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queenimmadolla · 3 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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deadghosy · 3 months

Text

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.”

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X GN! READER

FLUFF❤️/ SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE/ BAD GRAMMAR

YOU WOKE UP in bed with Lucifer as you found the king of hell holding you close to his body as soft breathing was heard of the sleeping king. You stretched a little not wake up Lucifer as he mumbles in his sleep, “stay…with me…I need you…” the mumbles were cute as you smile at him softly.

You turn into a black vapor over to the side of the bed to stretch your wings and body. You are still pretty much tired but you have to go meet Charlie since you told her you would be there quick. You walk to the bathroom to get out of this cute cunty vibe robe without knowing that Lucifer woke up not feeling your body.

Lucifer touched the spot you were only to have tears in his eyes.

Did he dream of you being by him?

if so what was the dream so long. He misses you already like an abandoned puppy. He didn’t know if it was real or not as he lays on his stomach facing nothing, only the headboard of this bed you slept on with him. He wipes his eyes as he looked at his hand, his eyes widen to have seen the duck ring.

So it was real…

He was stock to say that you actually did stay with him that day as he blushes kissing the ring. He’s hate to admit it, but this could be the wedding ring of both of you and him if he decides to have balls and ask you. His thoughts stop as he hears the bathroom door open to see you exiting wearing his color scheme on an outfit that was quite formal.

“Good morning Luci.” You said with a smile as your voice was like honey to him and he was the bear. He loved your voice even if you didn’t think your voice was special. He smiled at you as he walks over and hugs you, nuzzling his apple like scent all over you as you just smile patting his back.

“Good morning my angel!” He said as he lifts you up with ease as you grip his shoulders. You were shocked to say that Lucifer never did this to you before. But he must be in a good mood to have done this. You just smile at him as he Carries you to the kitchen with a soft hum. As he hums you smile just getting use to his presence as it been so long you two masked in each other. He sits you down on one of the dining chairs as he goes to make pancakes.

You remember how he use to make pancakes with Charlie and you. It was such a lovable memory in your head as you check your phone to see Angel dust worried about you with 16 messages and 20 missed calls. Charlie called you 1 time and left 27 messages. Alastor left you 1 message as vaggie has send you 12 messages. Man your friends had missed you.

Lucifer broke your train of thought with his famous pancakes as he smiles that toothy charming smile everyone knows and love. He kisses your forehead showing you this new affection that was brought upon the two of you last night.

You both ate in comfortable peace as you two share a piece of bacon and just chatter about today and what will tomorrow bring. You could’ve sworn he kept staring at your neck as you just glanced away from him awkwardly as you look at you watch.

“Ah man..I gotta do Lu.” You said as you got up. Lucifer also got up in a hurry thinking of how to keep you here longer. But he knew he couldn’t as his daughter depends on you too…so it sucks as he nods with a frown. He goes over to you and smiles, “okay. Just be safe on the way out.”

You chuckled at that as you just nod and hold his arm, he looks at his arm as he kisses your hand up and then he kisses you on your lips. Making you surprised, your eyes widened but soon fell into the kiss as he puts his hands on your waist and you put your arms around his neck with a flustered face. He lifted you as you wrap your legs around his waist as he leaves your mouth and go down to your neck, nibbling and biting as he licks your neck up and down.

He couldn’t help himself but feel to claim you somehow as he places you on the dinning table of the kitchen. He kept biting as you wince gripping his shoulder. He bit you so hard you bleed without noticing, but he notice. He licked your neck, cleaning of the blood as he slightly whimpers looking up at you with his demonic red eyes.

“Did a kiss really get him that excited?” You thought as you lift his chin only for him to purr and move closer to kiss you more to the point you both won’t take it.

But you still had to help Charlie, so you push Lucifer’s head away with a smile. “Ah ah, can’t do that sir. I have to do tend to your daughter now. I’ll be back soon Lu-Lu.” With a final kiss to his eye with he whimpered rubbing his face on your neck. You got off the table dusting yourself and wiping the left over saliva from Lucifer on your neck. “Love you.” You said as you left the palace.

Lucifer stands there alone with his demon tail wagging with a derpy smile as he just excitedly.

“YES! THEY SAY THEY LOVE ME!! THEY’RE FINALLY MINE! TAKE THAT DEPRESSION!”

—

TIME AS PASSED as you check your phone to see love messages with hearts on them from Lucifer. This man is certainly high off your kisses from earlier as he is literally kicking his feet on his bed thinking of you. But you wanted to say something about the kiss so you started to text him.

Lucifer saw your text bubble as he brought his phone close to his face with a wide smile to see your text. This boy is whipped badly as he smiles waiting.

“Why did you kiss me?” You had asked over text as Lucifer stops smiling thinking of the most realistic answer ever as he nods and texted you back with a smug face.

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.” He texted back with a flushed expression.

After that, you two started to text everyday. Sending love messages and everything to check up one and another.

Lucifer was finally happy.

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer fluff #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #gender fluid #all genders #gender neautral reader #hazin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader

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joonberriess · 9 months

Text

⊹₊ ⋆ “she hotter than july in california, tan skin, eyes on it, stretched legs like the roads in malibu,”

TAGS — sleazy baby daddy!jk woop woop, birthday sex, cunnilingus, fingering, messy blow jobs, face fucking, making out, drug use (weed), oc is a cunty mama, this is in the past when they were dating, unprotected sex, creampies, possessive jk + oc, dirty talk to the max, both r high during sex, jk calling his gf “mama”, slight(?) degradation, oc throws it BACK, don’t play w her that’s her man, me thinks they made jiho here by accident, it gets cute at one point LMAO

WORD COUNT — 3.3 k

You leaned against Jungkook with your back pressed close to his chest, throwing your arms up-over your head to wrap around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook leaned in with a hum, leaving small wet kisses along the nape of your neck. His hands wandered all over your body—your thighs, waist, hips—he managed to snake his hands over your tits and give each mound a gentle squeeze.

The music blared loudly in the background and through the thick clouds of smoke your lips found his cheek as you pressed a sweet kiss, leaving behind a brown glossy lipstick stamp on his once unblemished cheek. Jungkook chuckled quietly under his breath and tugged you closer on his lap, “What is it baby? You leavin’ your mark on me? Want all those other girls to see who I belong to?” He teases softly.

“I don’t need to do all that,” you shrug cutely and turn around in his lap to look him in his eyes, “ ‘s just a reminder for these bitches who wanna act funny.” You gently tap his lip with your finger, “Happy birthday baby.” You say softly after a few moments of eye-fucking him with a coy smile on your face.

“Mmm–happy birthday to me,” he groans out when he feels your plush ass roll back on his cock, he can feel it stirring under the confinements of his boxers/jeans, “fuck, ‘s not fair how you got an ass like this sitting away in your jeans baby.” He smacks your ass hard with both hands, gripping it afterwards with tight squeezes.

You hum in response and lay yourself on his chest, head tucked under his chin as you play with his big hands over your tummy. The moment is interrupted by Jimin who saunters over with Namjoon and Hoseok, “Aww birthday boy getting his cake early?” He smirks deviously as he takes a seat across from you and Jungkook, the others following suit.

“What do you want?” Jungkook sighs as he looks at his three friends, “y/n already don’t like your stupid ass, you wanna make her hate you even more?” He rolls his eyes in annoyance, ignoring Jimin’s fake little whines.

“y/n you hate me?” He immediately asks while setting the rolling tray over the coffee table, “You hate little ole me?” He grins, licking his lips.

You stare back at him unamused, giving him one look up and down before replying, “Yes, but hate is a strong word. More like.. I tolerate you,” your eyes drop down to the rolling tray, “give it to me, you’re gonna fuck it up and none of us are gonna have a good high.” You reach down to take the stuff away.

Jimin holds his hands up in surrender, “You do you then, I’m not gonna stop you.” He sits back lazily.

“Oh shit how come no one told me y/n can roll a fat blunt?” Hoseok laughs, “Man fuck you Jimin, I’m never smoking with your ass ever again.” He hits the other on the shoulder. Meanwhile Namjoon sits there watching in pure awe while you work diligently. Jungkook merely sits there with a proud look as he strokes over your hip gently with a lazy grin.

“Look at Jungkook, sittin’ all stupid over there,” Jimin snickers, “bet you really wanna make her your baby mama now.”

“Course she’s my baby mama, look at her,” Jungkook says, almost offended that Jimin would think otherwise, “fuck getting married first I wanna give her my kids, gonna make her my baby mama before I wife her up.” He grins as the others laugh, he feels your hand smack his arm gently, “Huh? What is it baby?”

“Pass me the wraps,” you mumble, “c’mon,” you glare. Jungkook reaches for the wrapping paper with a quiet “yes ma’am”. You finish rolling the blunt and hand it off, “Light it,” you nod at Namjoon. The five of you smoked the blunt until there was nothing left, Hoseok said something about how Yoongi had grown this new batch of bud himself, you don’t really remember because no less than thirty minutes later it’s hitting you.

Jungkook was relaxed, idly running his hand over your thigh while he listened to Jimin ramble about something. Through your haze you noticed the song playing in the background, it definitely had you wanting to dance. You sway a little in Jungkook’s lap, quietly singing under your breath as you hum along to the smooth beat.

“She hotter than July in California,” You mumble while nodding your head to the beat.

Jungkook noticed how into the song you were, and if he was being honest he liked it too. “Let’s go baby,” he whispers in your ear and pats your ass, “up you go mama.” He helps you stand and leads you away from his protesting friends. Through the grinding couples you guys find a spot, Jungkook licks his lips as he eyes the way your hips sway.

You turn to look at him with a devious smile, one he returns enthusiastically as he gently lifts your arm and has you giving him a small spin. He whistles low and smacks your ass hard, “C’mere mama,” he brings you back, “right here baby,” he whispers hotly in your ear as he has you pressed against him with your ass right over his crotch.

“Here?” You purr softly whilst pushing back on him, hips swaying smoothly from side to side. Jungkook growls quietly and buries his face in your neck, his hands grip your hips tightly guiding them as you sway sensually to the music playing in the background.

“Right there baby, there you go.” He purrs back, “My slutty baby, you showin’ out for me? Gonna let everyone in the room know you’re mine?” Jungkook leaves hot kisses up your neck, biting teasingly at the sensitive skin there.

You reach behind to grip his fluffy hair, throwing your head back on his shoulder as you lick your lips slowly with a grin, “I’m letting everyone know what’s mine is mine, cause a few of ‘em wanna act funny thinking it’s cute.”

Jungkook groans when you slowly lean forward, bending over as your ass sits perfectly over his now hard cock. “Shit baby,” he watches you with dark eyes, loving the way your ass rolls over him as you throw it back for him to see. He runs his hands over both sides of your ass, gripping it tightly as it shakes against the palms of his hands. “C’mere.” He all but growls as he yanks you into his arms.

You turn to slot your lips against his, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you sigh into the kiss. He pats the back of your thighs, signaling you to jump as he hoists you up into his arms. A few people catcall the two of you, the room fills with whistles as his stupid friends yell “get it Jeon” and some other shit you don’t really give a fuck about.

His lips move against yours with urgency, whenever you try to pull away he drags you back in with a low whine. There’s wet smacking noises that fill the space between the two of you. Jungkook is relentless, the pot in his system sends him into a frenzy, leaving him a horny mess. You’re not faring different either with how your clit buzzes in excitement, throbbing between your now slicked up folds.

“Hey Kook, say cheese!” Jimin yells.

You break from the kiss and stick your tongue out with a devious smirk, his friends release a chorus of “oohs” from the freaky sight. Jungkook laughs as he lets you do as you please, barely looking at the camera as Jimin snaps a photo of you two. “Fuck you Min.” He snorts and begins walking away. He kicks a random door open and carries you in quickly, tossing you like a ragdoll on to the bed.

“You have no idea how bad I want you baby,” he locks the door and hurriedly slips his shirt off, tossing it into a random corner, “do you even know what you do to me when you strut around with those tight little jeans and tank top baby? It’s like you do it on purpose, you want me to lose it.” He climbs over you on the bed with a low groan.

You chuckle quietly and wound your arms around his neck, “I got something else for you baby, ‘s underneath,” you wiggle teasingly while letting the straps of your top slip off your shoulders.

Jungkook licks his lips excitedly and starts undressing you, he shoves your jeans out of the way and tosses your top somewhere with his shirt. “Fucking hell.” He hisses when he sees what you got on under. You lay there spread out for him in all your glory, a coy smile on your face as you push your arms together so your tits press together sinfully.

“You like it?” You purr.

“I fucking love it.” He growls back and leans down to smash his lips against yours, “Gonna fuck you so hard till you’re making a mess all over my cock, gonna have that pussy dripping by the time I’m done with you.” He whispers harshly in between kisses.

You moan softly, mumbling in between kisses as your hands travel from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “Kook…mm..wanna suck your cock,” you softly say as you look up with hazy eyes, “want you to fuck my face baby, gonna make it nice and wet for you,” you purr softly.

His pupils are dilated with desire pooling in his eyes, he doesn’t reply verbally and pushes you back as he climbs over you, “Yeah? You gonna suck my cock like the good little slut you are? Gonna let me use that little throat of yours?” He thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down slightly to tease you. “Answer me baby.”

“Yes,” you breathe out, “want it so bad baby.” You bite down on your lip while looking him in the eye. Jungkook unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall open as he pulls his cock out from his boxers. The head leaks drops of cum which falls on to your tits, he strokes over his shaft with a low hiss as he guides the weeping head to your lips.

“Open for me baby.” He whispers, watching closely as your lips envelop his throbbing cock, the sides of your mouth hugging his shaft just nicely as he feeds you inch for inch.

Your tongue lies flat on the underside of his shaft poking at his sensitive throbbing veins, tears spring in your eyes when he hits the back of your throat. You will yourself not to gag as quiet little moans slip past, sending vibrations all over his cock. Jungkook cusses under his breath, he stays perfectly still with a hand fisting your hair tightly, using it as leverage.

“Doing so good for me,” he slurs out, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep moaning like that.”

Slowly he slides his cock out until the tip remains, giving you a couple of seconds to regain your senses before he’s pushing back in. Jungkook moans under his breath and begins rolling his hips against your face, his head is thrown back as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of your hot tight throat around his cock. “Just like that baby, keep going,” he blissfully smiles, hips kicking upwards more forcefully with each thrust.

You gag loudly, spit trails down your chin and the sides of your mouth as you fight to keep your gag reflex under control. Jungkook mindlessly humps your face and his balls are pressed snug against your chin. He grinds his hips in slow circles, his groans are louder as he pulls your head back and lets his cock slip out of your mouth with a quiet ‘pop’.

“So fuckin’ messy,” he pants, “wanna eat your pussy out mamas, don’t wanna cum like this..” He jerks his cock in his hand, slapping the head repeatedly on your swollen glossy lips, “Yeahhh…just like that baby, open up wide, gonna make you slobber on it.” He lazily grins.

You swirl your tongue around the weeping head and moan at the tangy taste of his pre-cum. You want more so you lift your head to get his cock back in your mouth but he stops you, “Let me have it baby, just wanna make you feel good..” He sighs in bliss as he climbs off of you, going down until he nestles between your soft thighs.

Your pussy’s a mess by now, you completely soaked through the lace panties you wore for tonight. Jungkook wastes no time in peeling them off of you, moaning low when he sees dribbles of slick sticking to your plump folds and creating a small string connected to your panties.

“Relax for me,” his hot breath fans over your pussy, “gonna have my birthday present.” He grins before going down, hot tongue laving over your drenched pussy.

“Ohh,” you slur out with your head thrown back, “ ‘s good right there..” You twist your hand in Jungkook’s hair and grip it tightly between your fingers. Low slurping and smacking noises fill the otherwise quiet room as Jungkook eats you like you’re his last meal.

You throw your arm above your head to grip the pillows lying around the bed. His tongue glides over your throbbing clit in figure of eights, flicking back and forth in quick motions that has your back arching off the bed. Jungkook is relentless, he’s got two fingers knuckle deep in your throbbing little pussy. Your poor cunt drools all over his digits, coating them in creamy slick which runs down your ass and onto the blankets underneath.

“Jungkook..” Your head thrashes from side to side as you mewl in pleasure, Jungkook grunts and covers your entire pussy with his hot mouth. Small breathless “uh’s” leave your lips, you tighten your hold on his unruly curls and press his face closer between your thighs. “Right there,” you breath out shakily.

He pumps his fingers deeper and curls them upward to find that special little spot inside of you. Jungkook pulls back from your cunt as he pants hotly, “That’s it baby, cum for me,” he groans low, eyes flickering from your pussy to you. You look so pretty like this in the throes of pleasure, head thrown back and lips parted in a small ‘o’.

“Jungkook..!” Your hips buck against his fingers and your pussy clenches tight, spasming under his touch as a flood of wetness slowly seeps out of you.

You make a real mess this time judging by the slick noises your pussy makes as Jungkook slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Your cunt throbs uncontrollably from your intense orgasm as you lay there trying to recover with a pounding heartbeat.

Jungkook climbs up and over you, hovering low as his necklace dangles in your face. “Hi mamas.” He greets with a soft grin. He leans down to press small chaste kisses over your pillowy lips.

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and bring him down for more kisses, “Hi,” you greet softly with a tiny smile. His cock twitches from where it’s pressed right against your thigh, you reach down to grip it and stroke him slowly, “Gonna fuck me now or what?” You say in a sultry tone.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “slip me in your little pussy baby.” He hovers over you with his hands on either side of your head, “Go on.” He licks his lips. You eagerly spread your thighs farther apart and slowly guide him to your messy pussy.

He pushes past your wet sticky folds, a loud squelch fills the room when his cockhead breaches your slicked up hole. “Kook,” you moan softly as you press him in, “fuck..fuck me,” you whisper and let his cock go in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jungkook bites down on his lip as he kicks his hips forward, sinking into your tight pussy in one go. He stuffs his fat cock in and stills for a moment, “Oh shit baby,” he moans out. You can feel his cock throb harshly for a few seconds, so you decide to tease him a little by rhythmically squeezing around him. “Fuck don’t do that baby,” he hisses out as he grips your hip tightly.

“Then fuck me like you promised.” You whisper, “Take what’s yours.” You purr softly as you hook your thighs around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as you hold on to him.

Jungkook slowly pulls out until the tip remains, and after a few seconds he slams back inside in a series of rough thrusts. His hips smack hard into yours, balls colliding with your ass as they wetly slap against your cheeks. You throw your head back with a loud cry leaving you. Your poor body is jostled around, threatening to slide up the bed from the force of his thrusts.

“Fuck,” you whimper through gritted teeth, “just like that baby, keep going,” you plead softly as you take the rough fucking.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, in fact he’s full on moaning while fucks your pussy like a madman. His cock strikes deep against your g-spot, the head occasionally pokes your cervix but it’s nothing too serious because he finds a way to get his cock back on your g-spot. You watch as his necklace swings back and forth in your face, his whimpers and quiet groans slowly becoming louder than the sounds of your wet pussy and his balls slapping against your taint.

“Jungkook..!” You desperately cling to his shoulders and hug his body close to yours, “Right there—don’t stop baby, please,” you whine amidst his moaning.

“Not gonna stop baby,” he slurs out, “gettin’ so close, gonna make it so messy baby.” He leans down to hide his face in your neck, hugging you tight while he grinds his cock deep in figures of eights.

A long moan leaves you from the change of angle, you rake your nails down his back from the intense pleasure he’s giving you. You’re getting so close again with the way your pussy throbs and clenches tight. Jungkook doesn’t sound like he’s far behind either with the way he grinds into you faster and faster.

“Mm..!” You throw your head back and grit your teeth, “C-Coming..!” Jungkook reaches down swiftly to rub his thumb over your clit rapidly, a loud cry of surprise leaves you as your thighs quake, “Jungkook!” You sob out as your cunt throbs. A wave of heat hits you all over as you’re left shaking in the aftermath of your second orgasm.

Jungkook shows mercy by stopping his torture on your throbbing clit, but he chases after his own pleasure with a series of hard thrusts. His moans rise in volume until he shouts with pleasure when his own orgasm hits him, he grinds in deep and slow to ensure every last drop of his cum stays in your ruined pussy.

“Oh fuck..” He pants out as he comes to a stop, “Shit..” He swallows harshly and looks down between you two to admire the way your cunt looks so shiny covered in slick etc. “You okay baby?” He smacks his lips tiredly. When you nod back at him he cups your face gently, “Stay here, ‘m gonna go get some water and see if Jimin will let us crash here.” He kisses your forehead.

“Love you.” You softly reply and curl up into a tiny ball when he gets off of you.

“Love you too mamas.” He replies back as he re-dresses and heads out, “Best birthday gift ever.” He grins lazily while walking out after locking the door behind him.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

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pixiesfz · 1 month

Text

cough syrup s.c x child reader!

apart of sunshine series!

plot: you get sick right before a big game

warning: sickness, appendicitis, vomiting, this is literally my experience when I got my appendix removed (I was 6)

You hadn't been feeling good since you got home from Kindergarten, your stomach hurt and your head was pounding, you hadn't even felt the need to eat your lunch Steph made you. You had never felt like this before.

You hadn't talked a lot to your friends or on the way home which was weird since you usually told Steph about your whole day and complained about the boys in your class.

You didn't like them.

"Did Jack annoy you today?"

"Hm" you grunted and Steph just nodded and furrowed her brows, you must be tired she thought.

You ran straight to your room when you got home, Calvin following you as you both sat on a bean bag.

Calvin seemed to know you didn't feel good as he licked your arm, sitting on your lap "Hi Calvy" you sniffled as the dog looked up at you.

Usually when you felt sick you told your mum but all she and all your aunties had been talking about for the last week were the 'conti' cup which you didn't know what it meant but you knew it had to do with her soccer career.

Lara used to talk about it sometimes, but she used a different word for it.

So you stayed quiet, a tear running down your eye every so often as you played with toys in your play house.

Steph noticed your quietness at home and got worried "Sunshine?" she called out to you and you quickly rubbed your eye and turned around with a soft smile "mummy?"

"Did someone say something to you at Kindergarten?" you shook your head "nope" you hummed and turned back to your doll house.

Steph sighed before walking over to you and bending down "you okay Sunshine?" she asked and you faltered, nodding your head quickly after.

Steph knew better.

"Sunshine what did I say about lying" she looked at you sternly before you looked down to your feet "to not do it" you mumbled and she nodded "exactly".

She placed her hand on your forehead before her eyes popped open "Sunshine your head is burning, are you sick?"

You nodded "head and tummy hurts"

"Why didn't you tell me? has it been hurting since Kindergarten?" Steph asked, panic setting in

"You have cunti cup tomorrow!"

Stephs eyes grew wider "Con-ti not..." she sighed "that."

Tears started to roll down your face, not bothering to act anymore "hurts" you whined "everything hurts!"

Steph nodded quickly picking you up "What hurts the most Sunshine?" Steph asked and you pointed to the right end of your stomach

Steph nodded, blowing out air.

She never liked seeing you in pain, and you were really in pain.

"Can I touch it?" Steph asked and you wiped away your tears and nodded.

You let Steph lay you down on the couch, Calvin sitting nearby as she lightly laid her hands on your stomach

"wrong side mummy!"

Steph winced "right, sorry Sunshine" she apologized before moving to your right side, a scream leaving your lips when she applied pressure.

"Hurts" you yell and Steph wiped her forehead "I know honey, I know"

Steph stood up, panic thriving within her body, this wasn't just any stomach bug, should she call the hospital?, local doctors?, Mini?

"Your whines grew as you started to struggle to lay still "Mummy!" you cried as she left to grab her phone "Sunshine did you eat today?"

"Wasn't hungry" you grumbled, laying your hand out for Calvin, hoping he could distract you from the pain in your stomach.

Steph was quick, typing your symptoms into an app she had downloaded since she got you and winced when she saw the answer she begged it wouldn't be.

appendicitis.

Quickly she ran to your room, grabbing more comfortable clothes and a water bottle, running inside the house, lastly grabbing Calvin and putting him outside before grabbing you which you screamed at.

"Where we going?" You asked as tears rolled down your cheeks "We're seeing the doctor" (hospital, but she didn't want to freak you out) she replied and you clung onto her before she reached the car and sat you down in your seat.

She looked up to your tear covered face as she did the buckle "You will be okay Sunshine" she told you, wiping your cheeks before closing the door and running to the drivers seat.

Your whines didn't stop on the way and Steph almost started crying herself, her blood pressure dropping whenever your cries grew louder.

"I called the doctor and we get to go straight in Sunshine" she told you, her voice croaky.

You had become silent now and Steph didn't know if that was better or worse as she parked the car, running out to grab you and go to the front desk.

You had taken yourself out of reality, almost getting used to the pain as you looked around.

Must be a new doctors, you thought as Steph discussed with the lady on the chair before you were placed on an uncomfortable bed and taken to a white and blue room, some painted fishes on the side as well.

Tonight had been a long night.

A man came in with a metal circle thingy as he discussed with Steph, trying to talk to you but you were too scared.

You hadn't made a sound at all until he placed his circle on your stomach, a scream leaving your mouth as he pursed his lips and nodded.

"It's good you came now, before it burst" he informed your mum but you widened your eyes "what?" you ask

burst.

What did that mean.

Steph held your hand, squeezing it tight as the man left again, telling you he would be back quickly

"Sunshine?" Steph called for you as you turned your head, tears falling down "mummy?" you questioned, your voice breaking Steph's heart

"You're going to have a little surgery-" "Lara used to have surgeries!" You tried to get up as you yelled but Steph stopped you, you turned to her again seeing that she also had tears running down her face.

"It's not scary, trust me I've done his before, hey even Calvin's done this before" she said and you relaxed

If Calvin can do it so could you, if Lara did them, so could you.

The doctor came back in, some nurses behind him as they grabbed your bed again, wheeling to another room where the man held a plastic mask.

"Do you like chocolate y/n"?"

You nodded and Steph smiled "chocolates your favourite isn't it Sunshine" You smiled "I like chocolate Ice-cream" you said and the doctor and nurses smiled "this is just like chocolate the man said before passing Steph the mask.

"You trust me Sunshine?" she ask and you nodded, the woman putting the mask around your head as you tasted chocolate, a warm smile coming across your cheeks.

"What about your game?" You mumbled, starting to feel tired

"I'll be with you Sunshine."

When you woke up in your room you were surrounded by a lot of happy aunties with gifts in their hands.

"Did you win cunty cup?"

Steph didn't even bother correcting you this time, just happy you were feeling fine.

#woso #woso soccer #woso community #woso x reader #matildas #steph catley x reader #steph catley #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #sunshine

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ttoddii · 3 months

Text

touch starved bada headcannons

pairing(s): bada lee x f!reader, bada x floor (are you proud of me carly)

warnings: smut, MDNI, AGELESS BLOG DNI, phone sex, exhibitionism(?), long distance, not proofread, bad description, bad grammar, lowercase intended.

a/n: the cunty idea that me and carly had been talking about since the very first day we met. i hope y'all enjoy this, even when i write smut like i'm virgin mary 💀

special note: i love you carly bestie mwa mwa.

taglist: @missminho; @taniio; @vvsbada (comment under my posts to be add/remove)

⊹₊ ⋆ you and bada had always been like moon and star, wherever she is, you are, and vice versa, so when she has to leave for one of her oversea dance class, and you guys were forced to be separated, bada did not take that lightly.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada would call you every single night saying that she miss you a lot, and she wish you could be there with her right now.

⊹₊ ⋆ would be very open with you about what she want to do if you're there. hugging you, kissing you, fucking you senseless.

⊹₊ ⋆ touch starved bada who would go to class planning to focus on work but immediately think of you when she grind herself against the floor.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada who would try to regain her composure but couldn't help it when her mind is clouded with how pretty you look under her when you guys are fucking in bed.

⊹₊ ⋆ usually when bada dance she would already feel the hotness build up through time, but this time, when she's away from you, and her mind is hazy from how she couldn't focus, she could feel her whole body burning from neediness.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada who would take glances at the clock every now and then to wish for the time to pass by quicker.

⊹₊ ⋆ when the class is finally over and everyone take their leave, she would immediately take out her phone to text you.

⊹₊ ⋆ poor baby has to deal with her touch starved self on her own :(

⊹₊ ⋆ would call you as soon as you reply to her text and tell you how needy she is.

⊹₊ ⋆ "fuck baby i am so hot right now i need to let off some steam"

⊹₊ ⋆ touch starved bada who would touch herself everywhere while on call with you in hope to let the hotness die down.

⊹₊ ⋆ she would be touching her breast, wrapping her arms around her waist, imagining how you would do the same to her when you guys are in bed.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada would grind against the floor, searching for the friction she much needed, but never get what she want, it's just not you :(

⊹₊ ⋆ touch starved bada who would occasionally give out a breathy moan or fasten up her breath when she touch herself in the right place.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada would make sure to compliment you, imagining you under her while she grind herself against the floor, making you blush even through the screen.

⊹₊ ⋆ "fuck baby you're doing so good, keep grinding, just like that"

⊹₊ ⋆ bada who would turn on the camera so you know how badly she needs you to be there so she could do all the things she's doing on screen.

⊹₊ ⋆ mean bada who would make you turn on your camera so she could see your pretty face while she say the dirtiest things to turn you on.

⊹₊ ⋆ "god i wish i could thrust up that pussy right now"

⊹₊ ⋆ "darling i think i'm about to cum"

⊹₊ ⋆ bada who would ask for permission to cum while her brows furrow and her teeth bite down on her lower lip.

⊹₊ ⋆ bada who would definitely fuck you until you cannot walk properly when she come back.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ bonus:

🌊: pick up the phone, i won't wait for long.

scared that she is having trouble with something, you immediately pick up the call that shows on your phone.

"bada what happened?", you asked, your hurried tone clearly indicating that you're worried about her.

and bada respond with turning on her camera, her body barely being cover with how she had thrown her jacket to the side, her thin shirt not doing its job with how her sweat seep through the white fabric, revealing the bra inside.

"fuck, i'm just... very needy right now, need to fuck you so bad", bada said, her voice low and husky with how she's feeling.

and you stare, wishing that you could be there when bada almost lay on the floor, her strong lean arms holding her body up as her lower body thrust itself to the floor slowly, yet sharply.

"gonna fuck you so good you can barely remember who you are, gonna please you, you would like that wouldn't you"

you could only stare, speechless at what she's doing, but you would also feel yourself getting hotter by the second as you look at how your girlfriend grind on the floor, thinking of you.

but again, you can take control, with how hazy bada's eyes are, how needy she is, how she is basically squeezing her own breast, how she needily try to get herself some friction from grinding against the floor.

you can definitely take control of the all mighty girlfriend you has.

"bada, touch yourself for me"

#bada swf2 #bada smut #bada lee smut #bada x reader #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #swf2 #⟢ tod's chaos #☪︎₊ ⊹carly bestie

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pedge-page · 4 months

Note

pk joel tying her up and lightly stepping on her stomach/clit until she pisses herself :( need him

Warnings: piss kink, bondage, foot job f receiving, degrading language

18+ ONLY

Joel's been trying to untrain you from the muscled instinct of holding your bladder at all costs. It's only natural: you learn to get out of diapers and then never go back to the comfort of releasing yourself unless it's in a restroom.

Joel is rewiring your brain. "Gotta unlearn it, let that instinct go. Be natrual, baby girl."

Naked with your hands bound behind the chair, ankles tied to the back legs so your knees are parted, hips jutted forward towards the exposed edge. He keeps touching you: groping your breasts, thumbs rubbing your nipples, tickling his fingers along your arm, your ribs, over your stomach in long, sweeping strokes. Your body shivers from his touch, the lack of clothing not aiding in the chills wracking over you.

You whimper pathetically, pushing your hips out so the hood of your clit pulls back, begging for him.

He smiles wickedly. "How ya holdin' up, baby?"

You shake your head: "I have to go," you whine.

his foot nudges your clit and you gasp. He rolls the ball of his foot over your clit, then back down through your slit, parting slightly with his toes to gather the slick. Your thighs quiver, partially rubbing yourself along his generous touch.

His heel travels up over your pussy, pressing down flat against your lower tummy. You can feel that pressure digging into your bladder, and you cry out. Its so hard fighting your body and your mind. Everything screams dont--dont give in. Dont let it out. Hold on. Hold it.

Yoy squirm uncomfortably. But then hes flexing his toes down even further, suffocating that area.

"Then go," he orders.

You cant stop it from happening anymore. "Oh-oh-ooohh ohmygod!" You pant helplessly, eyes scrunched as you both look down at your clit twitching between a a tiny trickle of urine escapes--and then it's like a damn breaking because once it started, it cant be undone. "Its--coming! I'm doing it!" You cry in a high pitched moan. You begin to piss all over his foot, the chair, your legs, spreading on the floor as you moan at the sight, the feeling of release, the wrongness of it all consuming you like getting in trouble for being caught smoking or with a boy in bed at your parents house.

He pushed down harder, making your pee shoot harder, hissing loudly out of your cunty slit. "Shit baby, look at you. Pissin all over my fuckin foot like an animal. Slutty pussy can't even hold it back. You're enjoying it too much, you nasty bitch."

You nod dumbly, hypnotized at the curved golden stream that pours from you, alll warm and wet, messy and so fucking good. Your hips thrust into the air, head thrown back--so not unlike an orgasm as you empty the water from between your legs.

You're shaking from it afterwards, slumped in the chair and panting with lazy eyes.

He looks at you all naked and spread in a puddle of your own fluids and says "look at you, a grown woman pissing herself Iike a pathetic baby"

"Mmm but you love it," you hum, rubbing your clit against the ball of his foot again, soaking him.

He laughs with a sadistic grin. "Yeah I do."

What surprises him more is the way you lean back even more, arching to have your pussy along the edge of the chair and start grinding against the smoothed wood.

"Want more?" You pant, smearing your piss along your ass and inner thighs in the hopes of enticing him to touch you more, force more naughty liquid from your body as he trains you to unlearn what had become so instinctual.

#pisskink!joel #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic

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ss-skyearn · 1 year

Text

Ketamine

❝Are you floating again?❞

PAIRING : Lee Felix x female reader.

WORD COUNT : 4.6k.

GENRE : Smut, Angst, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Felix freckles appreciation, substance abuse (mentioned; not too graphic), I can't write him without glorifying his cunty voice so there's that.

SMUT WARNINGS : Soft dom!felix, sub!reader, praise, gentle dirty talk, choking that's more of just throat holding, size kink for like a second, unprotected intercourse, some of the hottest and most explicit shit I've written in forever 🔞

Seizing kisses. Skin hot to the touch. Burning mouths. Blood ready to boil over.

There's not much it takes to be riled up all over again, not when it's him in question.

Mind growing soft with a single touch, numb with a single caress, blacking out with a single press, you wish you had time enough to find out if he could someday anaesthetise you better than ketamine.

You're pretty sure of the answer regardless.

The floor buzzes beneath feet thumping to the music, disoriented, uncoordinated, moving along to a rhythm all together different, hazy minds conjuring up varying interpretations of the EDM pulsating through the crowded nightclub, swarms of bodies lost in a world far off from reality.

But you are focused on just one. The one who happens to be in your arms. Lost in a world you so wish to be a part of— come to think of it, maybe you are, for his hold on you, your waist tightens a measure, pulling you into his frame, all lithe figure and lean muscles, no damn given to the sweat running down your backs.

"Hey, pretty," he grins. Mischievous. Risqué. Indecorous.

"Hey, pretty," you echo. Capitulating. Yielding. Succumbing.

It's been far too long of this already.

Wrapping arms around the long neck that's entirely too unmarked for your liking, you lean forward, press your mouth to the sweaty skin of his earlobe, let out a confession, soft and sultry, "Care to help get the bead off my bracelet?"

He chuckles, pulls back enough to fix you with a look so deep you feel you're drowning, smirking as your eyes linger on his lips which he then licks, slowly, as if savouring his own taste, "That's one hell of a unique preposition," voice a striking undertone to the bass of the jazz infiltrating the club, you wish the ketamine had been a little stronger.

You shrug, the leer to your mouth unrelenting, "What can I say, I'm full of surprises."

"How many?"

"Why don't you find out?"

He laughs again, this one high pitched, leaking delight. The contrast baffles you— the low baritone to his voice when he commands it, the joyous shrill when he lets go. The itch to uncover its various pitches, vibrations and frequencies runs rampant, deep to the bones, the urge far from being tamable by now, and really, you hold no desire to pursue such fruitless a task.

You encircle your palm around his wrist, secure, enough to let him know of your intentions, and he does— well, he thinks he does.

You tug him along, him following willingly, and breeze past the turn to the rooms—

"Where are we—"

—to stop right in front of the round table, barely visible in the darkness engulfing the space, if not for the neon paints and brushes thrown astrew, the wooden surface marked with streaks of neon.

"Let me paint you," you breathe, looking straight into his eyes, expression unreadable.

He laughs again, this one deep and low, and you resist the shiver that's already threatening to move up your spine, "Huh, full of surprises indeed," he says in lieu of an answer.

You'll assume it's a yes.

So you put your palms flat on his shoulders, forcing him down on the chair in an unexpected display of impatience, and he squeaks, "I don't think it's allowed. Only the artist can use the paints—"

A finger to his lips, his mouth sealing shut, the almost immediate obedience a cause to your smile turning saccharine, "Don't you worry about that. Stay here."

You make your way over to the artists behind the counter, a few feet away from the workstation Felix is sat at, and true to form, make your way back to him with a stamp in your hand.

His eyes widen in intrigued surprise and you smile, wordlessly tugging his wrist and pressing the bottom of the stamp, it leaving a blue hued clover leaf on his pale skin, indicative of the liberty you're both now allowed of indulging in the wide variety of the UV paints decorating the table top.

"How did you manage that?"

You shrug again, amused at his bafflement, "I just don't like hearing no."

"Good thing I didn't say it, then," he says, alluding to the conversation you had the day prior, on the wet sand, by the shore, under the moonlight.

"Good thing you didn't," you agree with a grin.

The brush calls out to you, drawing you in like a magnet would an iron nail. You dip it in the neon green colour squirted onto the pallet from earlier, swirling till the bristles saturate with tincture.

The first press of the tip of the brush to his cheek causes him to gasp, the cold paint a bright contrast against his overheated skin, one you try to ease with the moulding of your lips to the opposite cheek, planting a loud, wet kiss.

He sighs at that, hand reaching forward to rest on your bare thigh, a silent appreciation to your display of affection.

You smile against his skin, taking it as the cue to continue, repeating the process over and over— meeting just the tip of the brush to the skin on one side of his face, brushing your lips to the side opposite.

By the time you're done with him, his cheekbones are dusted pink, lips parted to give way for silent, laboured breaths, chest heaving, both hands now gripping onto the flesh of your thighs.

"There you are," you reward his patience with a kiss to his slightly open mouth, knowing the effect the temperature play had on him.

"Done?"

"Yeah, just—"

"Is it done or not?"

"Yeah, it is, just—"

You don't get to complete the sentence, for the second it makes its way past your lips, he's already hauling you up and away from the metal stools, weaving the way around sweaty bodies a little too precisely given his dazed state, and you attempt to stop yourself from letting out the endeared chortle tickling your throat.

You fail.

The laugh is genuine, a rarity for you as of late, "Don't you want to see the design on your face?"

Grip on your wrist tightening, he mutters something incoherent— and impatient, if your ears don't fail you— and your laugh only augments, the flutter to your heart almost as genuine as one a long time love would elicit.

That's cause enough for the laugh to die out, and there it is again, the voice in your head, the gaping to your heart— what if you don't see it through, what if it isn't enough, what if all the beads to your bracelet are gone but it still doesn't amount to anything, what if, what if—

"What is it, angel?" his voice is gentle to a degree of surprise, only further confirming of your apprehension of the outcome to this idea, this stupid idea you once thought would be the answer to all that is wrong with you, the mindless proposition you let sweep you off your feet, the scheme no longer seeming likely to be met with a satiating ending, after all.

Is there a way for it to be? Is there really such a thing as a satiating ending?

The graze of fingers against your cheek is grounding, clementing, nurturing in a way it's not allowed to be, you're sure, but you lean into it all the same, the urge to be taken care of encompassing all else.

"Look at me," the taste of his Martini breath in your mouth is what lets you know of his sudden proximity, for your mind has long since lost the ability to pick up on the ongoings of your surrounding, doing the only thing it's good for lately— turning and turning, overthinking, not thinking, processing, comprehending, giving up, crying out to be shut down.

"Angel," the word is lost between your mouths, the Martini flavour so much more prominent now that you feel in it straight on your taste buds, and maybe it's your brain playing tricks that it so loves to, but you swear it tastes better on his tongue than it did on the sugar coated rim of the lowball glass; enough to render you dizzy with a wet contact lasting no more than a few seconds, something seven glasses of watered down alcohol couldn't achieve.

The touch ends before you've had the opportunity to savour it for what it was, and you find Felix looking down at you with so tender a look, you almost wish it didn't have to end like this, that maybe, just maybe, you would've stood a chance, had fate not been so cruel, "Are you floating again?"

You smile, a bearing you've taken to displaying on occasions where emotions fail you, where your feelings are too complicated to be picked apart and be presented with a singular expression, and it's only with years of conditioning that you've trained yourself to perfect it, the reality of it being unalike from the humorous stretch of lips not something anyone is able to pick up on— not that they care enough to anyway.

But he does.

He does pick up. He does care.

You almost believe it.

"Mm," you hum in place of an answer, neither confirming nor refuting, and much like it's always been, you assume there's that, an open ending, a loose offer to mark the end of this discussion, for surely no one is interested in actually knowing you, not now at least, even if they once did, not when it's this close.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't ignore it. He does care.

"I told you not to do that when you're with me."

"Couldn't help it," you despise it, you hate it; the wobble to your voice, the wetness to your tone, the perspiration already forming around your orbs, you hate it all.

He thumbs the tears yet to be shed, wipes them before they have a chance to taint your skin with a wet trail, "That's why I'm here, aren't I? So that you don't float away from me?"

"Then make me stay," you say, without thinking much of the ambiguity of that which you just uttered, and you wouldn't, not if he didn't suddenly look so stricken, "I-I mean—"

"I know, angel, I know what you mean," understanding to a fault, he'd make for a good partner your betraying mind tells you, for all the act of non-functioning it put forth, it certainly has no problem coming up with this particular notion.

Your hand has a mind of its own, reaching forward to trace the specks of neon green dusting his cheekbones, and it's like he suddenly remembers they are there at all, "What did you draw on my face anyway?"

The smirk you sport is more endeared than anything, but it's reason enough for him to cock up an eyebrow nonetheless, "Angel. What did you draw?" there it is, the low baritone, the bass so low. Chill. Arousing.

"Just made you look prettier," you shrug, as though the sentiment was at all possible. Lee Felix looked like a heart attack at the worst of times, bad for the weak of heart, lethal for the thrill-seekers. Gorgeous. Deadly.

"Come on," the tug to your wrist isn't as tight at it once was, but you don't, for once, think about the fact that your stalling might have dampened the urgency of the affair, for as much as you despise yourself for doing just that, you'd despise him even more for tending to your needs so sincerely when it wasn't his care to give in the first place.

So you don't think about it. You let yourself be swept up in the thump of the track, the jostle of the bodies as you make your way to God knows where, the security of his hand wrapped around your wrist, just a tad above the bracelet left with a lone bead, the last one. Bright green, almost the same as the paint decorating his face.

The door collides with your back, closing with the impact of your body, and you barely register the click of the automated lock, as your mind is otherwise occupied with a swollen mouth, soft tongue, sticky lips, all over your own.

He kisses you like he's consuming you, licks you like he's tasting you, bites into you like he's considering cannibalism.

How do you know? Because you feel the same. Or maybe you're projecting. Maybe. It's hard to think when he's pressed up against you like this, the perfect moor to grip on to, the desired anchor to your ever floating mind.

Hands on either side of your head, he parts from you, the reluctance written all over the lines of his face, popping open the buttons to his silk shirt with no small amount of ungrace.

"Fuck," he utters as the third button pushes back into the slit he just so tiringly worked it out of, hands slick with a nonexistent lubricant, for surely getting a simple button undone isn't as tedious a task as he's making it out to be, the booze in his system not withstanding.

The thought gets a laugh out of you, genuine and happy, and the lust brewing up in his orbs dims just a little as he catches your gaze, hands slipping from the cursed button to find purchase on your waist, "Help a pretty boy out?"

You snort even as you reach forward to oblige, "Full of ourselves, are we?"

"It's hard not to be when the sexiest girl just spent almost an hour painting my face," he chuckles, as self assured as ever.

Was that really a whole hour?

"Your horny was showing, babe," he winks, cheeky and all sorts of suggestive.

You swat at his arm, only half trying to escape his grip on you, the subsequent sigh of defeat more for show than anything.

"Speaking of," he pulls back only from the waist up, his hips very distractingly still pressed into yours, "what did you even do up there for all that long?"

As his eyes latch onto something on the bedside wall, you see the playfulness drain from his face, lips parting into a silent gasp, eyes the widest they are able to go, "Holy shit."

You turn your head to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, the way his eyes glide over the constellation of the varying dots and sparkle-shaped neon face paint scattered across his face, carefully marked exactly over each of his freckles.

One of his hands snakes its way up to his face, fingers hovering over each spot as he maps out the path trailed by the paint, as if himself paying attention to the position of the beauty spots marking his skin, "You drew my freckles," he whispers, voice sounding far away, as if emerging from somewhere deep under the water, muffled by the current of the flow, suppressed under the weight of the fauna, the food chain, crushed by the waterspout of emotions, knowing the futility of trying to voice out his feelings over the violent buzz of the storm, and so doesn't even try.

"I told you I made you look prettier. The prettiest," you fake nonchalance, trying to mask how much your heart wants to leap into a giddy dance at his reaction, trying so hard to not let it say : See, I told you. He sees it, sees it for what it is. Not a casual painting. He sees me in it, no matter how much you try to hide it.

You take his face in your hands, the shock and awe and whatever else that he's feeling having made him numb, soft, pliant, and guide him back to your mouth.

I cannot be hidden, your unforgiving heart echoes.

You push at his chest, willing for desire to overtake the ringing in your head, back him up until the back of his knees touch the edge of the bed, until he buckles under the momentum and falls on his back, one hand still lightly touching a painted heart on his left cheek, over the most prominent one of his freckles, one that stood out to you the most every time you tried to memorise the pattern the marks on his skin make, one you deemed fit to be assigned a different shape, a heart no less. He touches it softly, tenderly, as if afraid to smudge it away should the pressure at the pad of his finger be too much.

But it is too much. It's all too damn much.

"Let's not talk about it," before the sentiment could even make its way out of your mouth, you had known yourself to be a vile creature to even say it out loud, but the bile clogging up your throat is just the cherry on top. Great. Even your body agrees with how deplorable you really are.

But he smiles. Your heart breaks into a million little shards of ice, sticking into your soft organs, threatening to slit open your skin and fly out of your being.

It's not so bad, you think, at least the blood pumping beast is no longer there to echo how much it yearns for him anymore.

"Got it. Got you," he says, slipping into the role previously requested, taking the signals of start now when you don't even remember giving them away.

He flips the two of you over, bracing himself above you, bringing his mouth towards yours slowly, in a fashion completely opposed to the hungry way he lashes onto you awaiting lips.

He tastes as bitter as alcohol, as sweet as the cranberry juice mixed somewhere in the cocktail, as tart as the lemon he bit into not long after. He tastes like want, like ardour, like a mistake that's not a mistake if you don't let it be, like a regret waiting to be felt that doesn't need to be present at all, like everything that you could ever want, like everything you can't have, not in this lifetime.

Seizing kisses. Skin hot to the touch. Burning mouths. Blood ready to boil over.

There's not much it takes to be riled up all over again, not when it's him in question.

Mind growing soft with a single touch, numb with a single caress, blacking out with a single press, you wish you had time enough to find out if he could someday anaesthetise you better than ketamine.

You're pretty sure of the answer regardless.

Shucking off the rest of your clothes is a frenzy, one you don't remember amidst the clatter of teeth and clash of tongues, but you're elated that it's over all the same, and it's with barely controlled impatience that you manage to urge him to hurry along.

The sink stings a little, like it always does the first time, but you're not too proud to admit that his size might have something to do with it burning a little brighter than it has with past partners.

"That's it angel, nice and wet for me, that's it," he rasps from somewhere deep in his throat, deep voice turning down another octave, working you up even more, enough to allow him free access into your inviting heat, all restraints barred.

"That's it," he hums, hands grasping your waist, thumbs rounding gentle circles on your hip, letting you adjust.

Little does he know, you don't want to.

"Move, Felix—"

He chuckles, that throaty voice doing more for you than you care admit, leaning down to his elbows, swiping his nose left and right, across your own, "Is my angel impatient, hm?"

You whine, having had enough of his teasing, burning hot to the touch, and in this moment, it's all you can do to not snap.

"Felix, I swear to fucking god—"

He just laughs, apparently amused by your misery, head dropping down even lower, long platinum strands tickling your forehead.

In a momentary lapse of judgement, you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around neck, arching up, building the momentum to flip the two of you over, and you swear you're this close to having him on his back, so so close—

A click of tongue, a shove to your calves, and you're flat on your back again, caged in by his weight.

"None of that," he tsks, "you just lie there and look pretty for me, okay angel?"

You whine again, patience hanging onto the last fucking straw, "I don't think—" you gasp, the palladium of his rings cool against your neck. He applies no pressure at all, but the mere act of him wrapping his hand around your throat has you panting, eyes drooping with arousal, vision blurred even more.

"You were saying?" though unaffected at the surface, his fingers are burning hot on your neck, a sweet juxtaposition to the chill of the metal.

"Fuck—"

"That's what I thought," just like that, he's pulling out so far that you fear he's taking it all away from you, before gliding right back in with a loud slap of his pelvis to yours.

"Oh s-shit."

"This what you wanted?" he sounds cocky, painfully so, and if you were of a more sound mind, you might think of riding the attitude off of him, but as you continue to stare up at him and his stupid pretty eyes, accentuated by the stupid attractive face painting on even more stupid face, you just huff. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Aww," he coos, trails a single lean finger across your jaw, ghost touches over your front, down to your waist where he grips it, hard, "can't speak?"

Oh, this motherfucker.

"You know I could—"

"I know, I know. You could dom the hell out of me. But that's not what you want, is it?" he licks your lower lip, thrusts coming to a stop just to prove a point.

"N-no."

"There's a good girl," the haze to your mind from being handled this way might have something to do with it you assume, but you swear his thrusts are more controlled, more dominating, more demanding, "Just like that, baby. Just lie pretty for me. Just for me, right?"

"Fuck, babe—"

"Answer me. You're pretty just for me, aren't you?"

"I-I'm—"

The condescendance to his smile is something you never thought you'd end up liking, but when he's giving it to you so good, you doubt anything he does will be off putting at all, the power he holds reaching concerning heights, but in this moment, it's all you can do to not give in completely.

"I'm aware angel, it's difficult to talk, isn't it?" he coos, and the subsequent pout that settles on your lips is entirely involuntarily, "I'll help you, it's okay. I'm here, right?"

Your hands reach forward, clawing at his biceps that flex with every forward push of his lower half, forcing your body up with each motion, only to bring you back down with the unyielding grip on your waist, the bruises forming there something you look forward to cherishing, long after the lone bead to your bracelet is gone.

"Say 'I'm pretty. Just for you,' " each word is punctuated with a thrust unlike the ones he's given to you up until now, long and hard, unforgiving, not like you want to. Be forgiven, that is.

"I'm p-pretty—"

"Mhm, that you are."

"For.. f-for—"

"For who, princess?"

"Y-you. Fuck, you-"

"And who am I?"

Your eyes snap open, wide and glassy, and looking up at him, the knot to your tongue tightens, the words you were barely able to string together on the plastic rope now spilling out of it, the bracelet you so hoped to make now gone, leaving behind just the string hanging off from the eye of the metaphorical needle.

You whimper, a sound you barely recognise, the first tear rolling down your temple to find home in your already damp locks, only for another one to follow the wet trail it created.

"Easy, angel," he's a little late in thumbing away your tears this time, them having already marked the skin with their sticky essence, "You do know who I am, right?"

You do, you really do. How could you not? He's the one, the company to your last trip, the shoulder so generously offered, the warm body to your cold nights in the unknown city. The one.

But no matter how hard you try, how much you attempt to channel your thoughts, the name at the edge of your mouth, yet it fizzles out the second you try to force it out. It burns on your tongue, the familiar taste of it, and it's so close, you can feel the silky texture of the way it sounds, it's just there—

"Felix!"

Your body tightens, strains, then convulses with intensity more befitting a seizure, eyes barely coloured, for your irises have all but disappeared in their chase to roll as far back as is humanly possible, a string of nonsensical gibberish falling from your lips, his name suddenly tearing its way past your throat, and once it's said, it's the only thing your vocal chords are capable of vibrating out.

This seems to have awoken something in him, as he yanks at your wrist with unadulterated force, biting into the string of your bracelet, snapping the it with a fierce pull of his teeth, the single bead clattering onto the ground, the resounding bounces clear even amidst the sounds blanketing the room.

"Yes, that's right, that's me," he growls, claiming, animalistic, hips unrelenting in their chase to unmake you, pushing your body up with each stroke, "Say it again, say my name again."

"Fuck. Felix, Felix, Felix, fucking hell—"

"That's it, that's it. Keep calling me. I'm right here."

Your voice grows small, heart thumping loud enough to mask the sound of his body colliding with yours, all that wetness, all that want, all that ardour, it masks it all, "Felix," the name ends with a sob, your mouth parted, body arching up into his.

"You know me now? You know who I am?"

You're still shaking, your thighs trembling, high lasting longer than it ever has, and you are left to wonder if you've begun coming down at all. Indeed, the white hot pleasure has spread all around your field of vision, blending, merging, no longer distinguishable. You don't know where your pleasure ends and his begins, but you behold the scrunch of his face, the slack to his jaw, the shutting of his eyes, the deep moan he tries and fails to stifle with a sink of his teeth into the plush red carpet that is his lower lip.

He catches himself at the last moment as his elbows give out, face mere inches above you, long silver locks having been segregated into sweaty ropes to curtain his forehead and temples, and he looks down at you, panting hard, breath condensing onto your skin.

He's dishevelled. Far gone. Broken.

He still looks like a heart attack.

"Thank you," you whisper, nuzzle into his chest further, plant a grateful kiss to his pectoral.

Perhaps it'd be foolish to thank him for spending a night with you.

It would be, had it been that— a mere night, living on the edge of pleasure, with a warm body, never to meet again.

But it's not, and so it's not.

It's not a mere night. So it's not foolish.

He knows as much, it's reflective in the way his arms wind around you in a fashion that makes you fear he doesn't plan on letting go, and despite the alarms blaring in your head, you lie there, pliant and unmoving, blaming the fact on your exhaustion, "Will you be here when I wake up?" a kiss is pressed to the top of your head, an act somehow more intimate than the activities partaken in thus far.

If he thought that simple action might convince you to change your mind, you're afraid you'll have to let him down.

"You know the answer," you stay still, barely breathing.

"I do," he stays still, mimicking the stance you uphold.

Both still, wide awake, trying to commit the warmth of the other's body to memory, for the night is over, and so is your stay here.

[I plan on writing a spin off to this piece explaining all that's left unanswered; the bracelet, the reason for the main character's departure, why they can't be together, etc. Send an ask if you wish to be tagged when it drops. Meanwhile, you could send me your hypotheses and what you think could be the reasons for the aforementioned events, my ask box is always open to chat. ♡]

Feedback and reblogs are very highly appreciated. They're what keep the community alive and help content creators stay motivated.

[Send an ask if you wish to be added to the permanent taglist.♡]

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mhsdatgo · 4 months

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Hotd writers choosing to adapt Mushroom's records out of everything they had in hand is the worst decision they could've ever come up with btw.

It's been stated time and time again that while F&B is purely built on records and gossip and morphed retelling of events out of bias and propaganda, Mushroom is the LEAST reliable of all the sources. He's a fool at Rhaenyra's court, his job is make people gasp and laugh, not retell historical events.

We're talking about the same guy who said that he had a penis large enough to match the size of his head, mind you. Also, he's obsessed with little girls giving BJs to Targaryen men somewhere in Flea Bottom. It's happened twice according to him.

The writers' reasoning for this choice is basically that F&B was written by Maesters and Septons, who were all greedy men, apart from being Green supporters. So anything they say is false, anything they say is written with sexist intent. Writer's intention was to do the exact opposite.

Then tell me, for the love of God, tell me, why is every woman apart from Rhaenyra, who is clearly whitewashed and I can go into heavy detail about that, basically shunned?

The Maesters claim Alicent left Viserys' body to rot and swell for days preparing and LEADING Rhaenyra's usurpation. She's the leader of the Greens, she and she alone. Not Otto. The Green Council answers only to her orders, they are loyal to HER.

I've seen people argue that since Alicent is what Maesters view as an "ideal" woman, then they would try anything to paint her in the best light possible. While I agree that this may be true, I don't think this is the case. In history books, even in real life, women are rarely painted as leaders or important figures.

For Queen Alicent to be written as THE face of the Greens, you know this mama wasn't playing around.

Now, how is this:

In ANY WAY, even comparable to THIS?:

At the end of ep.8 and quite literally the entirety of ep.9, Alicent is shown as a lost woman who doesn't even seem to know what she's doing, pushed by Viserys' last words about prophecy rather than SHEER DESIRE to get her hands dirty for her children's safety (which by the way will always be superior imo). The Green Council conspires behind her back, and on top of it all, she's yelled at by one of her own men and is made to take it like a beaten dog.

Moreover, we had Helaena's ROAST (yes it was a roast, my Queen inherited cunty lines from her cunty mother) against Aegon and her coronation, the latter being addressed as something quite wholesome, if you ask me. Alicent places her own crown upon her daughter's head and calls her "my Queen" after kissing her cheeks and kneeling. Afterwards, her and Alicent are literally written to be the only ones who could get through Aegon II's thick skull when he wanted to start the war right then and there as a result of Rhaenyra crowning herself on Dragonstone.

You hear me??? Aegon sat down and fucking listened to the two women in his life. Not the Council, them. These two were dogwalking him, the KING, on the daily, how is that sexist writing on the Maesters' part????

Yet these things are nowhere to be seen in Ryan Condal and Sara Hess' "progressive" show. We got beaten dog Alicent and Helaena being nothing but a walking spoiler machine other than yet another instrument to paint Aegon as the big bad wolf and usurper. Not a single scene of them counseling Aegon.

Baela and Rhaena have nearly no lines or scenes that don't show them in the presence of the Strongs. They are seemingly okay with anything Rhae throws their way because it's Rhae. The one and only scene about Baela openly speaking to her grandma about her wish to fight for Rhaenyra was deleted.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is stripped of her rage and thirst for vengeance, and instead made to negotiate for peace while in the books she was the one pushing to go to war first.

Can you tell me, again, how the fanfiction that is Hotd supposed to prove that they want to be "progressive" in contrast to the Maesters' "sexist" work, when literally all they do is whitewash Rhaenyra and sideline any woman who isn't her?

#anti hotd #team green #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #queen helaena #hotd discourse #asoiaf discourse #queen alicent

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 5 months

Text

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night.

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust.

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

“Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch.

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats.

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length.

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her.

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet.

Ever stubborn.

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his.

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted.

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns.

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

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#tom bennett smut #tom bennett x you #tom bennett world on fire #tom bennett angst #tom bennett #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #tom bennett wof #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fan fic #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #12 days of smuff #tom bennett imagine

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tojisun · 4 months

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https://www.instagram.com/reel/C129xgdPN0D/?igsh=eWptZ2tnMHI0ODJ1

price and soap price and soap price and soap. i’m literally foaming at the mouth. i can’t take it

IM A PUDDLE IM A MESS OH MY GOD!!! THATS SO PRICE AND SOAP YEA IM LIKE SCALING THE WALLS

જ thinking about seeing price’s tummy first before his gains. thinking about price lifting his shirt up to wipe at his face, giving you a view of his belly and you freeze, going breathless because what the fuck that’s so hot.

john sees you gaping at him and he coughs awkwardly, apologizing about the indecency, and you’re quick to reassure him that “no, no oh my god you look good! sorry i just- i just didn’t expect that!”

clearly that doesn’t save you from further mortification so you stutter out a goodbye and hightail out of there. it’d be weeks later (the gap days full of you remembering john’s body… sometimes even dreaming about it. dreaming about being pressed against his softness and being cradled and being taken by him against the wall and-…!!) when john shows you his muscles—ripped in a way that you also didn’t expect from him but, you realize, of fucking course he’s ripped!

the daydreams just spiral even more after that :((

જ thinking about the opposite for soap—how you first saw his toned pecs before his tummy. thinking about seeing soap in that white cunty ripped-sleeves turtleneck as he fixes up something in his garage, sweat making his adonis-like muscles glisten and you honest to god whimper.

johnny looks up from where he’s got his head bowed to see something in his car and waves at you, shooting you that toothy smile that makes your breath hitch. the stretch of his arm makes his muscles flex and you could not stop the dreamy sigh that slithers out of your lips.

“hey neighbour!” johnny calls out, before his brows furrow in confusion as you, and you realize this in horror, proceed to just stare at him, all dopey and unblinkingly.

“oh!” you squeak. “bye!”

you’d try to ignore him as best as you could and you tell yourself that johnny’s sad puppy look isn’t getting to you but, well, you’re a liar and a weakling.

so, naturally, you see yourself knocking on his door a week later with a tupperware full of cookies. johnny swings the door open, wide smile only faltering a bit to make way for his confusion, but you bulldoze through whatever he must have wanted to say because you could honestly feel yourself getting faint—of course your handsome neighbour is even more handsome up close. of course.

“i, uh, got you cookies,” you say, cringing at the rasp of your voice. “well i say i ‘got’ you cookies but actually i baked them. for you. as apology. because i’m sorry.”

why, in god’s name, are you talking like that!?

“and you probably don’t wanna eat them because, duh, muscle man right here—” jesus christ, shut up! “so feel free to chuck ‘em out, i honestly wouldn’t feel offended and-”

johnny laughs, so bright and joyful that it makes him throw his head back. he even wipes his eyes because he’s laughing so hard, he teared up.

“easy there, chipmunk,” he says, mid-chuckles.

chipmunk?

“i’d love to eat these—” he takes the tupperware from you. “y’kiddin’?”

then he does the unthinkable—he lifts his shirt up to show you his, surprisingly, soft belly. you expected muscles and sculpted abs but this? god, this is better.

johnny pats his stomach. “this baby needs ‘em sweets.”

“uh huh,” you rasp out because what else can you say when adonis shows you his stomach?

“that’s great,” you add, your eyes still trained to his belly. “really, really great.”

“…you okay there?”

you fumble another ‘uh huh’ because, again, what else can you say?

yall need to stage a full intervention atp bc i cant stop rambling hhhshe!!! ne ways, this is me rn for realz 😭 and me! anotha me!! god i need emmmm

#thoughts-from-omen #john price x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john price #johnny soap mactavish #ask #suns #IM LOSING MY MIND

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5queerducksinatrenchcoat · 7 months

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(making this a separate post from the reblog)

WELL WELL WELL, if it isn't me saying a thing that ended up happening! My cunty lil man got all dolled up with wee john, both looking gorgeous, by the way, and then izzy trying to teach frenchie the music real quick and y'all, I had to pause the fucken episode and prepare myself because izzy was actually gonna sing.

And then this lil fucker(affectionate) slaps me on the fucken face with LA VIE EN ROSE, and when I say nothing could have prepared me for that! I was not still the entire fucking song, my body literally could not contain its excitement. (there was a lot of finger snapping and bed slapping and 'fuck it up!'s and 'yes bitch!'s)

AND THEN, HE PULLS OUT THE FUCKEN FRENCH! Because of course con learned it in french, too! He didn't have to do that, but he fucken did!

And y'all, he was singing to the crew. It wasn't for ed, it was for the crew. The lyrics were changed so he was singing for the crew, because they're his family, and he loves them, and they love him. He feels safe with them and comfortable with them not only to be himself, but to FIND himself.

The crew actually took the time to realize that he is not okay, and to understand him enough to help him in the way he needed, not in the way they would need it. They took that opportunity to let izzy know, point blank, that he is one of them, that he is family, and I feel like it's safe to assume that that's more then he's ever gotten before.

And izzy's still not okay. He's been drunk or drinking for the majority of the fucken season. He is not coping with the loss of his leg, or everything else that ed did, in a healthy way. His thing with ed is still incredibly fucked because ed's allergic to proper communication and izzy will just take what he can get because he loves him. (But ed's a whole other can of worms who has his own shit to deal with.)

But anyway, it's okay that izzy's not okay. It's okay that he's not all healed and doesn't have his shit together. It's okay that he's not even healing rn, really. What's important is that he's in a place to start healing. He feels comfortable and safe and understood, he has a support system that he feels connected to and knows will help him, and he'll actually accept their help. (Like fang helping to keep him steady while he was coming down the stairs when he was telling frenchie what song to play. fang was holding onto izzy's hips and izzy wasn't even close to bothered.)

Also I love how ned picked up the song where he interrupted izzy, that was such a bitch move and it was great.

#im fucken feral about this show #and about this little middle aged man #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death season 2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 spoilers #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #con o'neill

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thesilmarillionblog · 11 days

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PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT

Chapter 5: I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.

Summary: You've been working with Butcher and his team since your sister died in a plane crash caused by Homelander, and months later, you met Soldier Boy. Drowning between hatred and your desire to have your vengeance, you have to face your feelings for Soldier Boy eventually.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Female! Reader

Warnings: +18! (Minors DNI), Smut, Language

Word Count: 4184

A/N: English is not my first language.

Click here to read the first chapter!

You expected Ben to at least lighten the mood with a joke to ease the tremendous tension between you, but neither of you said anything on the way home. The silence and growing distance between you felt like you were suffering. You were the first to make a move by pulling your hands away from his abdomen and going back to the passenger seat. Maybe he thought you were drunk or something, but you pretty sure weren’t.

After you had a shower, you lay on the sheets and stared at the ceiling, dreaming of Ben and what happened that had kept you awake all night. It's true that you didn't lose your virginity in the car, but it would be less embarrassing to let him come inside you than to watch him jerk off against you while you were pressed against the wheel and wear his cum until you got home. You closed your eyes, your cheeks flushing, and pleaded with your brain to stop thinking.

Your whole body ached, remembering the way his hands dominated your body. You both were aware of the fact that what you did was risky considering the power imbalance between you, but you wanted to do it anyway. Ben didn’t force you for anything you didn’t want after all.

It was hours later that you finally fell asleep after thinking about what had happened that night over and over again, realizing you had no idea how to proceed with things and knowing how the thing you experienced probably meant nothing for him while it meant something to you.

Ben and Butcher started to argue when you were eating breakfast in silence in the morning and Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie were sitting on the couch, warily watching the news about Vought. You felt Ben’s gaze on you from time to time, but you ignored it.

They announced that Black Noir had been missing for weeks. It didn’t make any sense at all since a supe wouldn’t simply go missing all of a sudden. Especially considering that Black Noir was, by far, Vought's most devoted supe following Homelander.

Frenchie looked at Kimiko and said, simply, “This is bullshit. They are probably doing some trick,” as if he were seeking her approval once again. She immediately nodded to him.

With a haughty grin on his face, Ben replied, “Homelander probably killed him, or he just ran away or even retired,” without even bothering to watch TV while sipping his visky.

“What would make Homelander kill Ninja Cunt suddenly?” With a sly smile on his side, Butcher raised an eyebrow and added. “There isn't even the slightest excuse for that masked cunt to flee or retire.”

“How the fuck would I know?” Ben shouted at Butcher, suddenly getting angry.

He abruptly raised his voice and got defensive, causing you to drop the egg you were going to eat. For a brief while, his gaze came to you, as if he wanted you to turn to face him and stand with him against Butcher, but you continued to avoid him despite how difficult it was to do so. The topics that were consuming your thoughts and head were very unrelated to the topic of conversation at hand.

“I fucking have no idea. You were his former cunty boss, didn't ya? If there is any brain left under his half-leaked head, you can guess what he is up to.”

With his characteristic side grin, Butcher was trying his hardest to irritate Ben, whether deliberately or not. Annie shot him a warning glance, as if she were trying to persuade Butcher to stop causing Ben unnecessary aggravation.

Having lost your appetite, you dropped the egg on the table and watched them argue with anxiety.

Ben shot him a menacing smirk and said, “I don't know, you fucking useless moron. If there is a fucking brain under your fucking big head, maybe I should crack and leak your brain too, so we can see how that ninja's works.”

“Why did you get upset suddenly? Haven’t you had your cokefast?” Butcher asked and gave him a questioning look with an insidious smile.

“It seems Cum Gazzler pushed your fucking head to his balls till you gagged so hard that you keep forgetting how to fucking behave,” Ben snapped at him.

“Hey,” Annie said, raising her hand, and continued with a nervous voice: “Let’s stay on the subject.”

“Don’t you ever fucking tell me what to do,” said Ben, lowering his voice and giving Annie a threatning look as he filled his glass again with visky

You stared into Ben's eyes until he gazed back at you, disturbed by his sudden rage and impolite demeanor, but you knew it was Butcher’s fault to push him that much. It appeared as though he was prepared to murder someone. Without saying a word, you tried to beg him to stop what he was doing, and your pulse raced when he gazed at you with eyes that were nearly softening. His actions gave you a great deal of unease and discomfort when he got angry, as he was a living nuclear bomb that could blow at any moment.

To break the tension in the atmosphere, you said, “It’s not the first time Vought has told lies to people. He is, I mean, Vought is probably up to something, which wouldn’t be surprising as they are. It’s weird that Homelander has been so silent since his connection with Soldier Boy has been revealed.”

You continued to look at him as though he were the only one in the room and you were speaking to him alone. You wanted him to understand that you posed no threat to him. Since eliminating Homelander and ending Vought were similar goals, everyone in the room was his ally in this. Given how he was let down by everyone and his own team in the past, you couldn't really blame him for being wary and lacking faith. However, you needed him to trust you and know you would never betray him.

Kimiko made a sign implying she agreed with you, and you gave her a warm smile.

With a forceful thrust to Butcher's shoulder, Ben turned to face you and said, “Could be.” He never took his eyes off of you.

This time, Annie and Butcher began arguing as Ben sat next to you, pushing his chair up closer to you and staring at you nonstop until you returned his glance. The way he stared at you made it difficult to read his thoughts or emotions. It was the awkward space between you that was making you uncomfortable, though, not Ben. But it warmed your heart to see him make an effort to approach you and not simply ignore you.

“Annie, you try to find out what happened to Ninja Cunt, but let’s not take attention, love. We are doing okay for now, and we better not ruin this. Let’s lift our cute asses,” Butcher said, smiling as he checked his watch, adjusted his clothes, and turned to Ben.

Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie got up and prepared to leave the house alongside Butcher.

“And you, sweetheart,” said Butcher, lifting a finger to you and Ben. “Keep an eye on him, and you two check the address I’ve just sent to your phone.”

“What are we supposed to do there?” You asked as you looked at the address, and Ben leaned toward you to have a look at your phone. It was a long way to go. Like, very long.

Butcher replied, raising an eyebrow, “It seems like Octupus Cunt and Speedy Cunt are going there a lot these days. Let's investigate what appears inside. Make sure that he doesn’t put on his lovely suit, and most importantly, don’t get caught. Pretend like you’re taking a small vacation.”

When Butcher and the others left the house, there was a pregnant silence between you and Ben. The yearning to be near Ben was powerful and unbearably acute, but you weren't sure if it was just you experiencing a pull between yourself and him.

“All right,” you said, continuing to glance at the location and your phone. “We had better get moving as quickly as we could. It's a long way to go.” You stated this as you checked the place through Google Maps. Fuck, you thought. It would be a fucking traversal. You should have gotten good sleep last night.

“Are you shy because of what happened last night?” Ben asked abruptly.

Surprised by his brave question, your cheeks flushed immediately. He didn’t sound like he was about to make a joke or embarrass you, so you didn’t feel uncomfortable at that moment.

“No,” you said, still looking at your phone.

His strong hands lifted your chin to make you look at him. He was so close at that moment, you thought he would kiss you. Your cheeks flushed even more, realizing your body was filled with expectation.

“Good,” he simply said with a small smile. There was a promising look on his face. “It was nice for both of us, right?”

He was closely examining every facial expression you made to determine whether or not you two were okay with what had happened. He’s never been fond of the idea of uncertainty. Ben clearly wanted to make sure you were alright about last night. He was the one to start it after all, and as he wasn’t a fucking pussy, he knew he had to make everything clear and make sure you weren’t feeling uneasy or distressed.

He kept his firm grip on your chin while the other dragged your chair toward him, and you gave him a nod. “You must know,” he muttered. “I have no intention of fucking you.”

His remarks caused your eyes to widen, and you separated yourself from him by placing some distance between you. It was difficult for you to determine whether he was being sincere or only trying to make you embarrassed. However, judging by his face, he was dead serious.

You muttered, “God,” unsure of how to react. “Why do you even say this at all?”

He put his hand on your chair, disturbed by the way you drew away from him, to make sure you finished this talk correctly before you ran off.

Recalling that he had stated the same thing the day before, you were curious as to why he was so adamant about it. You'd spent enough time with him to know that, after all, he was generally alright with fucking.

“I just want to make sure you don't expect anything from me. You know that I'm doing this for you, so you should be thanking me, doll. I'd probably end up killing you in a heartbeat, so it's best if I continue banging supes.”

Although you didn't dream of him taking your virginity, the way he described how fragile you were and implied he would continue banging supes didn’t make you feel any better, even if he claimed to be doing you a favor. It was obvious he just liked teasing you whenever he saw you getting excited around him, not because he would actually make a move or show little interest in you.

“You’re so kind, Ben; thank you,” you said with a dry voice as you stood up. “We should head out right away. Bring whatever you need with you. We might not return for two or maybe three days.”

Your shift in mood and your disappointment confused Ben. Taking all the risks just to fuck you raw would be selfish and too risky, but he postponed asking you about your feelings at a later time because you two had things to do.

You spent hours driving, your eyes were burning, and you didn't sleep at all. Ben repeatedly volunteered to drive, but you declined his offer since you didn't want to risk getting into any difficulty since he doesn't have a driver's license. You hated driving; fuck, fuck, and fuck.

He snarled, showing signs of rage in his voice, “Fuck. Is there a motel or anything close by? We can stay the night there. I'm fucking starving here, and it's already fucking dark.”

It wasn't until he mentioned it that you realized you were starving too, and you were struggling to stay awake.

Until you found a place to eat, he would not stop cursing Butcher and whining about how hungry he was. Ben ate so much that you were sure his stomach would explode if he wasn’t a supe. He continued to wear his sunglasses and a silly hat so that no one would identify him, which gave him a hilarious appearance in the dark. You had to work at getting him to wear those for hours.

The receptionist gave Ben so close attention that you felt your body stiffen. Ben touched your shoulder as you requested a room with two beds. You felt Ben getting furious as the receptionist kept staring at him.

Ben said, “Bad for you, baby,” as soon as you walked into the room.

“What now?” you asked, irritated, putting your arms around your hip.

“I know you were hoping there would be only one room and one bed, but that's not how it worked. The opportunity to share a bed with the world's strongest supe is now lost. How unfortunate.”

You couldn’t help gigling at his arrogance as you rolled your eyes.

He took off the glasses and his funny hat as he approached you. You tried to hide your feelings by actually accepting them, and to persuade him better, you gave him a small smile. It would be so much better if there was one bed, but the receptionist had to ruin the night and your dreams.

Trying not to gawk at his muscular physique as he changed his clothes, you muttered, “Yeah, you don't even know how disappointed I am, Soldier Boy.”

Ben watched you carefully as you undressed as well, giving you a smirk.

He said, “But you are still a lucky woman, because I can be generous for you just once,” as he sat on the bed and observed you while placing one arm back under his head.

You replied to his joke by teasing him, “And why would the world's strongest supe be kind to a simple human?”

He just tapped the blankets and invited you in, saying, “You drove for hours, though you were sleepless as fuck and stuff, you know. I must return your services.”

“You’re impossible, Ben,” you said, accepting his kind and generous offer. “Thank you for your generosity, then.”

You turned off the lights, sighed, and rested on the same bed as him after you closed your eyes. It was only when you felt the warmth radiating from his chest behind you that you realized it was really cold inside. Well, you hated the cold.

You were too cold, and the thin blankets were insufficient to keep you warm when you woke up in the middle of the night. You have most likely located the most awful motel in all of America. Thank you very much. It was so cold that one of your legs was trembling. You spent time with Ben so much that you started to blame and curse Butcher for everything, just like him. It was like he was doing everything on purpose.

In an attempt to keep Ben from waking up, you carefully got your back closer to him to feel some warmth from his body and nice chest. You knew he was always as hot as the sun. In every way,.

You jumped when he asked, “Are you cold or trying to take advantage of me?” abruptly.

You immediately stopped when your back touched his wide chest, saying, “God. How come you're even awake?”

His warm breath caressed your neck, causing your chilly body to become more at ease. Ignoring his teasing and feeling brave because wanting to feel some warmth was more important to you at that moment, you pressed your back even harder into his body. Perhaps the darkness inspired a sense of bravery in you.

He whispered, “I let you sleep in my bed for once, but you keep moving way too much, you know,” as one of his powerful hands brushed into your hip, making you shudder.

You retreated a bit and pressed your hip into his body without saying anything. When you felt his hardness behind you and waited for his response, your pulse raced and your excitement increased. It almost made you whimp, but instead of shoving you away or, worse, taunting you, he gave you a firm squeeze on the hip.

He began sucking on your neck as one of his hands was firmly holding your chin just after you leaned your head back to him. You struggled not to stutter as you pressed your hip into his bone harder in an attempt to create some friction. Once he touched every inch of your body, the cold appeared to go away. The pull between you was driving you both insane with a desperation to touch.

You moaned and pressed closer to him when his hand slid inside your top and squeezed your breast. With a curse, he withdrew his hands, and, in one swift motion, he was between your legs and on top of you. You put your hand over his bisceps and gazed at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

He rubbed his hardness between your legs, making you tremble, and asked, “Do you want me to go on?”

He stopped your hips and said, “I couldn't hear you, sweetheart,” as you nodded quickly in an attempt to find more friction.

“Yes,” you whispered as you tried to move, but it was impossible to move under his dominant touch.

As soon as you answered him, his warm lips found your neck once more. He released his grip on your hips, firmly grasped one of your breasts, and began to rub his hips against your exposed pussy, allowing you to experience the full length of his hardness. When he licked your neck hard, you let out a loud moan against his neck and wrapped your hands over his thick belly to lift his shirt up. His chest warmed your chilly palms, and you felt a rush of satisfaction. Pushing him away until he removed his shirt, you made it clear that you didn't want any fabric to come between you.

Your body began to tremble with excitement and cold as his hands grasped your sweatpants and panties and removed them from your body. You were naked as you lay beneath him. It pained you that you knew he wouldn’t take you at that moment, but at least you could have that.

Your cheeks reddened more intensely in the dark under his keen gaze. Your legs shivered with cold as he removed his sweatpants after staring at your nude form for a while. His boxer was the only thing standing between his shaft and your pussy. Putting your hands around his back, you made an effort to be near him so you could feel his warmth.

Ben said, “Let's get you warm, sweethart,” as he began to lick your neck once more while pressing his shaft up against your pussy.

As you bit your lip and closed your eyes, you were breathing heavily against his neck and trying not to moun aloud. When your neck began to hurt, he pulled back. You squirmed your eyes as his hand reached your wet pussy and palmed your slick.

“Fuck, you are so wet. Look at me,” he ordered, and he waited till you opened your eyes. “You will tell me as soon as it hurts.”

“I will,” you moaned, and your body tensed when he pushed his thick finger inside.

You tried to handle his hard touch, even though it was causing you agony and intensity that was making your eyes water. When he pushed his thick middle finger a little too firmly, you whimpered. You stopped his hands, moaning in pain because you could take no more of the hurt.

“Fuck, you're so fucking tight. You expect me to fuck you, even though you can't even take a finger?” he growled. You muttered an apology as he waited for you to catch your breath before beginning to gently stroke your clit with his thumb.

Once he had rubbed your clit for a while, you raised your hips and encouraged him to insert his finger into you once again. To show him that you were prepared, you splayed your legs a little more.

Ben was trying very hard to not ignore your pain and just shove his finger entirely inside of yours with one tough move as he kept cursing about how tight you were. Your body tightened when he pushed his thick finger gently once again. You looked at him just as he wanted to be looked at, and you nailed his bisceps.

He waited a little while for your pussy to get used to him before he began fucking you with his finger. Even though it ached at first and your insides hurt, the agony quickly gave way to an incredible sense of pleasure that made you moan.

You lifted your hips to meet his fingers while you kept moaning under him as he fucked you with his thick finger. Ben’s shaft got even harder seeing you lost in pleasure beneath him, all naked and wet for him. Your back arched as your pussy started to clench around his fingers.

He snarled, “Do you like this?” and rubbed your clit with his thumb while curling his finger inside of you. “Tell me, or I'm going to fucking stop.”

With a shaky voice, you whimpered, “I do,” as your hands drew his neck nearer to you so you could look into his eyes in the dark. The joy and intensity of the moment made your eyes water.

Even though you wanted it to go longer, your walls clamped hard around his finger as you orgasmed, causing your legs to tremble. You whispered, “Ben,” raising your hips to meet his rough movements and feel him fully.

He kept his finger inside of you until you rode your orgasm. Ben was hard as iron as he watched you get off under his touch and kept clenching around his finger. After you rode your orgasm, he pulled out his finger from your pussy very carefully.

Ben spread your legs wider with a rough move as he pulled out and pressed his shaft against your sensitive pussy. Even though you felt oversensitive, you wanted to please him by giving him what he needed, just like he did for you.

Even though you had just come, you could feel his warmth and hardness lengthening against you, and you felt yourself tensing up again.

He goaned, “Fuck, you're so responsive,” and began to press himself against you, bruising your hips. “Will you cum for me once more?”

You lifted your hips to meet his quick and hard movements, but he stopped you, taking all control of your body. Your hips started hurting under Ben’s rough touch.

He exposed your breasts to him by pulling up your shirt to your neck. He accelerated his pace and continued stroking his hips hard against yours, growling at the sight of you. He didn't move, even if your hands were holding his hands on your hips to somewhat loosen his touch.

You moaned, “Ben,” as you began to tense up under him once again and grip his thick waist.

He spilled his thick white ropes over your sensitive entrance, opened your legs further, and used one hand to split your pussy lips while growling and swearing. You saw his powerful biceps flex with every motion.

When he was done, he tucked your shirt in, wrapped his hands around your body, and gave you a hard kiss on the forehead. For a little while, you felt his hot breath against your neck and you put your hands on his chest.

With a dry voice, he flipped both of you over and wrapped his powerful arms over your body tightly, saying, “Your hands are cold.”

You smiled in the dark, and you felt your heart warp, giving him a nod and remembering the reference even though he had no idea.

________________________________________________________

A/N: Let’s go, eehehee. Comments are appreciated. I’d like to know what you think.

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @yvonneeeee

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this series <3

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

Family Affair

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse

The Prompt: Jake wins a bet between the boys, so he gets to grow a mustache, which means your family’s first group Halloween costume is The Addams Family

Requested by: @pleasehidemyficshit

Pairing: Jake x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Marc x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.2k

CW/TW: We’ve earned all four peppers here friends - obviously Jake has a mustache and looks too good with it, there’s talk about sharing D.I.D. with loved ones, groping, a touch of roleplaying and spanking, f!receiving oral, destruction of clothing, breastplay, lactation kink, and titty-fucking (it’s back!)

A/N: Y’all I started writing this before Halloween and wanted to have it for everyone by then... but shit’s been crazy on my end. I’m behind in asks and responses but it was in an effort to get this out and honestly to keep my head above water! Hope this fic and the filth below is entirely worth and thank you all, especially my darling requester, for patience with me! Spanish translations at ze bottom of ze fic!

“Damn babes, never thought I’d say it, but Jake can pull off a mustache,” Charlotte mused while the pair of you stood in her reception room, currently decorated for a spooky, but not scary, Halloween party.

You immediately shushed her. “Stop that! What if he hears you?”

She threw her hands up in surrender, yet didn’t appear at all contrite. Charlotte and Harry’s place was palatial by most Londoners’ standards, but sound could carry from one end of the room to the other rather easily. “Here, come with me to the loo, I need help with my wig anyway. We’ll talk about it there.”

This Halloween, your first as a mother, was quite different from previous ones. The last year you had been too queasy to go out, and the year before that, you and your husband had been out all night hopping between various pubs and parties. While your couples costume, Hugh Hefner and a Playboy bunny, was admittedly and totally misogynistic, it had led to the night culminating in some rather fantastic sex just as the sun’s rays began to kiss the horizon. Plus, Jake called you “conejita” now sometimes in bed which never failed to make you shiver.

Tonight was the diametric opposite. You had to be home 9:30 sharp so as not to completely fuck Nyla’s sleep schedule, you and your husband hadn’t so much as seen each other’s genitals in days, and your family was attending precisely one fête, this one at Charlotte’s house. She and Harry had welcomed a daughter of their own, Abigail, a few months before Nyla was born. Their low-key house party was the perfect festive, baby-friendly occasion for the holiday. Come to think of it, your previous costume and activities were a rather fitting way to send off your pre-baby body and persona.

“This is lovely by the way,” you told Charlotte, crowding into her downstairs loo with her. “I can’t believe you were able to clean and decorate this place while Abby is teething.”

“Thank you,” she replied, genuinely touched at the comment while she helped you to recenter the part on the long, black haired wig you’d donned for the evening. “Honestly, I have no worries about going back to work for my MP now, the House of Commons is a cakewalk compared to the chaos it took to get this house together today.”

You laughed, the truth of her sentiment resonating with you. Even if you didn’t work in government, everything else was a breeze after having a baby.

“Though I must say, it’s a bit cunty for my best mate to show up looking as good as you do tonight,” Charlotte teased, “If I hadn’t seen you pregnant myself, I’d doubt you even carried Nyla.”

“HA!” You squawked in disbelief, “either you’re already pissed or need to get your eyes checked. Besides, black is a very forgiving color.”

Though Halloween with a baby meant no more all-nighters and fuckfests, it did mean something else that was arguably just as exciting: family costumes. Given that earlier in the month Jake had won a contest between him and his alters on who could change Nyla’s diaper the quickest, he was currently sporting a mustache. You weren’t exactly chuffed about its presence on your husband's face, but it did inspire you to make everyone dress up as the Addams Family. You’d ordered a darling little Peter Pan-collared black dress for Nyla as well as a crocheted hat with braids, a slinky (and apparently very forgiving) long black dress and wig for yourself, then a pinstripe suit for the boys.

You didn’t know why it had never occurred to you before, but your husband, specifically Jake who was fronting tonight, made a perfect Gomez Addams. While you needed a full face of makeup and wig to recreate Morticia’s look, all Jake needed to do was slick back his hair and trim his mustache. He had surprised you in the midst of your process mimicking Morticia’s winged eyeliner by asking you for some eye makeup of his own for the evening.

You were all too happy to oblige his request. Nyla was napping, you were almost done, and it made you endlessly happy that your husband got into the Halloween spirit as much as you did. Jake sat on the closed lid of the toilet while you straddled him to apply the kohl. To his credit, he stayed still for the most part while you drew and smudged the black pigment onto the delicate skin of his lids. It was remarkably intimate, given the closeness and the vulnerability the act required.

However, this was Jake, so right as you finished he growled “Nena”, then pulled you into his lap to feel the hardness swiftly growing there.

“Absolutely not,” you protested, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “I have worked too hard on this makeup, plus Nyla let me dress her without any fuss, so no.”

“Pero nena, este vestido,” your husband whined, canting his hips against your core. “What am I supposed to do when it frames your tetas so perfectly?”

“Luego,” you declared, your dismissal as harsh and final as a judge’s.

Jake’s resulting pout was downright comical. Yet, it was worth delaying nookie in your opinion for getting to Charlotte’s at a reasonable time and getting family photos before Nyla inevitably rebelled on her braid-cap thingy.

“Alright but Jake,” Charlotte circled back now that your wig was sorted.

“Jake,” you echoed, switching spots in front of the mirror so Charlotte could touch up her witch makeup. “Well I told you he strong-armed me into letting him grow one, and it must be the Latino blood and you know…energy that means he can pull it off. I can’t let him think that though, because he’ll never shave it.”

“What do the other two think about it?”

Charlotte and Harry were two members of the small circle of people who knew about your husband’s D.I.D. You’d been friends with her for years before you met Marc, and it didn’t occur to you to share his condition with Charlotte until you learned that her mother-in-law also had D.I.D. It brought you both all that much closer since you each had someone safe and knowledgeable to talk about it with, plus Harry was a reassuring example of someone who had been living with and loving someone with D.I.D his entire life.

“They’re not pleased because it’s resulted in less sex,” you divulged. “Marc’s been telling clients it’s for cancer awareness, despite No Shave November starting, well, in November. Steven teaches a bunch of Gen-Zers who think it’s part of some new TikTok trend.”

Charlotte burst into laughter at your assessment. Before you two could gossip any further, there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was Harry, who once he identified you, called to Jake, “They’re in here!”

In the span of a second, a frantic Jake rushed over to you with his arms full of a very unhappy Nyla.

“Where have you been?” He snapped.

You knew Jake was flustered about his daughter crying, so you sent him a smile, and in a carefully measured tone asked him, “Would you like to try that again?”

“Sorry,” your husband softened at once, “but it’s not her diaper, I took off her wig-hat thing, I even tried taking her around the block in her stroller, but nothing’s worked so—“

“She must be hungry,” you concluded for him and held out your arms for him to pass your still-wailing infant over.

As easy as it was to jump down each other’s throats when Nyla was upset, you had to give your husband grace. Especially since technically, he’d only been a parent for a third of as long as you’d had.

Once Nyla was securely in your grasp you cooed at her, “Oh baby Wednesday, what’s wrong?”

Charlotte joined in your attempts to soothe Nyla and offered you their bedroom to feed her. Unfortunately, time on the boob didn’t make your daughter a happier camper so you and Jake decided to call it a night. As disappointing as it was, leaving early was the right move since Nyla fully conked out on the car ride home.

She mercifully didn’t wake up when you and Jake transferred her into her crib, which left you and your very sexy husband still in costume with nothing to do at 8:45 on Halloween night.

“We could put something on?” you suggested.

“Or,” Jake countered, “we could have a Halloween party of our own.”

He captured your hand and kissed the back of it, making you stutter when you asked, “And what would that entail exactly?”

Jake hummed, trailing his lips up your arm in true Gomez Addams fashion, and when reached the juncture of your shoulder and neck, you mewled. Encouraged by how you were swiftly melting into his arms, your husband bit down, worrying the sensitive skin there with his tongue.

He escalated his delicious assault on your body by stepping behind you so each of Jake’s large, sure hands could cup and squeeze your breasts. The act ripped a whine from your throat, given that your tits had been made incredibly sensitive by nursing. You flinched and turned your head to the side, thereby exposing more of your neck for his teeth and tongue to attack.

“Been thinking about these tetas all night,” he rasped into your ear.

“Yeah?” You urged him on. Both he and Steven were downright obsessed with your lactating bosom. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Wanna stick my cock between ‘em,” Jake divulged. His words made you even weaker in the knees.

“Mmm, Papi,” you keened.

He bit down on your earlobe and corrected you, “Gomez.”

Oh, you were doing that tonight. You turned the Morticia on, twisted in his grasp, clutched Jake’s lapels, then told him, “I want you to ravage me, my love, tear me apart like an animal then put back together as only a lover such as you can.”

You were unsure if it was dramatic enough, but it certainly did the trick, seeing that suddenly your world shifted since Jake threw you over his shoulder to cart you off to the bedroom.

You and your husband were never much for role playing, so this was a surprise. And since Jake looked so much like Gomez, why not give it a try?

Jake snapped you out of your thoughts when he landed a slap on your ass before depositing you onto the bed. You tried to assume a sexy position spread out on the bed, the long black wig you still wore fanning out across the comforter.

While your husband usually went straight for your ass, tits, or mouth, Jake surprised you by yanking on your ankles to pull you further down on the bed. He contrasted his first brusque move with a softer one, dropping his lips to the delicate skin of your ankle. Once again emulating the character he was dressed as, Jake drew a line of kisses up the length of your leg. Every press of his lips against the tender skin of your shin and thigh made you convulse as Jake continued toward his prize.

It was impossible to stifle the yelp you made when Jake ripped the fabric of your costume to further open the slit of the dress so he could get at your pussy. Once he had the necessary space, your husband wasted no time pushing the now soaked crotch of your thong aside and kissing your quivering core. He treated you to little licks up and down the seam of your cunt, before focusing on swirling it around your clit.

“Jaaake,” you keened, too far gone to use the characters you were supposedly role-playing as.

He lapped at your slit voraciously. It was tempting to allow your eyes to flutter closed and surrender to your pleasure, yet the image before you was too intoxicating to ignore. It was thrilling, with the different hairstyle, the eyeliner that made his dark gaze pop, the glimpse of the pinstripe pattern across his broad shoulders…Jake looked just enough like a stranger between your thighs. And that sent an extra swell of excitement through you.

Jake hummed against your folds, the vibrations making you shudder and allowing another high-pitched yip to escape from you. The brush and tickle of his mustache added another layer of novelty and titillation to your already trembling form.

“Don’t stop,” you urged him. Pleasure was now zinging across every corner and crevice of your body. Your mounting orgasm made you toss your head from side to side on the pillow, while you attempted to find purchase for your fingers within Jake’s shellacked strands.

Though Jake often liked to be the boss in the bedroom, he heeded your order, dutifully continuing his rapacious attentions on your core. He could usually feel when the proverbial band of your peak snapped and coursed through you, but this time, Jake could hear it in the plaintive, pleasure-drunk calls of his petname.

When “Papi..Pah…Puh…” became “oh fuck Paaaaaaapi,” he knew he’d done his job, that your climax was lighting up every last nerve ending in that pretty little pussy of yours, and that your ecstasy was entirely his doing.

Jake wanted to give you more time to catch your breath as you came down, he really did, but he’d been hard ever since Nyla’d been deposited into her crib, which meant unfettered access to your tits. The way your chest had heaved while you lost yourself in the bliss of your orgasm hadn’t exactly helped his patience either. Your husband snatched the two panels of fabric that made up your dress and tore the garment clean in half.

“Necesito estas tetas,” he growled, his hands once again sailing straight to your breasts.

You jerked from the surprise contact as Jake swooped down onto your bosom and whimpered. Your breasts were tender to begin with, and your body was still being wracked by little aftershocks from your climax. Thankfully, your husband noticed, and his touch became much gentler in the span of an instant.

“Oh nena,” he murmured, tenderly playing with each teat, reveling in the breastmilk that had begun to dribble from them. “Fuiste tan bueno para Papi, déjame cuidarte. Tu sabes que Papi le encantan el sabor de tu leche.”

You’d barely translated his word in your head before his warm, relentless mouth had found your right nipple and began suckling at it. Feeling the suction of Jake's mouth coaxing out the buildup of milk in your already engorged boobs nearly had you levitating above the sheets. Not only was it incredibly arousing, but the relief that coursed through you with every pull of his lips, especially since Nyla didn't eat much earlier, only made you feel more divine.

It didn't take you long to figure out that your husband’s worship of your chest was two-fold. Sure, Jake was sending you into the stratosphere by suckling at your breasts, but when he switched mounds by leaving open-mouthed kisses across your sternum, it was clear he was also getting you wet so he could wedge his throbbing dick between them.

“Mmmm Papi, you gonna put that huge cock between my boobies?” you intoned to egg him on. “Gonna fuck these big titties?”

Jake replied with a snarl and detached himself from your now thoroughly-abused nipple. “Ven aqui.”

The next thing you knew, you were no longer splayed on the bed, rather on your knees with your criminally handsome husband towering over you. You watched hungrily as he slowly, tantalizingly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, but when you reached to shuck off his trousers altogether, Jake caught your hands.

“Ah ah,” he tutted. “Mi traje se queda puesto.”

A dark whirlpool of excitement churned in your stomach at his statement. There was something extra electrifying about being left in your cum-soaked thong while Jake was fully clothed, drawing his turgid length out of his costume’s zip. You spurred him on by squeezing your tits and pushing them together.

“Joder, nena,” he swore at the sight. “Voy a follar esas tetas tan duro.”

“Qué estas esperando por, Papi?” you goaded him.

Jake needed no further encouragement. He stepped toward you and wedged his dick, flushed wine-red and leaking, between your heavy breasts. It was a different position, but you knew that Jake would want a similar treatment to one his alter got on your holiday to Cornwall.

Steven had made an absolute mess of your chest and the sheets at the cottage you’d rented in the countryside, so naturally Jake would want his chance to top him. This time, you were less bashful about your husband fucking your tits, which emboldened you to give him a show. Not only did you dart your tongue out to lap at his cockhead each time Jake thrust it between your boobs, you massaged them around this shaft to stimulate him further.

“Fuhhhhh, nena,” he groaned at the stimulation, the movement of your milk-laden breasts making him piston his hips harder into the valley of your chest. “Jo–oh, joder.”

There wasn’t much talking after that, the feel of your breasts suffocating Jake’s cock rendered him speechless. You concentrated on licking his swollen tip, the salty taste of his precum filling your mouth with every swipe of your tongue.

The two of you made a lewd symphony between the slick slip of his cock between your breasts, the jingle of his zipper against his thigh with each shove of his pelvis, plus the little grunts and moans you traded with each other. You knew Jake’s climax was fast-approaching when his grunts picked up pace.

Within moments, his seed was painting your tongue with hot stripes. Jake’s face was blissfully open and unfurrowed as his peak consumed him. It was a welcome sight to see your husband’s features wearing only pleasure and release. To you, that was sweeter than any candy or treat Halloween could offer. Well, that and the absolutely adorable family photos you managed to sneak in earlier this evening before Nyla took a hard left into fussytown.

Once Jake’s orgasm subsided, you slipped off the wig, relieved to no longer have it on your scalp since your previous activities had worked up quite a sweat. Jake collected you in his arms, and kissed you surprisingly gently for how intently he was fucking your tits just minutes previously.

“¿Quieres una ducha?” he whispered.

You nodded, “Si Papi. Gracias.”

You followed him into your en-suite bathroom. As he put the water on, you remarked, “Big day tomorrow.”

“Mmm?” came Jake’s response as he at last stripped himself of his costume.

“Shaving Day,” you supplied. You, Marc and Steven had been counting down.

“Actually, I was thinking–”

“No no! We all agreed!” you stopped him. “Besides, you had your fun tonight, didn’t you? What a sendoff.”

“That’s exactly why I should keep it baby,” he purred, crowding you with his now naked body. “Don’t think I haven’t seen your leg twitching when I kiss this pretty pussy con mi bigote. Se siente bien, ¿no?”

“Nice try, Lockley,” you countered, scampering past him into the spray, “but a deal’s a deal.”

Jake wanted to argue, but the sight of you - nude and wet in the shower - silenced him for the time being. There would be plenty of time to concoct another scheme/bet/what have you for his mustache’s glorious return. Right now, he simply wanted to be close to, and joined you under the stream of water.

A/N: Leave it to me to intend to write straight up filth but needing to writing idk, a thousand or so words of world-building before our dude gets his cock out. Classic moi, am I right? Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed!! Only two more prompts to gooooo

Translations:

conejita - little bunny

Nena - babe

pero nena, este vestido - but babe, this dress

tetas - tits

Luego - later

Necesito estas tetas - I need these tits

Fuiste tan bueno para papi, déjame cuidarte. Tu sabes que Papi le encantan el sabor de tu leche - You were so good to daddy, let me take care of you. You know that Papi loves the taste of your milk

Ven aqui - come here

Mi traje se queda puesto - my suit stays on

Joder, nena - fuck babe

Voy a follar esas tetas tan duro - I’m going to fuck these tits so hard

Qué estas esperando por, Papi - What are you waiting for?

¿Quieres una ducha? - you want a shower?

Si Papi. Gracias - Yes thanks.

con mi bigote. Se siente bien, ¿no? - with my mustache. It feels good doesn’t it?

Taglist:

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