quiet noise. It wasn’t one I usually heard when about to take a life. Everyone else was always babbling, clearly terrified to die, but he seemed to be bored… annoyed. I admired the way the chilled, freshly sharpened blade kissed his neck so nicely before his hands finally stopped their intricate movements, and he slowly settled back against his chair. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat."

"It'd be such a waste of a pretty neck," he joked. I pulled the blade back more, nearly cutting the tender flesh he seemed so fond of. He made some noise of protest and quickly added, "As well as a waste of a powerful ally."

The laugh that bubbled out of my throat was unexpected. It'd been so long since I'd laughed. Surely he was joking. I kept the knife steady as I stepped out from behind the chair and truly examined him. He was fit enough, with strong arms and a well-toned physique with a power that surrounded him as well, but it was but a simmer... A meager fountain in some garden compared to the power I'd witnessed. He grinned beneath my gaze. "See something you like, assassin?"

"If you're so powerful, then why is it me that holds your life in my hands?" I asked, with an arched brow.

"It would be rude of me to interrupt. You are doing such a lovely job with all these vague threats."

"You'd risk your life on some self-imposed manners?"

He rolled his eyes. "You aren't going to kill me."

I grinned at his boldness. "No?" Pressing the dagger down I made sure to draw blood this time. The sight of it made my mouth go dry, anticipation humming through me. "You would make a pretty corpse."

"I've no doubts about that," he agreed with barely a flinch. "But, if you'd intended for me to die, I suspect I would have been dead weeks ago when you first paid me a visit."

His words - those cursed words he'd uttered the first time my blade touched his throat rang in my ears. "You're beautiful."

A chill, a fragment of a feeling, crawled up my spine, and the dark urge to bleed him dry went quiet. Slowly I withdrew my blade, leaning back to sit on his table, not caring if his papers smudged. "What do you want, slaver?"

The man's lips curled up into a snarl at the term, but he quickly tempered himself. "An alliance."

"And what exactly are we allying against?" I questioned with a hum. "We don't exactly run in the same circles."

"We are far more similar than you think, Bhaalspawn."

My blade twisted in between my fingers as I shoved forward and dug it into the back of the chair, just an inch shy of his face. Baring my teeth I let out a low growl. "Who told you what I am?"

The man smiled, not at all deterred by my blade nor my voice. "No one. I knew what you were the moment I saw you." He leaned forward, so close our noses nearly touched. "You'll want to keep that secret close though."

"Bold of you to threaten me,” I complimented with a slight raise of my brow.

"Oh, it's not a threat," he corrected. "Simply some advice from one worshiper to another."

"You worship Bhaal?"

"Gods no," he scoffed. "Murder doesn't exactly fit my particular skill set. Besides, these silks are far too fine a fabric to stain with all that blood. No, I prefer power... Status... Tyranny."

I rolled my eyes with a quiet scoff of my own. "A disciple of Bane then. How fitting for a cocksure man."

His head tilted slightly, eyes dragging down the length of me as I leaned back into the table. "I'm certain we'll have plenty of time to explore how cocksure I am whilst we work together."

"I haven't agreed to work with you yet."

"Yes you have," he replied, confident and unwavering. "You see the potential in such an alliance. Two dark gods are more powerful together than one alone. United we could do so much more."

With a quiet hum I regarded his words carefully. He held some semblance of truth in his statement. Bhaal was not as strong as he once was, his worship and power long declined. Uniting, even if just for a short time, with another Chosen could prove to be useful in achieving both our goals. There was something in me that stirred beneath the man's steady, unflinching gaze... Something warm and foreign. Once again his first words to me filled my mind. "You're beautiful."

Reaching forward I pulled my blade from the wood and pointed it at his neck again. "Get rid of the flyers or the next time we meet my blade will bury itself in your throat."

"Does that mean you accept?" He questioned with almost a giddy smirk.

"It means I'll consider it." 

I wearily watched him rise to his feet, towering over me. "How shall I summon you again?"

My jaw clenched. "You do not summon me. If the Temple of Bhaal agrees to participate in this plot of yours I shall find you."

"And if not?"

"Then I will still find you, and I will kill you."

"Splendid," he mocked with a clever bow. "I, Enver Gortash, shall eagerly await your return."

"The flyers," I reminded, stepping around him to move back toward the window.

His boots scuffed against the floor, the boards creaking beneath his weight. "What shall I call you? Assassin? Or your moniker perhaps? What was it... The Dark Urge." The man, Gortash, made a displeased noise. "I'd much prefer your name if it's all the same to you."

I should have left - I had every intention just to leave, and yet my steps halted. The chilled breeze from the cracked window brought goosebumps to my arms, every hair rising on end from the cold or perhaps from the sudden and odd anticipation that filled me. I turned my head to the side, eyes slyly glancing at him as the soft whisper of the name... My name rolled off my tongue. "Remora."

Gortash smiled. It was different from the others... Softer... Genuine. The sight of it sent a sharp sensation through my chest before it vanished, and he teasingly bowed again. "I await your swift return, Remora."

Shaking off the weight of those unknown feelings I climbed through the window and leapt into the dark night. Loose shingles shifted beneath my light steps as I hurried across the rooftop. The wind stung my cheeks and threatened to pull my hood from my head as I slowed and looked back at the window. I could barely make out the shape of him standing there, looking out into the night as if he could still see me. A frustrated bubble of annoyance finally burst within me and made me want to groan as I quickly realized he was right.

I had already decided to join him.

#bg3 #enver gortash #Enver Gortash x Dark Urge #dark urge #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 enver gortash #lord enver gortash #Lord Enver Gortash x Dark Urge #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 durge #durge #durge spoilers #bg3 spoilers #bg3 oc #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #gortash x durge #gortash x tav

[summertimemusician]

Linktober (Shadow) 2023, Day 11

Monsters (Dead Hand)

Summer Stop Giving Reader/PoV Character and the Chain a Hard Time and Trauma Challenge (impossible) /j. But really I'll probably write something lighter for Linktober or Linktober Shadow later to compensate for this one lol. Probably a sequel to this one that has Reader actually having a nice time with the Links for once.

Technically since unfortunately studying for future exam season in like a couple of days has been kicking me in the ribs and thus my time was highly cut and unfortunately I don't have an Ocarina to give me more, this is actually a mix of prompts! The ones in the title, Keese, Wolfos, Wizzrobe, Lizalfos, Redead, and Boss, although they are not the focus here, mostly just mentioned but technically checking out the boxes, maybe next time I'll go more in deep on that (Like the original idea that basically was Reader taming a pet Wolfos as a guard hound that I will not elaborate on at least not this year), instead y'all get this with the boss that gave a lot of people childhood trauma and was never seeing again since because we really don't talk about just why Dead Hands are terrifying much, just that they are, really missed opportunity to use them more in an LU context lol.

As always any relationship between Reader and any of the Chain can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, and Reader is Gender Neutral on Purpose. And First is here because again, this would have been longer if exam season wasn't kicking me in the ribs and I have some really evil ideas involving First, Reader and Time bonding over having trauma of enclosed spaces, but thankfully y'all don't get that today lol, or not, it would be a really fluffy scene so up to y'all if it's a win or a loss.

TW:

Don't think there's anything too heavy-ish? But I'm a horror fan so I'm not someone who can accurately judge that. I'd say graphic descriptions of violence and gore, and being restrained/pinned in place and the entire deal that is the Dead Hand's existing, so please don't read if you're squeamish or uncomfortable. Health is important and specially mental health and I always leave these warnings on Linktober Shadow related prompts or heavier stories, so just a heads up so no one is caught by surprise.

Anyway, enjoy reading!

It was an almost unanimous agreement that no hero liked to pass through a cemetery in Hyrule.

From the restless Gibdo, to the mischievous yet usually cruel Poes and the lost Ghini, to the ever wandering Stalfos and the ghastly agonized Redead and ever determined ghoulish Garo, nothing good ever came from entering in areas where dead things roam. You can't be sure if it's because of the magic in Hyrule, the living force of light and shadow and the divinity coursing through the land, or simply the will of the undead or the consequences of Demise attempting to claim the Triforce, graveyards and desolated fields meant silence, they should be where those who are gone should finally acquire their final catharsis, not to roam endlessly without release, solemn as these places are they are still places for a peaceful end and to be denied such due to the whims of the Shadow... You can think of very few awful fates that can compare.

('Terrible fates, you could say.' The grimly bemused part of your mind whispers, as you walk alongside Time further down into the crypt that you and the Chain had followed the shadow into, silver, prisitne armor briefly blends with old, rusted, bloody gold and you think you hear the rattling of bones in the distance, the draw of a rusted, but still serviceable sword. You shut it away with a snarl as you cut down the Stalfos attempting to ambush Wild from the rear, and it goes down and back into the darkness with a screech alongside the chilling knowleged and the sick cracking of broken bones, not on your watch, never on your watch, you refuse.)

"Of all places why did it have to be a bloody crypt?" Grimaced Warriors, casting a weary glance towards the skulls decorating the walls, their empty sockets empty but silently cutting, as if sneering at the fact you lot had dared disturb the dead, as if it wasn't the Shadow's mere presence making what would otherwise be a place for rest into a possible death trap.

Legend smirked, though you could tell he wasn't anymore pleased from the way he marched through the cold, cracked stone floor, steps flighty and eyes darting around corners, "What, a bit too much for you, soldier boy?"

"No," came the prim answer, although the twitch of the hand near his scabbard as you stepped into an open chamber gave him away, as well as Wind being kept at his side rather than near the wall, "Just don't generally like fighting the undead in closed spaces. It's a recipe for disaster."

"On that I believe we all can agree on." Came Time's voice, cutting through the banter, tense as a drawn bowstring, you knew being back in a crypt wasn't easy for him, with the way his jaw tensed, you both had the same awful memories of a similarly buried, abandoned place where dead things roamed without cease, frantic, hungry for the warmth of the living, "Keep your guard up, and stay close together."

Almost as if on cue came the monsters from the open corridors, you didn't hesitate in drawing your blade to cut through the enemy, keese were easily dispatched by Four and Legend's swords, you spun to slit the throat of a growling Wolfos from Twilight's era going for Sky's back just as he mercilessly chased down the Black Lizalfos, the beast clearly avoiding the glow from the Sword of Evil's Bane. Time's back to yours as you cleared the path for him and blocked the Shadow's exit through the left corridor, it had already proven that it would not matter if you did or not, but you refused to not let it work for survival.

The jolt of magic being used crawling up your spine was your first warning. Like the build up of lightning in a storm, the taste of rust and a feeling like tar  slithers up your throat.

The second was Wild's warning shout as the chamber shook with the grating, chilling, blood curdling howl of the Redeads, Time lunging away from your side to slash the beasts away from Wind and Warriors with all of the fury of a wolf defending it's pack, before you had to throw yourself back, slamming your back against the arch on the right as it caved in, lest you be crushed alongside the Wolfos coming for your neck the second the older hero moved.

You were separated.

You were alone.

A really, really bad spot to be when in Hyrule's catacombs.

"Are you alright?!", Came muffled from the other side of the stones, the hint of an actual wolf's growl and the distinctive Ordonian cadence, Twilight.

"I'm fine! Keep fighting, I'll find my way to you guys!", You yell back, heart racing, trying not to think about what you could find on your way back, you didn't have any bombs on you, it wasn't feasible to use them in a place as old as this, not without risk bringing down the ceiling on you and the Chain. But most catacombs have interconnected hallways, if you moved quickly, you might just avoid finding anything that you won't be able to handle on your own.

You think Twilight replies, but it's muffled by another Redead's yowl, you wince, your muscles lock up and you feel something warm drip from your ears, but thankfully you are not rendered immobile due to the involuntary wall, you swallow your trepidation and get moving.

The further you get away from the fallen stones, the more silent the catacombs extending from the crypt you were dropped in became, shadows twist oddly by the torches upon the wall with only your breathing and the cold, unfeeling remains of the dead to keep you company, the lowly burning flames bringing you no warmth. The corridors blended together in the darkness cast by the faint light, the shades contorting themselves in the crevices of your paranoia the longer you went on with only your own hurried footsteps to make any true sound.

Not one monster had found it's way to you thus far, though, and according to the copy of the map Legend had made the second you had acquired the original from a very unfortunate Wizzrobe from Wild's era. You just needed to pass one more open chamber to find the corridor leading to your boys, You couldn't keep them waiting, who knew how long it would take for the fight to finish if Redead's were involved? And staying still when the Shadow could turn itself intangible was practically begging it to switch it's attention, it usually didn't pay you as much mind as it did the heroes, Time specially (it seemed to hold a grudge against him more than any of your boys, you noted bitterly), but it would occasionally target you if it meant getting a rise from any of the Link's or if it felt you were too  secure in your safety, it was better if you found your way back first to the hunt before you became hunted.

You grit your teeth, by Hylia's dripping gash, you were so. darn. tired. of. being. hunted.

Of watching your friends being led into a wild hunt with no end in sight, dragged by the noose by a remnant that refused to stay dead, you never thought you could burn with so much anger, with the desire to see if fire would scare it sober into ceasing in it's infection of all of Hyrule's Eras. But unfortunately you knew it didn't work like that, so you had to survive, you would survive, because someone had to protect the heroes when the heroes protected everyone else and if no one was going to step up to the job, you'd just have to do it yourself.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, lest you end up drowning in them, you breath in relief as soon as you come upon the metal door with the symbol of the royal family, faded and rusted with age, there. You just needed to pass through this chamber and the corridor next to it, and you'd be back with Link, all of them, and hopefully out of here. You push it open, grip tightening on your long dagger, almost a sword, good enough to cut and hide. The thick and pungent combination of old, congealed blood, sick and decaying flesh, something like rotten eggs dipped in alcohol and withered flowers hits your nose, making you nauseous but you press on, the chamber is circular and dimly lit, with a long cracked, soft stone from a leak in the walls. You studiously do not look at the far corner of the dungeon or the pillory's and shackles scattered around near the cells,  there's a second door to the other side, as soon as you pass through it you'll be in another corridor.

... It's silent, too quiet. Unease slithers and twists around you like vines, but you can't delay, you won't, so you keep walking-

Until you can't.

Something has grabbed a hold of your leg. You look down, and your blood freezes, spotting a long, sickly, pale arm and a bright crimson, elongated nails, claw-like, digging into your ankle, having dug itself up from the fragile ground.

You don't hesitate, slashing down violently at the offending limb, frantic terror spreads through your blood, you knew what was here. It featured in your nightmares for a long, long time, you knew it still haunted Time's, the limb goes slack as it is severed, and you barely note the way it starts bleeding black and green at the stump, thankful for Four's expert craftsmanship and maintenance hints as you dive to the exit. You don't make it far, it's companion limbs  bursting in front of your path like a snake emerging from the ground, it makes a solid grab for your  arms, one of them grabs you by the scalp, firmly digging as you dodge and weave between, a stabbing pain upon your skull from the indomitable grip of something fueled by fury, twisted magic and rigor mortis and makes you cry out, your slight moment of hesitation allowing two more hands to latch onto your legs and arms, nails slicing through your flesh like easily and digging, tearing like a rabid hunting dog's teeth upon an unfortunate deer, leaving deep gashes upon your arms and ankles, it's not unlike being pinned and held to a torture rack, in hindsight, ironic given just where in the crypt you ended up.

Your hear the ground below shifting below you, a groan carrying through the air, awfully monstrous, coldly human. You struggle harder like a desperate butterfly upon a dissection board, from your peripheral, you see the form of the thing unhurriedly dragging itself over, it uses the sharp and bloody ends of where bone was broken to slice it's hands off to shuffle out of the grave, using it's stubs as support. Long long neck barely supporting it's elongated head, the scent of rot intensifies and you feel like gagging as it settles it's empty, frigid, hungry eye sockets on your bound form; it's broken jaw contorting itself in a mockery of a human smile over rotten gums and exposed teeth, stretching unnaturally and bringing emphasis to it's rotting, bloodied sunken features. From behind it's bloated, putrid shape, barely obscured by the bloodied white cloth and the grotesque vision of the undead you swear the crimson eyes of the shadow, watching you coldly, the hint of a knife sharp, serpentine smile as the sound of wet meat slamming across the ground rings in the chamber.

Fury mixes with your panic as you snarl, trying to twist the dagger in your grip as best as you can to drive it into the arms, pain and blood drips from the open wound but you don't care; you need to get away from the Dead Hand. A monster like that feels no pain when struck for it is not human, not any longer, and you couldn't hope to face an infected one alone, it shuffles over the floor, unhurriedly shuffling like a predator that knows it's prey can't run away, it moans and groans with hunger as it approaches and you have no intention of giving it a meal, you grit your teeth as the nails sink deeply into your shoulders and arms, using your blade to saw through rotting flesh and hopefully break bone with every single inch of strenght you have, the blade is slick in your hand with your own blood and the poison-tar of the Shadow's infection burning through you but you do not mind, can't. You need to get away-

The undead's teeth sink into the hollow of your collarbone, blunt, human teeth that shouldn't have half the strenght it does to rip through flesh, blood and crack bone, and you caterwaul with pain, skin crawling and numbing and set aflame with curses sent from the dark reflection of the hero, darkening, veins blackening, your eardrums vibrate with the force of your own agony and you are sure you could rival a Redead on pitch alone of your tortured howl. Struggling even more ferociously, attempting to disloged it, kick it off, your blade sucessfully slashes through the arm from your reverse grip, pushing away from it with the savegery off a cornered predator you sink your long dagger into the undead's eye sockets, tearing through it's cheek with animal ferocity, it keens high and chilling, you're losing blood quickly and it (for it's not a human, not anymore, you can't feel sympathy for it, won't. You can't hesitate.) knows, for it tries to chomp down onto your vulnerable neck, your arm being the only thing keeping it from biting it out as you growl with pain, although you can't be sure it just won't bite through, it's teeth are bared, the pitch of it's blank eyes locked onto yours in stalemate, you have the advantage of not being weakened by hunger and decay, not sluggish like it but that will not help for long, the clammy being determined to bleed you dry and feast on your corpse and you are drowning drowning drowningDROWNINGWITHWRETCHEDTORMENT MAKE.THE.PAIN.STOP-

A scream of your name, sword calloused hands yank you away from claws and fangs (because nothing with blunt teeth and nails should be able to wound someone so throughly), you waver on your feet, swaying, supported by a warm, strong body and pulled away. A sword slashes the foul being away from you and you go lax, numb with pain.

First, First was supporting you. Keeping you steady, stopping you from falling, snarling at the corpse with a lion's fury, holding you protectively. Time tears by him like a man possessed, frenzied with the look of a man looking at his worst nightmare and growling in denial. The Links, wounded but alive, the Chain had met you halfway.

The last thing you remember before losing conciousness as adrenaline leaves your body and everything goes dark, is wishing that they'll burn it to be sure it's gone for good. It's the kindest thing that can be done for a such a wretched existence.

You'd be okay.

#linked universe x reader #technically #lu first x reader #lu time x reader #but mostly only hinted at because things didn't go according to plan #anyway my pitch is that dead hands died of hunger more so than torture which is why they are so darn bitey #and that being an undead being in Hyrule is horror at it's finest actually and in this essay- #Really can't wait till exam season is finally over so I can ACTUALLY dig up those essays lmao #missing scenes include and are not limited to: First comforting Reader after because he knows intimately how unpleasant it is #to be restrained underground alone #and the two fall asleep on each other to reassure the other is still there #and protective Time caring for Reader because having Dead Hand Trauma™ dug up is not fun #On a Scale of Viscerally Hating the Dead Hands from Biggest to Lowest: Time First Twilight Warriors Sky Wild Hyrule Legend Four Wind #I will not elaborate why at this moment #And now I'll take a darn nap lol #summer writes linktober 2023 #summer writes linktober shadow 2023 #summer writes #Feral Reader #Reader gets to be capable as a treat

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Ah, my dearest darling Music...you could not avoid my creature-ification beam forever. Honestly I'm surprised you avoided it as long as you did. I was hitting DJ and the DCA with it within a month of them becoming my blorbos.

Though I guess I should clarify, this is my second attempt at this design...the first one came out looking like an animu pretty boy. (I'll post it below the cut for y'all to point and laugh.) I wanted to keep his general shape, though make his head less blocky cuz biological. Funnily enough it was drawing the Smiling Critters Music Man that helped me figure out how to do that without just...making him look human. As for his body, a potbelly + narrow and sloping shoulders I think captures his shape pretty well.

ALSO. Like an octopus, he has no bones. (Except his teeth I guess? I guess octopi have beaks so that kinda tracks I think.) So he's very squishy and leaning against him is like leaning against a bean bag chair unless he deliberately tenses up.

And I draw a quick comic for how he and the reader first encounter each other. The reader, new in town, sees something strange in the water but doesn't get a good look at it before it hides, and then this happens:

FAILURE OF A MEETCUTE. Someday I will have Music and Reader meet in a way that doesn't involve the reader initially mistreating Music...probably.

Don't worry, Reader is actually quite nice to him once they realize he's not a feral kraken trying to swamp their rowboat. And eventually Music will get a smooch on the head to make up for the whap.

And now the result of the creature-ification beam still being partially set to human:

Yeah I got frustrated and abandoned it pretty quick. Probably didn't help that my first attempt at drawing him was in profile. =w=;;

#fnaf 6 music man #music man #octomaid #music man x reader #fnaf music man x reader #fnaf x reader #x reader #my art #octomusic au #i uh...might have started writing a little something for this #maybe it'll be my mermay project #since ccb will probably be done by then or close to it

[void-ink-studios]

Gala of the Gods (Part 1)

A few people suggested some stuff with Scarab and Nightmo, I've become obsessed with some of the art I've seen of these two in fancy clothes, so I'm going to combine the two.

Behold, my attempts at describing fancy clothing!

I am an artist as well, so if there's anything from this fic series you might wanna see me draw, just let me know.

Also, this is multi-parter! So y'all are gonna have to be patient.

Enjoy y'all!

Part 1 -You Are Here- | Part 2 | Part 3

Word Count: 2,200

Mail was not something Scarab expected when he first came to live in the Time Room. He figured anyone with something to say to Prismo would just take it as an excuse to show up and hang out for a while.

But, as with many assumptions he had, Scarab was wrong. Well, kind of.

The mail was never frequent, and it was almost only from the higher ups, but it had happened enough time with nearly missed important updates for Scarab to add checking the Time Room's make-shift mailbox to his routine.

And it was a good thing he did. Because they had mail. Fancy looking mail. And the beetle felt sick to his stomach when he began suspecting what this was about.

"Prismo! Mail! Letter from the Organizer."

Prismo made a rather undignified noise as he snapped awake from where he was dozing off in his hot tub.

"The Organizer? Ooooh, is it that Gala thing?"

"I suspect it might be. It's addressed to both of us, shall I read it?"

"Knock yourself out, Lovebug."

Scarab rolled his eyes a little but smiled regardless. He broke open the seal and unfolded the letter.

"To the Wishmaster and his assistant,

You are both cordially invited to the bicentennial Cosmic Gala. Attendance is compulsory, however you are not required to stay for the duration, should your godly duties require you to return to your posts.

The Gala will be hosted in the Judgement Hall, and will begin 340 time waves from now.

You are expected to be on your best behavior. There will be no physical altercations within the Judgement Hall. Please leave any and all grievances with coworkers at home. Snacks and drinks will be provided.

We look forward to seeing you there.

-The Organizer."

Scarab had suspected for a long time that that last paragraph was pointed at him specifically. It's not like he started fights, it's just gods get aggressive at him for doing his job.

"Oh, I haven't even thought of the Gala... Man, a lot has happened since the last one..."

Scarab clicked in agreement. Then was struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait a moment. How are we meant to attend while in this form?"

Prismo raised an eyebrow. "Have you never seen me attend before?"

"I always left early. I made excuses that my job as Auditor required my attention, so I arrived as it started, stayed for perhaps one Time Wave so my boss could see I showed up, then I left. It's not fun sticking around a party where no one likes you."

Whoops, that came out more bitter than he had meant... It's not like he minded not attending more of the party, parties were never his scene to begin with...

Or, was that another thing he convinced himself he didn't like so it wasn't being taken from him?

Hmmm...

"Well, you can come with me this time. We'll stick by each other's side. I think you'll look nice on my arm, Lovebug."

Scarab's mandibles snapped up.

"O-On your arm... Are you suggesting we attend as... as a couple?"

"I-I mean, if you want..." Prismo looked uncharacteristically flustered, smiling nervously at the beetle.

"I think... I think I would like that, Prismo. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, yeah, the form thing. Well, how it works is the Organizer gives us authorization to make copies of our corporeal body that we can inhabit. Like ghosts or some deal. They last for a few days, and then we get returned to the wall."

"Our... corporeal bodies..."

"Yeah, it's pretty much the only time I get to exist as 'Old Man Prismo' and not cease to be me. I think it's pretty neat. And you get to be taller than me for once."

Scarab barely responded to that, a far away look on his face.

"Can we... modify these bodies at all...?"

"I mean, you can make them look different colors, I guess, or make yourself look younger but why do you..." Prismo's expression filled with sadness. "...You can't restore limbs, if that's what you're asking. I'm sorry, Scrabby."

Scarab sighed. "It's... fine. It was worth asking."

He made a few clicking chirps as he thought.

"...I suppose I should dress up for once? If I'm attending with you and lingering longer?"

"I mean, you could. I like to, since I don't get the luxury of clothes very often, and I'd rather not show up to a Gala as a naked old man. But it's not like you have to."

Prismo watched Scarab's expression. He was deep in thought, that was obvious with how much his mandibles were twitching. Then, his expression lit up.

"...We can conjure almost anything in the Time Room, yes?"

"I mean, anything not sentient, pretty much."

"Hmm... Would you mind if we arrived separately? I think I'd like to... surprise you. You know the lobby outside the Judgement Hall? Wait for me there. I will meet you there."

Prismo was intrigued, to say the least. "A surprise? Just for me? Well, let's do it then. I'll wait for you."

"Perfect. Thank you, love." Scarab nuzzled his cheek sweetly. Prismo giggled, returning the favor with a soft little kiss.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with, Scrabs. I know you'll look gorgeous."

Scarab's elytra clicked as he purred, smiling softly. He'd been doing that a lot more recently. Prismo decided to take pride in the fact he's made the unflappable Scarab smile and blush like a goof.

The days leading up to the Gala were at the same time quiet and buzzing. Scarab was very clearly cooking something up, as he had carved out a little room in the basement that Prismo was explicitly forbidden from entering.

If you had told the Wishmaster he'd be okay with Scarab, of all gods, having a secret room he's not allowed in in the Time Room, well... well, you'd be given quite the strange look, that's for certain.

"Scrabby! Can you come out of your lair for a moment?"

"For the last time Prismo, it's not a lair, it's a work room!" Regardless of the terminology of whatever was going on in Scarab's little private room, the beetle acquiesced and emerged into the main chamber. "What is it?"

"Our uh... Bodies are here."

It was always just mildly upsetting to Prismo when they just... appeared. It unnerved him to see his own sleeping body at the best of times, but seeing it completely still, not even breathing, was... strange.

"Ah, okay. Is it almost time for the Gala then?"

"We have I think 3 More Time waves before the party officially starts, so we should probably start getting ready now."

"And how long are these good for?"

"Uhhh... I think 50 Time Waves?"

"Why do they stick around so long after the party?"

"I don't know, actually. Maybe they're being nice?"

"I've never known the higher ups for being... Nice. Regardless, how does this work?"

Prismo stretched his arms a bit, examining the two empty shells on the ground. "Don't worry, it's easy. Alright, so all you've gotta do is touch it, and imagine yourself waking up. It's not super nice feeling when you first wake up, just as a warning. Watch."

Prismo slid across the floor, positioning himself completely covering his body, and closed his eyes. He felt himself fade, almost like he was disappearing, but sensation quickly returned as he jumped into his body. He pulled in a gasp of air, everything tingling as his senses caught up with him.

"Prismo? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." His voice sounded dry. He needed some water. He ran fingers through his long hair and beard as he sat up. "See? Easy."

"Are you certain you're okay?"

"I'm fine. It just... takes a minute for me to adjust. I'm not 3d very often." Prismo laughed it off, but it didn't stop him from holding a hand over a now beating heart and breathing lungs. "Your turn."

Scarab hesitated, looking between his body and Prismo. Slowly, he crawled over, letting himself overlap with the shell. The blue shadow faded, the body shooting up into an upright position, breathing heavily.

"Oh, that felt wretched..." The beetle could only describe it as similar to that falling sensation one has that jars them awake.

Scarab looked as he flexed his own fingers, claws lightly clicking together. It felt... strange to be in a body like this again. His senses buzzed. He felt the weight of his shell for the first time in months. The weight of his mask...

Slowly, he rearranged the mask to tuck behind his head. He would be going to this party as himself. Proudly.

"Heya gorgeous."

Prismo had scooched a bit closer, taking advantage of new senses to hold his love for the first time in a 3d space.

Scarab's breath hitched. He was not prepared for how... warm and soft Prismo's touch would be. He had gotten used to the Wishmaster's touch in their wall forms. But... touch in the third dimension... gentle touch, touch not meant to harm him, it was... new. Alien. His mandibles thrummed as he leaned into the hold, purring, claws experimentally touching the soft, coiling gray hair nearly covering his partner.

Prismo, meanwhile, was fascinated. He explored the texture of Scarab's shell and face. The fine grooves separating the plating reminded him of polished armor. But it was warm, alive, he could feel the beetles muscles moving underneath, the thrum of blood and life. And his pink face, while prickly at the edges, was soft to cradle.

"There you are... That's my pretty Lovebug. Look at you..."

Scarab preened under the touch and praise. He was beautiful. Prismo made him believe it.

"I must say... I think you're quite lovely in this form as well."

Prismo's cheeks flushed a lovely pinkish red color, Scarab chirping in pride. He nuzzled at him, marveling at the feeling of it with a physical body.

"I'm going to go get ready, Prismo. I'll meet you at the Judgement Hall lobby."

"Alright, Scrabs. I'll be looking for you."

The bug purred one more time before sequestering himself in his mystery room once more.

Prismo chuckled as he himself got ready.

Brushing his long, unruly hair was a task in and of itself. He pulled part of the mop into something a bit more elegant, a waterfall of gray tied neatly with a pink and gold ribbon falling down his back.

Prismo wasn't much for formal clothing, but he did like robes. Something soft, light, breathable. And had amassed quite the collection from these Galas in the past. He did like his pinks and golds, but who could blame him? He liked how he looked in them.

The robe had layers of color to it, a light pink similar to his shadow form on the inner most layer, slowly shifting out into a dark, rosy red. There were imagery of gold eyes and hands cascading down the back and sleeves, giving way to constellations and stars on the long skirt that dragged a little on the floor.

He accessorized with bracelet and rings and necklaces and pendants until he glittered like the stars. That was always his favorite part of these events, the accessorizing. He wasn't one to care much about looks, but he did enjoy making himself sparkle.

He looked into a summoned mirror, checking everything from head to toe. His golden orange sash was tied nicely, his sandals looked good, everything was in place. Perfect.

"Scrabby, I'm heading out now! I'll see you there, Lovebug!"

In lieu of a proper response, he heard a loud chirp echoing from down in the basement.

Prismo couldn't help but be curious about what Scarab was doing. All the more reason to be excited, he supposed.

In a rainbow of fragmented light, Prismo deposited himself outside the lobby of the Judgement Hall, other gods already milling about and conversing.

"Prismo! Sho-Hoot man, I always forget how nice you clean up for these events."

The Cosmic Owl flew over to him, dawned in a cloak of gold and silver feathers of starlight. Death also joined him, in a simple, but sharp looking white robe. In the distance, Prismo could spot Life, in a beautiful flower and coral dress, chatting with some other gods.

"Aw, thanks. You two look nice too! It's nice you got to bring Life with you this time, Death."

"We both needed the night out."

"Where's Scarab? He's coming right?"

"Yeah, but he wanted to arrive separately. Said he wanted to surprise me, so I'm indulging. He wouldn't even give me a hint, man."

"Well, consider me intrigued."

The three chatted for a while, Life soon coming to join them, after giving Death a peck on the cheek of course.

"And then the dude just... just tried to pluck one of my feathers out! Like for a good luck charm or something. Do people not get that dreams aren't physical?"

"I don't know, man, people just don't know how to act around you, I guess," Prismo chuckled. He was about to add on, when the doors opened, and a hush fell over the lobby.

Prismo looked toward the entrance, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"...Sho-Hoot, man."

And in walked Scarab.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #cosmic owl #death #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster