#So sir let's go get you some therapy first- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 2 years

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)

word count: 11.6k - part two, part three, part four

The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least.

Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.

The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students.

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case.

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them.

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question.

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly.

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning.

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet.

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm.

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts.

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you.

“So—are you a therapist?”

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.”

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble.

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously.

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.”

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours.

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not.

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue.

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked.

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.”

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend.

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point.

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.”

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage.

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse.

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you.

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities.

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure.

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars.

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you.

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.”

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you.

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly.

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look.

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later.

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.”

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more.

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile.

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.”

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells.

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly.

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder.

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least.

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.”

One hell of a fucking coincidence.

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.”

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt.

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him.

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand.

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately.

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system.

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away.

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story.

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at.

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly.

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down.

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school.

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid.

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance.

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking.

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt.

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down.

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime?

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face.

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.”

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.”

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride.

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway.

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many.

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened.

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking.

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you.

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong.

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.”

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process.

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend?

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane.

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.”

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?”

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?”

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.”

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.”

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is.

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus.

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.”

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him.

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went.

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk.

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?”

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see.

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit.

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point.

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there.

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.”

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it.

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.”

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.”

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained.

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt.

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture.

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play.

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way.

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window.

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together.

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage.

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor.

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you.

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really.

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.”

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.”

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior.

A different bar, same band; one night only.

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.”

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too.

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else.

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good.

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.”

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer.

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus.

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down.

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it.

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body.

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that.

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years?

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous.

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day.

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.”

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore.

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly.

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.”

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment.

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it.

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.”

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now.

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately.

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands.

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?”

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly.

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on.

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for.

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear.

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you.

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore.

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees.

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before.

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.”

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants.

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both.

Who speaks first?

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along.

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened.

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have.

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel.

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face.

But to Eddie, it's shame.

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words.

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand.

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything.

It was exactly what you wanted.

author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

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homeofthelonelywriter · 1 month

Text

Drawn to you | Pt. 1

(A/N) My first Alastor fanfiction. Let me know if you want another part!

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: fluff, talk about death, mentions of Alastors human life activities (iykyk)

Synopsis: Alastor had never felt the need for friends, or something even deeper. But now that you're here...what is that feeling in his chest?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Everyone was gathered in the hotel lobby as Charlie was going through a new trust exercise. Angel had tuned out a long time ago and Husk didn’t even come out from behind his bar. The only ones actively listening were Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious. Alastor, similarly to Angel was physically there but not paying any attention.

Instead, his mind was focused on his radio broadcast comeback. What would he talk about? Who’s screams would he share with the other sinners?

A timid knock brought him back to there and then, as his eyes met Charlie’s. Hers were bright and sparkling, anticipation clear.

“A new guest, a new guest, a new guest.”

The words left her in a sing-song manner as she started to skip towards the front door. But Alastor held out his cane to stop the princess.

“Please, don’t let this interrupt this very important exercise. I will gladly see to whoever is at the door. As is my job, of course.”

His signature smile widened, almost in a desperate way. Anything to get out of this group therapy.

“Ah, of course, Alastor. Thank you.”

With that, Charlie turned back towards the rest of the group and continued to talk, but not without glancing back a few times, to watch what was going on.

As soon as the princess agreed to let Alastor handle the newcomer, he used his shadows to teleport himself over to the door, before energetically swinging it open. His mouth opened to speak his practiced welcome, but no words came out.

His eyes landed on you and he felt his mouth dry up. You were…cute.

“H-Hi. I hope I’m not bothering anyone, I…I heard about the hotel and w-wanted to ask if I-I could help?”

The demon in front of you kept staring without uttering a single word and you started to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe they didn’t need any more people working here. Maybe they didn’t even want anyone else working here. Maybe this is all just a huge front for something really sinister. Maybe…

Alastor blinked, once, twice, three times before something pulled him out of his stupor. His eyes snapped to the top of your head, where your long ears had started to twitch while you were overthinking.

“Ahm…”

Alastor started but was quickly cut off when Charlie appeared beside him.

“Hi! We’d love your help! Come in, come in!”

The princess quickly grabbed your hands and pulled you inside, leaving the stunned overlord at the door. You smiled at her energetic display, but couldn’t help but glance back at the sinner, dressed in red, still standing at the door. By now he was slowly closing it before he turned to look at you.

Being caught staring, you quickly averted your gaze and instead focused on what the demon beside you was saying. She introduced you to the others, before she whisked you away, to show you around. Alastor was left in the lobby, mulling over what had just happened.

“Looks like someone left you speechless, huh Smiles?”

It was almost terrifying how quickly Alastor whipped around to glare at the spider demon.

“Would you like to repeat that, Angel?”

Loud static filled the lobby and Angel shrunk in on himself, muttering a quick apology before running to his room. Alastor sighed and fixed his bowtie, asking himself what had gotten him so worked up. His mind only answered with a single image. You, at the door, looking at him, hope in your eyes.

With a quiet growl, Alastor teleported himself to his radio tower. At least there he would be able to find some peace. Or so he thought. He had barely sat down when he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

“And this is Alastor’s radio tower. Do you see this light? When this is on, he’s in the middle of a broadcast and you really shouldn’t disturb him. Just in general, if he’s in here, only disturb him if really necessary. Honestly, I think that’s something that applies to him in general.”

The last sentence had Alastor up on his feet and in front of the door in a split second. He swung it open, his signature grin wide.

“Ah, the newbie.”

He grinned down at you, his grin faltering slightly as he watched you shrink away. Still, he carried on.

“Would you like a tour of my studio? It’s small, but it is mighty.”

Had Alastor spared Charlie a look, he would’ve noticed how her eyes lit up and she started nodding.

“I think that would be wonderful!”

Charlie gently shoved you towards the door.

“I have to get back to the others. Would you finish the tour after the…tour? Just show her to her room, that’s all that’s left.”

Alastor nodded, before placing his hand on the small of your back and gently ushering you inside.

“Of course, consider it done.”

Charlie thanked him, before hurrying back to the lobby.

Once Charlie was gone, Alastor closed the door and turned to look at you. He was about to say something, but the moment he noticed the amazement in your eyes, he lost the words he was about to speak. Instead, he let you look around, walk up to his console, and trail your fingers over the buttons and levers.

This was his holy space. Somewhere where not even the princess of Hell was allowed to enter. But you being here? That just felt right. He continued to watch you, and for the first time in his life, both on Earth and here, he felt something like…love.

“Do you like it?”

His voice was soft, the static almost completely gone. You turned to look at him and after a moment of hesitation, you nodded.

“When I was alive, I used to work in a radio station. I wasn’t a host, but I wrote scripts and corresponded with listeners. I loved it.”

Alastor’s smile turned genuine as he slowly walked toward you.

“May I ask where you worked? In which city?”

You chuckled and turned back to the controls.

“New Orleans.”

Alastor halted in his movements, staring at you with wide eyes.

“A-And when did you die?”

His hands were shaking. What if…?

“Not too long ago. I think one, maybe two years ago.”

Your response caused him to release a breath of relief. If you had died closer to his lifetime, there would’ve been a good chance you knew of his doings and for some reason…he didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you to fear him, to think of him with disgust in your heart.”

“Well, it seems we’re connected in some ways. I too worked in a radio station in New Orleans! However, I did pass quite some time before you have.”

You look at him, a soft smile on your face.

“That’s too bad. I would love to have met you on Earth.”

He grinned and stepped closer to you.

“Well, you’ve met me now.”

With practiced grace, he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, ghosting a kiss onto your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture and quickly tried to change the topic.

“So you still have a radio broadcast down here?”

Alastor chuckled at your reaction before straightening to his full height again.

“I sure do. Although I did have to take a break. I’m currently working on my comeback if you’d like to help me.”

You nodded, excited at the prospect of working in radio again.

The two of you sat down together and started working, not noticing how late it was getting. By the time either of you realized what time it was, it was well past midnight and both your bellies were grumbling with hunger.

“My oh my, we truly got a lot done. How about some well-deserved dinner, my dear?”

You nodded and accepted Alastor’s hand, and before you knew it, you were standing in a different room. Half of it looked like a standard hotel room with a couch and table, but the other half looked like a forest. A forest you knew all too well.

“Couturie Forest.”

Alastor chuckled beside you.

“You are right. That forest was one of my favorite places when I was alive. I couldn’t resist the urge to bring it here as well.”

You smile at him.

“It’s beautiful.”

With a genuine grin on his face, Alastor offered you his hand, before leading you to the small dinner table that stood inside the forest. He pulled out your chair, before pushing it back in.

“What are you in the mood for, cher?”

You thought for a while before you named one of your favorite dishes. And with a snap of his fingers, it stood in front of you. Your eyes went wide as the smell invaded your nose.

“How…?”

“Well, let’s just say this is a part of my powers?”

You chuckled, before taking a bite, and an almost pornographic moan left your lips.

“Alastor, this is so good!”

His grin widened as he sat down opposite from you, also taking a bite.

The two of you made small talk while you ate, mostly talking about New Orleans and what had changed since Alastor had died. Even after both of you were done with the food, you continued to talk until you could no longer keep the yawns at bay.

Alastor chuckled and snapped, and the dirty dishes disappeared.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

He gently helped you to your feet and with his hand on your lower back, he led you out of his room and across the hall, where an empty room waited for a guest.

“There you go, cher. This is your room, to do with as you please.”

He opened the door and gently ushered you inside.

“But for now, you should go to sleep.”

Once again, he captured your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, before looking up at you.

“Good night, dear.”

You smile at him sleepily.

“Good night, Alastor.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #alastor love

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sashi-ya · 9 months

Text

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 Äs Nödt x F! Nurse! Reader

ಇ. I had this fic saved for myself, but I honestly didn't think my heart would be that broken when his inevitable end would get animated. Don't get me wrong, I loved Rukia and Byaku's win, but... you gotta understand that for a nurse, As Nodt represents those who you couldn't save. A patient whose hand needed a squeeze, but still it was too painful for him... poor thing. ಇ. tw: medical terminology. be careful if you are sensitive to illness and death topics. it is full of little metaphors, try to understand where I was going with what I wrote. you can ask me too! ಇ. wc: 1k

Before he was even a Sternritter, As was a simple man. A suffering, yet simple man. And you knew him very well.

He was sick, bedridden. It was too painful for him to even breathe. His existence was cold, sterile, and for him so unworthy.

However, there was a Sun. A Sun that would shine a light every time it walked through the doors of his ever-pristine white room… you.

His voice has never been loud, but really, really low. It wasn’t sweet, it was very raspy, as if he was trembling in fear. His short, straight hair framed his façade, the mask giving him oxygen carved red marks on his cheeks and black eyes fixed in a boring ceiling.

Oh, but you. His only reason to smile. But did he show it to you? No. Did he tell you? Neither.

But you knew…

“Hello Äs! how are you doing today?” you ask, with a metallic tray on your hands. Who knows how many pills are in there, but all of them are equally necessary for him to stay alive.

“H- hello… g- good” he said, every time. He doesn’t feel good, he never does. But does he want for you to worry about him? No.

You come closer to his bed, leaving the tray over his tiny bedside table. Taking a swift look at his monitor, you see -as always- his heart rate slightly going up. Ah… he is at least interested in feeling something besides pain and fear about his inevitable end.

“So, Sir Nödt… I’m aware today is your physical therapy day. Nurse (male name) won’t be able to attend the hospital today, would you allow me to do it for him?” you ask. Everything should be professional. You probably were waiting a “no” but instead he took a little time to answer.

“Hmh…” he nods, as much as he could possibly move his neck without grimacing in pain.

You smile, kindly. Your look softens. You didn’t want to feel sorry, pity for him. You really thought those feelings weren’t proper. But you couldn’t help it. Your heart ached too, and you wanted to help him as much as you could… “Good! Let’s make those muscles move with utmost care! Let me put on some tunes too”

You weren’t sure about him wanting for real to do it. He never did, as your colleagues said. “He is in pain, but he is equally scared to feel pain and that freezes him even more. He won’t ever get better…”

Again, your heart ached. What do they know about getting better? Why judging him? He needed help, not critics. And… who knows, maybe, he just needed someone to believe in him to feel better.

You make sure your hands aren’t cold. You wear a mask to come close to him, you don’t want to create more problems for him, a simple germ could cost him his thread hanging life.

You take your phone and press play. A soft melody starts playing. You don’t really know when it was, but you were sure he said he likes the sound of pianos playing to relax.

Äs widens his eyes. Extremely black orbs fix on you, he is amazed by the song filling the room, he is probably glad to hear something besides the sound of the oxygen flow on his face.

“Give your hand, please” you whisper, trying not to cover the song. You let him choose which one of his pale hands will move first.

He breathes in a considerable amount of air into his lungs, and then, with trembling motion his right bony hand reaches yours. It feels soft. Lightweight.

And so needy.

You begin to inspect his joints. Of course it’s painful for him, not only because of being sick but also because of avoiding to move them for so long. “One finger at a time” you murmur, as you can feel him desiring to grab your hand.

He goes slow. Äs wants more, but he is in pain. He is afraid.

“Don’t be scared. I’m holding your hand right now. You can try to hold mine” you encourage him. You, perhaps, wanted more and even the same way he does for him to grab your hand… Are you falling in love with a patient? A.. dying patient?

He sees you. You see him. He closes his eyes. And maybe a little smile wanted to adorn his lips. His fine, chapped, lips.

“Follow me, Äs”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ.

When he opens his eyes he isn’t lying down in a mattress. He is standing, in two feet. He is still pale, his hands show that. A cold breeze kisses his cheeks, he notices his hair is way longer now as it flows with the wind around.

He can hear kids laughing, and the greenery around feels refreshing. A park… it’s been so long since he stood in the middle of one.

Suddenly, something lands on his cold nose. It’s as soft as the wind, but it’s pink. A cherry blossom petal just flew up to where he is. And like that rosy flower, a million rain down from dark wooden trees.

“Spring? Is this Hanami?” he asks and notices he can speak louder. And when he does, it’s not painful… it’s… normal.

He slowly turns around. And again, moving doesn’t hurt. Breathing doesn’t hurt. Her arms around his waist coming from behind, either.

“Äs! Love! Turn around, I wanna take a picture of you with the Cherry Blossoms in the back!” you chime. Your camera, an old analogue one, captures the beauty of a pinkish rain that doesn’t wet but only kisses your skin with a soft, soft scent.

He is absolutely stunned by your beauty as you walk back pointing the camera lens to him. Your hair also flows. You are his nurse, his sun. What are you doing there? Why is he alive?

“Smile you silly! You are scaring me! What’s gotten into you?” you scold him, his death stare creeps you out sometimes.

As the camera shots and captures his amazed look, you walk back towards his thin arms. “Wanna have some ice cream? Or do you prefer cotton candy? Oh wait, maybe you want Takoyaki?” you excitedly jump, feeling the hard edges of his hipbones against your belly when hugging him.

“I just want to hug you for a little longer…” he murmurs. It kinda scares you, because when he ever said something sweet?

“Hug me for as long as you want, sweetheart…” you whisper, nuzzled in the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, it’s so soothing to feel his chest go up and down, breathing pure air…

Don't wake up. Don't wake up. please, just for a few moments now... Your Majesty.

#as nodt #as nodt x reader #as nodt bleach #bleach #bleach fanfic #bleach x reader #bleach anime #bleach imagines #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanart #as nodt fan fic #as nodt fan fiction #sashi ya #bleach quincy

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serendipityrogers · 1 year

Note

Hello! I couldn’t help but see your post about writing for COD men! If so, could you please do one that’s Price x reader where she takes a bullet for him? Angst and Fluff. Typical scenario I know, but there’s never enough Price. If that doesn’t work that’s okay too! Thank you!!

Desk Duty

pairing: john price x female!reader

word count: around 2.1k

content warnings: canon-level violence, injured!reader, mentions of someone getting shot, mentions of gun-shot wound, medical talk, kissing an authority figure.

an: hello! first off, thank you anon for this lovely request, hopefully you enjoy it, i am a bit rusty bc i have not written in forever. second off, to address the elephant in the room, i know this isn't marvel related, but i'm really into call of duty right now, and wanted to write for them instead. third of all, if you liked this piece, and want to request your own, my request are open! i am really only writing for cod men right now and maybe some select marvel people. thanks guys!!!!

You never understood the saying “It happened in slow motion.”

This was real life, nothing happened in slow motion, that was physically impossible.

Or so you thought.

All five of you were pinned down, trapped in a warehouse, taking massive amounts of fire. The enemy was closing in fast, and you were vastly outnumbered. It was the five of you, and a couple Marines, that’s it. This was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill mission, no one expected it to go sideways. Especially not this bad.

“Low on ammo, Captain!” Gaz yelled, tossing an empty magazine behind him. “Conserve. Wait till they get closer!” Price barked back. “Where is air support, sir?” You asked, as the both of you crouched down to reload. “Five minutes out, we just need to make it till then.” He explained, popping back up and firing towards the building across the way. Five minutes was a long time in combat, almost too long.

When you had this much adrenaline pumping through your body, it was natural to get tunnel vision. Only able to focus on the thing standing right in front of you, and at the moment that was about twenty enemy soldiers. Except, they weren’t all in front of you. They were obviously more well-versed in the area than you guys were, so they knew about a door to the warehouse you didn’t.

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw the sudden flood of light come from the door being ripped open. That’s when everything slowed way down. Three of them rushed inside, you were able to drop the first two, but the third one was too quick. And when his eyes landed on Price who was still facing towards the opposing building, you panicked. So, you did the first thing you could think of.

Grabbing your Captain’s ‘oh shit’ strap on the back of his plate carrier, you pulled him to the ground and out of the line of fire. As you kneeled beside Price, the enemy’s gun repositioned on you and before you had time to raise your own weapon again, he fired. The bullet connected, causing you to fall back against the cold concrete. Just as quickly as you fell, you watched the enemy’s body fall to the same concrete. Price let two bullets rip, one into his leg and the other into his skull. You stared up at the ceiling, clutching your wound, trying to apply pressure.

“Monarch is down!”

You woke up in the hospital two days later.

Apparently you passed out from blood loss.

It had been a tricky wound to treat in the field, so you had to wait for the air support to show up.

It was difficult for you to remember everything leading up to you being injured. You don’t remember the actual impact or being carried to the helo. It was all hazy. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost had gone over the incident with you many times, but it just never really came back to you. Not that you were complaining. No one wants to remember getting shot.

After a week and a half in the hospital, a month of physical therapy, and another month of training and sparring with your teammates to get you back in shape, you were finally cleared for the field. It was a miracle that you were able to bounce back this fast, it usually took many months to recover fully from an injury like that, but you liked to think it was solely because of how stubborn you were.

Everyone was super happy to have you back. Well, almost. There was only one more step you had to do: submit your medical release form to Price and have him approve it. You had only seen the Captain a few times, in passing, since the incident. It felt like he was avoiding you entirely, but you chalked it up to all the paperwork he was probably buried under right now, especially when a mission went that far south.

You walked down the familiar hallway, Price's office was at the very end. Nervousness flooded your body with every step you took. What could you possibly be nervous about? Was it because you were afraid to face him for the first time in over two months? Of course not, he was the same Price he was during that mission. Were you nervous he wasn’t going to approve you for medical release? No, he had to approve it, hell, you saved his damn life.

As you approached the door, you took a deep breath. You noticed a shake in your hand as you brought it up to knock on the door. Three loud racks echoed down the hallway. “Come in.” He called from the otherside of the door. You gripped the doorknob, turning it and pushed the door open with your shoulder. Price, as you suspected, was looking over a mountain of paperwork. His signature cap was discarded, and he was dressed in civilian clothes. He was in on his day off.

“Hello.” You greeted him, closing the door behind you. “Sergeant.” A man of few words, as always, but his tone seemed different. “I hate to do this, but I have some more paperwork for you.” You said with an awkward chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s my medical release form.” You added.

“Set it there.” He pointed to the only clear space on his desk. His words sounded cold. After placing down the documents, you stood there for a few more seconds, seeing if he would say anything else. You know, ask how you were doing, or something, literally anything. But to no avail.

So, you turned on your heels to walk out without another word. As you touched the doorknob, Price cleared his throat to speak, spiking some hope into your heart. “I’m putting you on desk duty.” Almost instantly, your stomach dropped past your toes. He said it so monotoned, no ounce of emotion in his voice.

For a few moments you were stunned, left speechless. But once that initial shock wore off, anger began to bubble up in your chest. You could feel the warmth overtaking every inch of your body and your chest began rising and falling irregularly.

“W-What? But I’ve been cleared for the field.” You tried to keep your tone even, unwavering as you slowly turned around to face him. He had finally looked up, head propped up on his palm. Like his tone, there was no legible emotion on his face. No anger, sadness, or guilt. “Desk duty until further notice.” This time it sounded dismissive, like the conversation was over. What is said is done. Clicking his pen twice, his eyes landed back on the report in front of him.

“This is bullshit!” The words climbed up your throat before you could stop them. You could feel your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. Your words caught the Captain off guard, but he only showed it for a moment. Not once had you ever questioned Price, or his intentions. But this time was different, if he thought you were gonna take this lying down, he was dead wrong.

“I’d watch your tone, Sergeant.” He spoke at you more sternly than before, clearly agitated by your outburst. And what he said next only added insult to injury, literally, “After that stunt you pulled, you’re lucky I don’t reassign you.” He used his pen to point at you, reaffirming his statement. That’s when all the logic and camaraderie flew out the window.

“You mean the one where I saved your life?” You spoke with malice, like venom was dripping off your tongue. “God forbid, I interfere with you taking a bullet to the skull.” You scoffed. “Is that the stunt you’re referring to?” You mocked him, echoing the term ‘stunt,.' You were trying to get under his skin, whether you knew that at the moment or not.

The Captain was boiling, you could practically see the steam coming from his ears. As you open your mouth to further instigate the situation, he slams his fists down on his desk. He stands up quickly, his chair tumbled to the ground behind him. “Exactly that stunt!” He barks. You’re the one caught off guard this time. It was rare for the Captain to raise his voice outside the field. Especially to you.

“You could have got yourself killed, soldier!” It only takes him a few steps to be in your face. You hold your ground even though you're terrified, you had never seen Price like this. “It’s in the job description, sir.” You rebutted between your teeth, adding the ‘sir’ to irk him more. It worked. “You were careless and clearly have no regard for your own life. You are a risk.” He spat.

“I’d die for you, Captain. No if, ands, or buts, about it.” You said with a straight face. “ So, if that categorizes me as a ‘risk,’ so be it.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it, and you noticed. “Say it, Captain. You never have been one to hold his words back.” You pushed him, feeding on his anger.

But all that anger seemed to be disintegrating. One moment it was there, and the next it was gone. Like your words flipped a switch inside him. He had this look on his face, like he was truly debating on his next words. “Say. It.” You demanded, necking craning upwards to look him in the eyes. His eyes fell closed, and a defeated huff passed his lips.

“Having your blood on my hands is something I can’t handle…” His voice was hushed, and now his eyes refused to meet yours. That was the last thing you expected him to say. He has always kind of coddled you, he was very protective. You always thought maybe it was because you were the newest member of the Task Force, but now you’re thinking it’s for another reason.

“W-What do you mean?” You asked, your mind went blank. All that anger was now mixed with a good dose of confusion. He didn’t speak, just ran his fingers through his hair, still avoiding eye contact. “Captain, look at me.” You uttered softly, and he didn’t listen. You’re not sure what overtook you in the moment, but your shaky hand reached towards his face.

“Please.” You begged, gripping his chin and forcing him to face you. When he didn’t pull away, you brought his face closer, your noses only inches apart. His eyes did finally flutter open, and you were greeted with a stoic, immersive shade of blue, you couldn’t look away.

“Captain, I–” He didn’t let you finish your thought, cutting you off by leaning in closer, pressing his lips against yours. They were soft, softer than you ever imagined. Especially compared to the coarse hair of his mustache and beard against your face. You even picked up on the taste of smoke, he had smoked one of his cigars recently.

All you could focus on at that moment was him. The way he placed your hands against his chest, you could feel his heartbeat through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It was racing, ramming against the inside of his chest.

How his rough, calloused hands cupped the sides of your face, further melding your lips together. The way he handled you said a lot. He kissed you like he was in distress, barely giving you time to breathe between the last and next kiss, not that you were doing much breathing anyways. He made your body feel like jelly, your knees barely able to carry your body weight, so you gripped his t-shirt, tight, trying to steady yourself.

When he finally pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours. There was no talking, just heavy pants coming from the both of you. Did that really just happen? Was this a joke? You wanted to pinch yourself, wake yourself up from this dream. That’s when he spoke, breaking the silence, “‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He apologized, trying to create more distance between the two of you.

Luckily, you still had a hold of his shirt, stopping him. “Respectfully, Captain, shut up.” You chuckled, which earned a small smile from him as well. “Is this why you avoided me for two and a half months?” You asked, snaking your arms around his neck. “If you think I’ve only had these feelings for you for two and a half months, you're more delusional than I thought, Sergeant.” He chuckled this time, placing his hands on your hips.

“So, the real question is, am I still on desk duty?”

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dotieeee · 10 months

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A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?” you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again.

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

PART II here!!!!

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

#dark!dream x reader #dark!dream x you #dark!morpheus fic #dark!morpheus x you #dark!morpheus x reader #dark!dream oneshot #dark!dream of the endless #dark!morpheus fanfic #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction

196 notes · View notes

bootlegramdomneess · 10 months

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The Bear Season 2 thoughts

After watching The Bear season 2 and letting things marinate, I think I’d like to share my thoughts. First, as a therapist, for me this show perfectly depicts trauma and its effects in its most raw form. It was so uncomfortable and heartbreaking to watch at times, I felt like one of the themes of this season is sacrifice. What are you willing to sacrifice to A. Discover your purpose and B. is it worth sacrificing so much for success? I saw this theme numerous times throughout the season particularly with the Star convo and from Chef Luca when Marcus asked if it is all worth it and the convo Carmy had with uncle Jimmy about the story of failure

The Xmas episode: This was hard to watch. I had to keep pausing it. Donna is so dysregulated and disturbed. But what I really want to discus and Mikey and Carmy’s dynamic. Mikey is so troubled. He is so unwell. Mikey is Carmy’s hero, but I think Carmy doesn’t see how deeply troubled his brother is. Mikey admires Carmy so much because Carmy was brave enough to get away from the family to pursue his dreams. So heartbreaking. SO MUCH DYSFUNCTION.

Claire- Her character wasn’t fully developed, but I feel like maybe it was done purposefully. We are seeing her through Carmy’s eyes and Carmy doesn’t seem to really know how he feels about her, or know her. He says he’s in love after being forced to choose a feeling, but really he’s only just connected with her. I think perhaps he is equating that feeling of enjoying being with her with love, or maybe even having sex with her with love. He latched onto Claire because she is good at comforting him. Many people who come from dysfunction struggle with this and will latch onto people who appear to be good at this. He’s with her because he thinks, oh, this is fun and normal. He used the term seeking “FUN” but he is searching for normality without a clue as to what normal is. Even deeper, he’s searching for a true path to becoming a healthy adult.

Carmy: I empathize with him so much. I do see Carmy has made some progress. His insight has improved a bit as he recognizes how much trauma he has experienced and how it has manifested in his adult life. He is trying. He is seeking to change. He has recognized the need to be less emotionally inhibited. His judgement is a little impaired though. He sort of thrives In Chaos. That’s why the alarm going off wasn’t bothering him. That’s why he created this entire scenario by getting in a serious relationship with a stranger. He is so emotionally inhibited: The excessive inhibition of spontaneous action, feeling, or communication, usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one’s impulses. inhibition of Positive impulses (e.g., joy, affection, sexual excitement, play); (c) difficulty expressing vulnerability or communicating freely about one’s feelings, needs, and so forth; or (d) excessive emphasis on rationality while disregarding emotions. I think this is his main Schema. Yah boy is messed up and needs some one-on-one therapy. I can go on and on about this. There’s so much. Carmy’s actions are pretty on point for someone coming from trauma, dysfunctional parents, and alcoholic parents. He behavior breathes asshole, but really, he has a deeply wounded, lonely, angry, abandoned and abused inner child and his adult self needs some serious healing.

Sydney: I love how they wrote and expanded her character this season. I love how vulnerable they showed her to be. How hard she worked to deal with the growing anxiety. I felt her loneliness when she was eating that giant sundae alone, but I also loved seeing her in her element. Her dad is an ace. She has such a grounding, funny, hardworking energy.

Carmy and Sydney: my babies. Their dynamic is so sweet. So genuine. So raw and real. How many times has he had a panic attack and thoughts of Sydney grounded him? Like..sir. I also feel he’s trying to protect Sydney in a way, and I see this in the star conversation. Underneath his words he is saying: I had to give up so much to get this and I don’t want that for you. It’s hell. It’s fucking terrible pressure. You don’t want this, but also not saying it because maybe he doesn’t want to shatter or shit on her dreams and ambitions. The foreshadowing of the growing anxiety she’ll likely face in the next season with the receipt machine going off in her head was telling. I think this is what Carmy is warning her about. I love when she jokingly teases him. I appreciate how he notices things about her: “you like making people happy.” I like that she calls him out and communicates her needs to him. This is a slow burn. They’re so awkward. They want to hang out. I don’t think they realize they may have feelings yet or if they ever will. They are so much a like in certain aspects but so different in how they view the world because of how they were raised.

Lastly, Richie is the MVP for me this season. I have a soft spot for him.

#sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #syd adamu #thebear

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quietblueriver · 4 months

Text

Wading into an Imodna au? Meet equine therapist Imogen, children’s vlogger Laudna and her co-host Pate, and the various other current and future employees of Camp Prudaj.

Imogen was tossing an eggshell into the trash, her ramen bubbling happily on the stove, when her phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

She gave herself one moment of exhausted frustration before taking a deep breath and preparing to answer. This was a new ritual, in the months since she sent in her MSW applications.

She hated speaking with strangers. Hated it. But declining risked the option of panic-ignoring the voicemail or, worse, having to leave one of her own, and she had years of practice working retail for some of the most unpleasant assholes in, she’d wager, a 300 mile radius, so she could manage the almost unfailingly polite university employees who had begun to call her about interviews and application supplements, and, most excitingly, scholarship offers.

She reminded herself of this last possibility specifically as she said, in her best customer service voice, “This is Imogen.”

“Ms. Temult. I’m glad I caught you. My name is Ariks Ehsteross. I’m a friend of Wilmer’s.”

Well. That was unexpected. It took her a beat longer than it probably should have to answer.

“Hi, Mr…”

Shit. Shit. The source of the call, not to mention hearing her boss called Wilmer, had distracted her so badly she hadn’t paid good enough attention and now she was going to butcher this man’s name.

He laughed, not unkindly, before she could spiral too much further. “Eshteross. But Ariks is absolutely fine.”

No way in hell she’d be calling any friend of Mr. Faramore’s—Wilmer’s—by their first name like that, but it was a nice thing to say.

“Sorry, Mr. Eshteross. Um, what can…what can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, Ms. Temult, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

She eyed her ramen, the clock, and the burner, resigned to the loss of her egg.

“Of course.”

It felt, strangely, like an interview, and thankfully, she’d had enough of those recently to answer well despite her lack of preparation and, well, total lack of information about what, exactly she might interviewing for.

She must’ve done well enough, though, because fifteen minutes and one surreptitious removal of a saucepan later, Eshteross said, a smile evident in his voice, “Thank you for that. I know this is out of the blue, and I do apologize. I hope to make up for it now.”

“It’s not…it’s no problem, sir.”

“Very polite of you, after twenty minutes on the phone with a strange old man.” She was silent, because she was entirely unsure what to say to that, but he seemed not to expect a response, chuckling to himself before he said, still cheerful, “Now, Ms. Temult, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

It had been a good proposition. Great, even. Nearly perfect, she might say, if she weren’t so wary of jinxing it.

Estheross was looking to resurrect a summer program on his farm, and he wanted Imogen to help lead equine therapy. He’d run it for its founder for nearly two decades before she got sick and they made the decision to close while she recovered.

“Unfortunately, she died a few years later. And I…” he cleared his throat. If he were her daddy, or Mr. Faramore, or basically any other man she knew, she would’ve tactfully pretended she didn’t notice.

For some reason, he felt different, so she did something different.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” It was immediate and, from what she could tell, sincere rather than embarrassed. “Ellia was a wonderful woman, and many of us felt her loss deeply.” Another clearing of the throat. “Which is, I fear, why it took me much longer than it should have to get the program up and running again. It’s been nearly a decade since we last had children on the farm, and that’s far too long. I’m sick of the quiet, and we’ve got too much of everything here to let it go to waste.

“I understand you’re likely heading this way for graduate school.”

She hadn’t made the decision, officially, but unless she got miracle money from U of Issylra (and even then, she wasn’t sure she wanted something somehow more rural than Gelvaan), he was right.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t made a final decision yet, but I’m…it’s looking like I’ll be up there to start in the fall.”

“Well, from what I hear, anywhere would be lucky to have you, but you’ll forgive me if I say that selfishly, I hope you land in Jrusar.”

And that was interesting, because Imogen was fairly certain Mr. Faramore didn’t like her that much. Or really at all, if she was honest. She wondered what exactly Mr. Eshteross had heard from him. Maybe more importantly, what he hadn’t heard.

She’d waited too long again.

“Thank you, sir. That’s…that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all. And of course, there’s no pressure, but I do hope you’ll think about my offer. And either way please let me know if you’re coming this way. I’d love to have you for supper, even if you decide work at Prudaj’s isn’t for you.”

Turned out Imogen was much better at dealing with assholes than men with manners, apparently, as she once again found herself a bit speechless.

“Thank you. Again. I really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. Good luck, Ms. Temult. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Her egg was, as predicted, rubber by the time they hung up, and she ate her lukewarm noodles around it while she thought about Eshteross’s offer, clumsy as always with her chopsticks.

She was qualified for the job. Faramore knew that, and it was obvious from her LinkedIn, which she hated updating and avoided checking if at all possible but which had gotten a suspicious number of views in the last three weeks.

It made note of her equine therapy certification, which she’d received while she was in college, and her volunteer and later paid work at the program affiliated with the local university for two summers and her last year of school. It had been a few years since she’d been there in a long-term way, but she still did a few weeks for them at least twice a year, and her profile reflected that, too.

She felt a twinge of smug pride as she thought about her daddy’s regular and disapproving reminder that she was forgoing a paycheck for no reason every time she went over there, no matter if Mr. Faramore gave his approval and liked being able to put her certification on his website. It was ugly, but she was alone with her ramen and a job offer, so it lingered longer than it otherwise might’ve.

She added another tick in the pro column as she picked over the spinach in the bowl. It would be an additional paycheck and a steady summer gig. She’d get to do work that she knew she loved and get actual money for it. Not only that, it would be relevant for her program.

By the time she was slurping down the last of her broth, rubber egg sitting forlornly on a triple folded paper towel waiting for the trash, she was wondering how hard it would be to get her time at Prudaj’s counted as experiential learning. Eshteross said they had certified therapists on staff…

A week later, when she got the official scholarship offer from U of Issylria—generous but not enough to compete with Jrusar—she made two calls.

First, to the Jrusar admissions officer who had been ridiculously nice to her through this whole process. She was more enthusiastic than Imogen could’ve hoped, and it buoyed Imogen into an almost giddy state for the five minutes it took her to finish the intent to enroll form.

Second, she called Eshteross.

“Oh, wonderful! I couldn’t be more excited that you’ll be coming to join our team.” He sounded, incredibly, like he very much meant it. “Actually, there’s someone near Gelvaan that I’ve been looking at, and I wonder if you wouldn’t mind having coffee with her and giving me your impression?”

She worried, more than a little, about how much faith this man was putting in her but relaxed as he added, “I’ll be sending down a manager, Orym, to do a formal interview if all goes well. I did things a little differently with you, but, well, I’ve known Wilmer since we were children, and frankly, if you’ve lasted this long with him, that’s its own endorsement.”

He was right, of course, but she couldn’t exactly say that, so she said nothing for the second it took for him to fill in the blank himself.

“No need to respond to that. Apologies. In any case, her name is Laudna Bradbury, and she’s an…interesting art therapist. Academically qualified but she now runs a somewhat popular show on…the apps, apparently? You might’ve seen it. She does crafts, and there’s a stuffed rat-like creature called Pate who tells stories.”

Quite the sell. She was glad to be able to say, with honesty, “I’m not really on…the apps.”

“Ah, me either. Fearne, another…well, she does a little of everything really, but I suppose manager is as good a title as any, found her.

“She’s in the Taloned Highlands right now, it seems. Not terribly far from Gelvaan. I have her contact info, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down with her? Maybe Pate will join you!”

While he laughed at his own joke, Imogen forced herself to wait to look up Laudna’s name until after their call and tried not to get carried away imagining a rat…creature telling stories to children.

“I’d be happy to. Of course.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send you her information now.”

#imodna #southerngothic #imodna fic #camp prudaj au

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billthedrake · 1 year

Text

GOALS (PART ONE)

Story idea by and collaboration with top son Turner ([email protected]).

[SCOTT]

"So what are your goals, Mr. D?"

We were sitting in a side area of a large cinderblock-construction room that was part of a gym the next town over. It was more of a lifter's gym for serious dudes, and a change of pace from the corporate health club I normally went to downtown. And certainly a change from the country club where I golfed on the weekends or on days off.

But when I hit 50 and decided to get a personal trainer, I'd scoured the online listings and read reviews and came across a familiar face: Austin White, a baseball player who'd dated my daughter back in high school. Well, he wasn't playing baseball these days but had graduated from college and was now working back in a nearby suburb as a personal trainer.

"You don't have to call me Mr. D," I reminded him. "You're no longer dating Shannon."

The trainer flashed a pearly white smile. He definitely had Lady Killer written all over him. Strikingly handsome-cute, laidback, and no small amount of easy charm. "Sorry, Scott," he laughed softly. "Old habits..."

I smiled back. "Yeah.... hope you didn't mind me looking you up." It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now that I was face to face with Shannon's ex boyfriend, I realized there was something a little awkward about it all.

Austin put me at ease. "Glad you did, Scott," he said. "But you didn't answer my question."

"My goals?" I prompted, recalling what he'd asked me. "Well, I turned 50 last week..."

"50's a number," he said, challenging me some. "Not a goal."

I nodded. "I guess I've let myself go some, to be honest. I'd like to get back in shape... healthier. And I guess there are some personal reasons, too," I admitted shyly.

He flashed that Lady Killer smile again. "I'm a professional Scott... you can tell me."

I chuckled. "Well, I'm hoping to rekindle things in the bedroom, you know?"

I felt dumb saying it, particularly to a dude as young and jacked as Austin. But he didn't miss a beat. "That's a pretty good motivation, Scott," he grinned. "And common, too. It's good to be honest with yourself about what drives you." He picked up his clipboard to take notes. "OK, so we know a big goal... any others?"

I filled him in on some lingering back and hip issues. They didn't keep me from being active, but they affected my golf game sometimes. "I'm afraid I haven't always prioritized being active," I said, no longer embarrassed but feeling proud I was taking the first step to being a better Scott Delahunt. "You know, long hours, lots of sitting at a desk..."

"Still doing the executive thing?" Austin asked.

"Yes. CFO," I clarified. "Though at a different company than when I last saw you."

"That's cool," he said. "And we'll work on your back and hip and see if we can improve your overall mobility... training's not a substitute for physical therapy of course but it can complement it," the guy added thoughtfully. "I work with all types of clients, but I specialize in men over 40.... you know more functional training and flexibility."

"Sounds great," I said.

"I just want to make sure my clients are on the same page with expectations."

"I'm putty in your hands, good sir," I half joked.

He laughed. "All right, Scott," he said, standing up from his chair. "Let's do some measurements and a few diagnostics." Austin had put on some muscle since high school for sure, and the form-fitting zip-up and joggers showed off a body that was big but that somehow didn't look overly musclebound. This young dude was definitely gonna be some inspiration for my own fitness journey.

I stepped on the scale. "198," Austin read out. "And 6-foot-even?" he asked.

"Maybe a hair shy, but yeah, 6 foot." I stepped off. "I really would love to lose the spare tire," I said, patting my midsection. I didn't have an outright beer belly, but I had some major love handles and midlife spread there.

Austin's easy smile was gone and he was in full business mode. "We'll work on it," he assured me, gesturing me over to a mat to do a timed plank. "There's no quick fix," he explained as he started the stopwatch. "No crash diets, either... I believe in strength training first as a foundation and then we'll work on the rest, OK?"

"Yeah," I grunted. I was holding my own I guess, but my lack of regular exercise was biting me in the ass, hard.

I did better on some of the diagnostics and not as hot on the other.

"I told you, Austin," I said. "You're getting a real project." Pulling out the self deprecating humor.

He was still in business mode. "I'm not one of those hardass trainers, but I have only one rule, Mr. D," he said, his old nickname slipping back. "No comparing yourself to anyone else. If you're on social media, I want you off it. In here, for 60 minutes twice a week, it's going to be about you... what you're doing and what you can do better and how we can get you there. Not any of the other guys. OK? "

"Got it," I said. It felt weird being bossed around by a man half my age, but Austin was the one with the Instagram body. I'd follow his lead.

We walked on toward the locker area. "And one other thing you'll learn about me, Scott," he added with a wink. "I have more than one rule."

****

[AUSTIN]

"Beast!" I grunted in encouragement as Scott pumped out a personal record on the bench press. He even did two reps without my spot, before I helped him on the third. As I helped guide the bar back into pace I saw his exertion-red face and concerted look break into a wide smile.

Psychology is a big part of my job. Every client is different and has different things that motivate them as well as different reasons they weren't motivated before they came to me. Being a trainer doesn't mean being a miracle worker, but you try to figure out what's going to work for a man or woman in the gym.

But I'd never seen a man respond so well to encouragement as Scott. I honestly didn't know what to expect when Shannon's dad first contacted me. But I always liked the guy, and he'd always made me feel welcome when I was over at the Delahunt house. He'd always take the time to say hello or chat and ask me how the baseball season was going or what colleges I was considering. When anyone else had grilled me about college, it felt like pressure - like "are you good enough for my daughter" BS - but with Mr. D, it felt like genuine interest.

Now that I'd been training the man for over a year, I'd gotten to see another side of him. He was guarded at first, but after a few months he'd started being more open. Something about the extra time to chat in the gym does wonders for getting the conversation flowing. He didn't talk ill about Mrs. Delahunt, but the man was clearly frustrated in his marriage. I was getting the picture of a man who'd thrown himself into a high-powered career and who liked to show off the spoils of financial success. And he wasn't happy.

"Give it a couple minutes rest," I said as Scott sat up, stretching his arms a little and rubbing out the burn in his triceps. "And maybe we can try for 10 more?"

"Oh yeah," the executive said enthusiastically. "Let's do it."

As he cooled down for a bit, he asked. "You doing anything this weekend, Austin?"

I was putting two fives on the barbell. "My Dad's coming to visit."

Scott looked into my face. "You're not excited are you?" he said, observant as hell.

I sighed. "I don't know, Scott... a dumb part of me looks forward to it every time.... but when he's here, it's like we don't have anything to talk about. He'll spend a couple hours with me, then go meet up with one of his buddies instead."

Scott didn't try to tell me it was OK. Or make excuses for my Dad. He just listened. "That's tough, guy," he finally said. "I guess some parents aren't good with the emotional stuff."

He got into place and went for another set. I had to spot him for a good deal of that one rep. I could read the disappointment in his face.

"Give it a longer rest," I urged. "Refocus. You got this, Scott."

The next attempt wasn't pretty, but it was all Scott. And the beaming look of pride in his face after was one of those moments that makes my job worth it.

[SCOTT]

"You hear from Shannon lately?" Austin asked between squats. He'd been pushing me more on leg days lately, and I was starting to see progress.

I never knew for sure why Austin and Shannon broke up, but Austin was a grade ahead of Shannon and gone off to college before her. A part of me wondered if Austin still had a thing for my daughter, but I figured this was just something to talk about, the connection that first brought us together in the gym.

"Not lately. I only hear from her when she needs money," I said wryly.

"Oof," my trainer gave a "that hurts" wince. "For real?"

"I exaggerate some," I explained. "But not a lot. Sometimes it feels like she sees her Daddy as a living, walking credit card."

Austin gave me a reassuring, empathetic look. "Well, at least she's probably having a blast in college, right?"

It was the perfectly timed joke, and it made me crack up. "That she is, buddy," I said.

I got in place and knocked out another set of squats. It was a struggle, but I got to eight.

"Nice," I heard Austin say. Then he added some weights.

"Sorry if I'm out of line, Scott, but Shannon is a spoiled B. She kind of always was."

I grimaced. He was right, but I didn't appreciate him talking about my daughter like that. "Maybe she is, but I take some responsibility in that. Kelly too... we both spoiled her growing up. We just wanted her to have the finer things, you know."

Austin gave me a look that said he felt contrite, even if he wasn't saying his apology out loud. "Better than the opposite, Scott," he said. "You're there for her, that's what matters."

"Things been rocky with your Old Man lately?" I asked.

Austin shrugged. He had a jock's bluster, but I could tell he hid how much things bothered him. Even discussing his relationship with his father, he tried to pass it off in an even, unaffected tone. "Worse. I haven't heard from him in two months. I left a couple of voice mails, but felt like some desperate chick wanting a second date."

"I take it you speak from experience in brushing off desperate chicks," I teased, trying to change the subject.

Austin grinned. God, he really was a strikingly handsome young man. "Ah, I talk a big game, Scott. Truth is, I guess I'm just waiting for the right one, you know."

It was adorable to see this muscled up ex-jock act shy, and endearing too. "I'm sure she'll come, Austin," I assured him. "Probably sooner than you think."

He looked at me as if he was trying to decide whether he could share a secret. He did. "It'd be a 'he,' Scott."

"Oh," I muttered dumbly. It didn't even occur to me that Austin would be gay. In fairness, I knew him first as Shannon's boyfriend.

The guy went into reassuring mode. "I don't generally share my personal business," he said. "With any of my clients..."

There was the Mr. Business side of my trainer coming out. Serious, professional.

"I'm glad you did, Austin," I said. "Um, is that why things didn't work out with you and Shannon?" Maybe none of my business, but I was curious as hell.

He didn't seem fazed by my question. "Yes and no. I mean I didn't decide I really preferred men until college. But even in high school I felt I wasn't 100% into dating the girls I was with. No disrespect to your daughter..."

"None taken," I assured him.

I did another set. It was getting really fucking hard now. "Let's stretch some," Austin said, a signal we were done with squats for the day.

On the mat, Austin guided me through some gentle stretches.

My curiosity was still getting the best of me.

"So... you have any boyfriends in college?" I asked. Before stopping myself. "Sorry... that's none of my business."

He didn't admonish me but just said softly. "Yeah, like I say I don't advertise my personal business."

[AUSTIN]

Like with a lot of clients, I told Scott not to weigh himself at home constantly. We'd step on the locker room scale once a month. That way, he'd be focused on strength and diet and not on the ups and downs.

I could tell he was nervous that day as he stepped on, wearing only his compression. I tried to act normal around Scott Delahunt, but the man was my type to a T. Older, just the right amount of muscle, clean cut daddy. A year and a half of training had done wonders for an already good looking man. His back had a nice curve and definition and his shoulders and arms were swells of rounded muscle. He still had a little padding on his middle but his gut was solid muscle behind it. He'd definitely lost some extra weight.

"190!" he beamed. "I haven't weighed 190 since my 30s," he said as he stepped off the scale and turned toward me. Scott wasn't overly hairy but he had a nice pelt of light brown hair on his now defined chest and torso.

"And some of that is extra muscle," I reminded him. "So... you told me your goal when we started... any luck in the bedroom?" I tried to make it sound professional, or maybe buddy-to-buddy. But lately I'd been thinking way too much of Scott Delahunt having sex.

He shook his head. "Not really," he said. I expected a sad sack expression but instead he just replied, "But I've decided I'm doing this for me, actually."

"Yeah?" I asked. I wasn't sure if he was just parroting what he thought I wanted to hear.

"It's about time I focused on what makes me happy, you know?"

"You should," I said. "You deserve that."

He gave me a grateful look. But he didn't respond. Instead, it was like he was displaying his body for me. Not lecherous exactly, and I think I did a damn good job of hiding my attraction to him. But it was like he wanted a gay dude's approval of his improved physique. Some straight dudes have hang ups about gay men checking them out, but I've met a couple of buds who feel they can trust me with my assessment of them physically.

I ventured a compliment. "You're looking really good, Scott. Muscle, definition, and the slimmer midsection are really coming together," I said. "Incredible progress, really."

He ate it up. "I couldn't be doing it without you, buddy. For real."

I forced myself to stop ogling his half naked body, as I told him I'd see him for our session Friday.

When I got home, though, I jerked off. A nice heavy load just imagining mounting Scott doggy style and pounding him hard and fast. As I cleaned up, I had to laugh at how turned on I was by this 51 year old corporate exec. Like, I always had to pine for the unavailable ones.

I just hoped for his sake that Scott Delahunt was getting laid that night.

[SCOTT]

It was tough getting back into the gym after two weeks. Austin kind of laughed as I showed my frustration at not being able to bench nearly as much as before.

"Been there, Scott," he patted my shoulder as I sat up. He'd been doing that more lately, touching me. Nothing too weird or invasive, kind of like one close buddy might do for another. But knowing Austin was a gay dude made me read something into it, I suppose. Not that he'd be into a middle-aged man like me. But I did find myself wondering a lot about the kind of men Austin was into. I chalked it up to idle curiosity. Austin had opened up a lot to me as we trained and talked, but he kept one part of himself private.

"How was Italy?" he asked.

"Incredible," I replied. "Villa in Tuscany, good weather, amazing food... what's not to like?" I started.

"That's awesome," Austin said. He seemed to enjoy living vicariously through his clients' vacations, and I knew that as a trainer he probably didn't have the time or money to do any big travel.

I nodded. "Yeah, but this sounds spoiled as hell to say... but I would have been as happy on one of your Smokies camping weekends." Austin grew up in the east part of the state and still enjoyed getting up into the mountains from time to time.

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Yeah, why's that?"

I shrugged. I felt like sometimes I unloaded a lot onto my trainer, but it was like he was the one guy who'd understand. "I dunno... With Kelly, it sometimes feels like things have to be perfect... you know, THE best winery and THE best private tour... and she spends half the vacation posting the pictures on Facebook so her friends all know how she's having THE best fucking vacation.... sorry, man, I know I'm being a jaded asshole."

Austin patted my shoulder again. That touch against my warm shoulder through my workout shirt. "Not at all, man. You just have a better perspective on life is all." He gave me another pat. "Ready for another set?"

I nodded and got back into place. We finished up at the bench and went to do a superset of dumbbell exercises.

I was a little out of breath when we finally paused.

"Tough, huh?" Austin said, reading my face.

I nodded, not quite formulating a word. "Yah. Sorry."

"Take a sec," he assured me. He had me drink some water.

As we went to do some stretches and core work, our conversation resumed.

"So... I didn't know you were into camping," Austin said.

"I'm not," I replied. "At least I haven't done it since I was a boy scout. But the idea of getting away from Brentwood seems real appealing sometimes."

Austin squatted down next to me and reached over to pull my hip to correct my form. "No offense, Scott, but you're Brentwood through and through."

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess," I said. Austin was originally from a small town in east Tennessee and had moved to the Nashville suburbs when he was 12. He seemed to have mixed feelings about the tony suburbs we lived in, and I had a hard time figuring them out. "Guilty as charged."

"I'm just razzing ya, Scott," Austin said, that easy going charm coming back.

[AUSTIN]

I'd taken a break from the apps. I told myself it was healthy to do so, but maybe it was healthier to get laid. In case, Scott's break from the gym somehow made me miss the guy. I was becoming crushed out on my client. I told myself that was because I wasn't getting any daddy ass.

My profile was clear. 24yo total top clean cut jock into masculine 40+ daddies. Inexperienced OK. Married or DL OK. Just be willing and ready to take care of my 7.5 inch cock. No-strings fun only.

I had a great set of pictures that got a lot of bites. That first weekend of Scott's vacation I got messaged by five men. Two just weren't my thing, two were smoking hot, and one was OK. I messaged the smoking hot daddies back and clicked with a businessman staying downtown. He wasn't Scott Delahunt hot but he was my type. 48, balding, strong barrel chested build, trimmed goatee. He was married but played when he was out of town. I assured him I was totally discreet.

It had actually been six months since I'd hooked up with a guy. I remembered now how fun it could be. Even dealing with the traffic heading into downtown. When I got to his hotel room, he'd just gotten out of the shower, freshly cleaned for me, and had a towel wrapped around his waist. He had a soft belly, not big but more along the lines of what Scott had when he started with me. His front was incredibly furry and I found the swirls of hair incredibly hot.

"Hey," he grinned as he led me in. He could barely take his eyes off me. I'm not an egotist... well, I am a little. But it's great to have that silent appreciation of my looks. His words made it explicit. "Man," he said in a deeper-South accent. "I thought you wouldn't live up to your pictures, but you're incredible."

My eyes swept his body too. He wasn't the hottest man I'd ever slept with but I loved his real dad-ness... married-with-kids Southern daddy, deep voice, ex-jock vibe. "I'm liking what I see, too," I growled, pulling my shorts up to let my boner ride up. I had been looking forward to some release real bad.

He seemed like he'd won the lottery ticket. "Dang! You really do go for older guys don't ya?"

"Exclusively," I said. I loved the chance to be direct with men about my sexual preferences. I stepped up to him and ran my hands along the soft furred belly before slipping my hands around his waist to pull him toward me for a kiss.

Some married guys aren't into kissing. I forgot to ask if Business Daddy was OK with it. He was. Or made an exception for me. He was used to soft kissing from a woman and was surprised by my approach. But he got into it and was soon pawing at my T-shirt, feeling up my muscle.

I was getting worked up, fast. My fingers undid his towel and felt up the bare buns. Some men like Scott Delahunt had to work to develop a thick round ass. This guy had the genetics for it. I could be satisfied with a nice slow BJ from a hot daddy, but knowing from our DMs that this guy wasn't virgin made me really want to tap his hole.

"What are your thoughts on the D word?" I growled. Business Daddy seemed real into me, and I felt I had the cards, at least enough to push this.

"Daddy?" he asked, to clarify.

"'Dad' is even hotter to me," I said, taking his wrist and guiding it to the hard ridge in my mesh shorts. Instantly his thick fingers curled greedily around it.

He gulped. "Never done that scene," he admitted. "But if it turns you on, buddy..."

"It turns me the fuck on," I assured him. I kissed him again then kissed and licked along his ear lobe. "Why don't you get down and suck my dick, Dad?" I whispered.

He had a naughty look on his face as he crouched down. The man wasn't all that hung and his shorter dick stood out like a spike from his hairy crotch as he got down. He peeled down my shorts, like he was unwrapping a Christmas present.

"Dang... fucking big piece ya got, buddy," he hissed, taking it in his hand and licking it. "Go easy on me, will ya?"

"Yeah, Dad," I hissed, not wanting to get out of this scene now that I had the green light. Then I felt his warm mouth descend on me. Business Daddy wasn't experienced but I wasn't his first cock either. It was a nice sweet spot. I imagined my father doing this to me. Sucking me, learning how to suck me.

"That's it, Dad," I grunted. "Suck your boy. Love your hot fucking mouth on my dick, sir." Some guys were turned off by my verbal approach, and others were way turned off by the incest scene. That's one reason I sometimes found hookups not to be satisfying. It was hard to develop a rapport to go deep with a one-off guy.

But Business Daddy was getting into it, sucking me more fully now, with a bit more of a slow suction that was getting me worked up. I watched his balding head bob up and down on my crotch. My own father had more hair, though it too was thinning. Like Scott Delahunt's.

"If you keep sucking, Dad, I'm gonna cum," I warned. "But I really wanna fuck you, sir."

Business daddy pulled off and took one admiring look at my spit wet dong. "Damn you are a pervy fucker," he laughed.

I kicked off my shorts and peeled off my T-shirt. "Yeah I'm a perv," I replied. In the past I might have felt embarrassed but now I was unapologetic. I fisted my cock and looked him in the eye. "When was the last time you got fucked?"

He seemed to be on the defensive now, and I worried I let my horns get the worst of me. If I fucked this up....

"Two years," he said softly. "I don’t usually...."

"You enjoy it?" I questioned him.

He nodded, blushing some. "A little too much."

"You got ready for me, right?" I just wanted to remind him of the reason I was there and not hooking up with one of the other guys.

He nodded. "You're intense, you know that right?" he said. Like his physical attraction to me was countered by a vibe that just wasn't working for him.

"I'm just horny, man," I explained. "I haven't fucked a guy in six months. I fucking miss it."

"A dude like you... I would have thought..." he started and didn't have to finish.

"Let me eat you for a bit," I said. "I want you to want this, man."

He nodded and got on the bed, pulling his legs back. Fuck, that hole was beautiful. Furry dad trench with a nice tight hole. I got in place and examined it, taking my time before leaning in and licking. Business Daddy was squeaky clean and I took the opportunity to go to town, really feasting on that ass like it was my last meal.

It was a nice cool down from the BJ and the Dad-talk earlier but also worked me up in a way.

"Lube?" I asked when I finally pulled back. He gestured to the small table on the other side of the bed. I went around and Business Daddy scooted to reposition himself on the bed.

I took my time fingering him, talking with him about men and cocks and fucking. I avoided the Dad-Son stuff since I wanted to build the vibe rather than kill it.

"So..." I said as I now slid three slick fingers in and out of his stretched tightness. I had the conquerer gene in me, I suppose, because I LOVED the idea of getting a hole that had barely been fucked. "We talked a little earlier... I'm on PREP and get tested regularly... I'd love to get in you raw, sir."

"I've never done that," he whispered, but I could see his shorter, fatter dick throb as I worked the first inches of his insides.

"Is that a NO?" I challenged him. I was going to respect his wishes, but I was gonna do my damnedest to get the fuck I wanted then.

"Go ahead, man," he said. "I trust ya."

I scooted up and lined my bare cock against his ring. It took some work, alternating fingering with some teasing with my cock. But I finally breached him in a way that was comfortable for him.

"Easy," I hissed as I rubbed his soft belly and pushed deeper. "Just going slow here.... you got this."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Feels good actually," he said. His eyes had been on mine but now he looked all over my body. "You're so fricking hot."

I grinned. "You like the jocks, huh?"

"I do," he replied. Not embarrassed, but forthright.

"You wanna tell me about any of them?" I was pushing the envelope for sure, but my cock was almost bottomed out in his hole.

He gave me a grin. "I don't play around at home... but there's the neighbor kid. Got a football scholarship at Ole Miss... hot fucker."

I plowed in. Business Daddy accepted me, his dick thwapping excitedly at the full penetration. "You wish he was here fucking you now?"

"God, man," Business Daddy was the one getting into the pervy headspace now. He reached up and clenched at my sides. Hungry. I gave him the kiss he craved. Then I started thrusting into him.

"I'd love both of you guys at once," he admitted. "Tag teaming me."

"That'd be hot," I leered, really getting into this. I rarely got to do this level of verbal with a guy, and it was really working me up. "Two jocks... taking turns.... opening up that Daddy hole."

"Yes," he hissed... "fuck me, stud!"

I was getting more athletic with my pumps. "Been too long hasn't it, Daddy... since you had a young cock in ya?"

Maybe the D word was pushing it, but Business Daddy picked it right up. "God yeah, son. Fuck your Dad!"

Oh jesus. The surprise of those words, and the deep Southern accent of them had my balls pumping. Not a pre-orgasmic warning, but the real deal. I was ejaculating hard into this older business man.

"That's it, son. Get your nut. Show Dad what ya got." For a man who didn't seem into pervy role play, he sure knew what to say now.

I growled my way through my deep orgasm and then kind of fell on him, reclaiming a kiss as my dick pumped out its dribbles into his conquered hole.

I gathered my senses and got back into the original position, squirting some lube on his spike and slowly pumping him as I urged him off. I even had him describe that Ole Miss tight end in detail. His whole body went beet red as he came, and I knew it was a major orgasm for him too.

We made small talk afterwards. He even said he'd hit me up next time he was in Nashville. "You're a wild one, buddy... but I sure as hell enjoyed the ride."

[SCOTT]

"You got anything going on this weekend?" I asked Austin as he had me do some shoulder raises. I'd been trying to find a nonchalant time to bring it up.

He examined my form and counted my reps silently. "Good," he said as I finished the set and set the dumbbells down on a bench. "Nothing really going on. What about you, man?"

I stood squarely to face him. He was the young jacked stud, but I was getting more proud of my body after a year and a half of working out with him, and more confident in my skin, so to speak. "Well, the Titans have a home game Sunday. I was wondering if you wanted to go see them with me," I ventured.

There came that pearly white smile again, and an excited kid-like look. "What, you got tickets?"

"Two of them," I boasted. "I got 'em through work. A buddy of mine was going to go but had to back out." That second part was a lie.

Austin showed some concern. "Man, I'd love to. Hell, I'd really love to. But I can't afford that." I got the feeling he was an independent-spirited man who didn't like to be beholden to others.

"The ticket's just gonna go to waste,” I said, “and I'll enjoy having someone to go with." I saw his resolve start to melt, so figured I could lay out the rest of my plan. "It's an afternoon game, we can get a hotel downtown for the night and live it up a little. Come on... Kelly's doing some girls trip to Napa, and I have a real bachelor's weekend I want to enjoy."

Austin smiled. "Well, when you put it that way.... jesus, I can't believe you have fucking Titans tickets. You go often?"

I could sense a real envy in his tone. "Yeah, from time to time," I admitted. "I did season tickets a couple years ago, but Kelly griped that my Sundays were all taken up."

He smiled. "I bet these tickets are great seats, too, aren't they?" Teasing me.

"Pretty damn good," I smirked. "We're gonna have a blast, buddy."

[AUSTIN]

I was in a good mood. Strike that, I was in a great mood. The Titans had beaten the Texans but even if they hadn't I just enjoyed being in Nissan Stadium and shouting my lungs out. Scott seemed bemused how into it I was but didn't say anything. The man struck me as something more than a fair weather fan and less than a diehard fan.

But I was grateful for the ticket and that he'd had me tag along. He insisted on covering the hotel room. "Trust me I got a million hotel points to burn through," he countered. So I got the tab as we grabbed beers in one of the downtown bars.

It was a lot of regular guy talk. About the game and the upcoming Titans season. About how September can be the best month in Nashville. About his wife's wine trip and their fall plans. About the cheat day Scott was having and how my metabolism let me get away with stadium concession food and day drinking on occasion.

God, he looked good. Great even, in his snug pale blue Titans T-shirt that clung to his arms and pecs and the hint of dad gut he was still chipping away at. I never saw him outside of the gym, at least not since I'd dated his daughter. He was so focused working out, like that was a second job to him. But this was Scott Delahunt in the mood to let down his hair. Smiling, happy, joking.

Maybe that's what led me to let my hair down too.

"It was my professor," I blurted.

"What?" he asked.

Maybe I enjoyed catching him off guard. But I clarified. "You once asked me who I dated in college. It was my Chemistry professor."

Scott looked at me like I was kidding him. "Are you teasing me?"

I shook my head. "Nah. You're the first guy I've ever told actually. Buy yeah for two years... I don't know if dating was the right word, but it wasn't casual either. He was my first boyfriend."

I kind of wondered if Scott would be put off by the admission. Or even the gay talk. But he seemed laidback about it, and he'd been the one to ask. He took a sip of beer and eyed me up, like he was still trying to decide if I was on the level. "Was this while you were his student or after?"

"While," I replied. "Though we kept hooking up after. That's when I decided maybe I wasn't so bisexual after all."

Scott seemed nervous with that comment but didn't object. Instead, he shook his head. "I would have guessed you would have gone for another college dude."

I shook my head. "Not my thing." Here goes. "I'm only into older guys, actually."

"Really?" Scott was moving from incredulous to amused. "What are we talking about?"

I shrugged. It was kind of a relief to have this open dialogue with the man. "95% of the time, men in their 40s or 50s."

"I knew a buddy in college who was into cougars," he laughed. "The guys gave him a lot of guff, but Taylor got laid so fucking much..." Scott was laughing as he recalled old times then seemed like he had something on his mind.

"What?" I asked.

He paused and looked at me. "Nothing, buddy." He held up his now empty pint glass. "Can I get the next round?"

"No doing, Scott," I said, standing up. "I'm buying."

[SCOTT]

Bringing Austin along to the game was the right call, I realized. I'd never seen a guy so thrilled. He'd been to a couple of games before, but it was a rare treat for him. I was happy to have given him that.

I didn't have any ulterior plans. Then again, maybe I did and just didn't admit them to myself. I told myself I was just having a good time, too. Hanging out with Austin felt freeing, like my college days. Before my career and family, and before the country club set I socialized with. I liked my golf buddies just fine, but there was always that one-up-manship. I could play that game, too, but with Austin, I didn't have to.

We got a little tipsy but didn't go wild. I told Austin he should just enjoy the downtown nightlife on his own. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "No offense to you heteros, Scott, but drunken hos aren't my idea of fun," he laughed.

I loved that he was freer with me. Not guarded, able to talk about being a gay man. I think stupidly I assumed gay guys didn't have the same problem with sex, of finding regular and compatible partners. But I could tell with Austin, he had some dissatisfactions of his own. I almost asked him about it in the bar, but figured I'd mind my own business. I hoped he'd feel free to share with me some time.

It had been in the back of my mind. What sex with a guy would be like. Yeah. I'd fooled around some in college, but that was just that, fooling around. Naughty fun I'd have with some buds when we didn't have girlfriends or weren't getting enough. After I met Kelly, I'd fantasize about other women, sometimes a lot. I figured most guys do. But I never gave much thought to men.

But as Austin and I got ready for bed in the hotel room, I was thinking of it. His eyes were on me. Quiet lust in his eyes that made me feel sexually attractive in a way I hadn't felt in years. This wasn't some cougar in some downtown hotel bar giving me the heavy eye, this was a young hot stud with an Instagram fitness body. Just a dusting of hair but also lots of pale, smooth muscle.

And, as he strutted out of the bathroom in his boxer briefs, I could see the definition in his round ass and the thick bulge of his crotch. It wasn't fair a young man this perfect should be hung, but I had a good idea he was. I tried not to let him catch me looking at his package, but he gave a soft smirk as I darted my glance away. He ran his thumbs along the waist band to adjust the underwear, but his eyes had a question in them. Maybe a plea.

"Good night, bud," I said. Forcing myself to slip into the covers of one of the two beds, as if my heart weren't racing a million miles an hour.

"Good night, Scott," came his reply. Almost soft, not cocky. I'd been nervous until that point, but that voice gave me a boner beneath the sheets. And the very fact I was responding to his gentle masculinity added to the thrill. A feeling I hadn't felt before but maybe wanted to for a while.

He turned out the light.

[AUSTIN]

I was so hard, I couldn't sleep. Scott Delahunt had starred in my JO fantasies a lot lately, and I knew after this weekend he was gonna be in them a lot more. I tossed and turned and tried to think of other stuff. I tried to think of the Titans season but then I'd remember one of the coaches I wanted to bone.

I hoped the beer would catch up and help me sleep. It didn't. I don't know how long I lay awake. Maybe an hour. I decided to go to the bathroom, where I could jerk off in privacy. It wouldn't take long to get my nut and take the edge off.

"Can't sleep either?" I heard Scott say as I scooted to get off the bed. His voice wasn't quiet but wide awake.

"No," I gulped.

"Anything I can do to help?" came his voice in the dark.

My heart pounded. "God, Scott." I was SO close to just saying, "come over and suck me off Daddy." Instead, Scott could tell the frustration in my voice.

"I'm serious, Austin. If you wanna ask me, I won't judge." he said. Then, "I actually kind of want you to ask me."

My heart melted. Here was my dream man, vulnerable as hell. Maybe I'd made him feel that way. Maybe it was just fate.

"Would you join me in my bed?" I asked. Into the darkness of the room. I thought of turning on the lamp but didn't want to break the spell that was set between us.

Scott didn't answer, and I first I though I'd fucked it up big time. Misread what he was suggesting. But then I heard his mattress squeak and then felt his warm body bump against mine beneath the sheets. I scooted over to give him room.

The man was shaking some, but his hands were not wasting time eagerly touching my body. I knew from his touch he'd been thinking about this, wondering what my muscle would feel like. I let him feel and reached down to take off my briefs in case he wanted to feel more.

"Fuck!" he hissed.

"We can take this slow, Scott," I assured him as my own hands were pawing at his older muscle. I'd never get sick of the feel and rougher skin of a middle aged man. And the idea of what he represented to me. Power, authority, experience. I kept my urges in check and slowly caressed his warm back.

The man pulled his hands back some and like that he was peeling his own underwear off. Baring himself for me.

I don't know what I felt first, his hard dick against mine or his lips pressing into a kiss. It wasn't until that kiss that I realized how much I'd pent up. And how much Scott had pent up himself. He was married, maybe nominally straight or whatever. But this man wanted me.

In my past times with older guys, I insisted on getting serviced. It was part of my thing, I guess, my power trip. But I'd heard enough of Scott's marital woes, that I knew I had to give him a real blow job. I kissed my way down his hairy chest and still padded middle and started licking his cock.

His dick was on the smaller side, between 4.5 and 5 inches and was the hardest dick I'd ever encountered. I was grateful for his size as I opened my mouth and took that cock in.

"Yes," he hissed excitedly.

I rarely suck cock and if I do, it's as a teaser for foreplay. So I'm not an expert, but I must have been better than Mrs. Delahunt.

"Suck me buddy!" Scott gasped. His fingers were in my hair, on my scalp. Not possessively, but more appreciative. Like he'd forgotten what pleasure like this was like. I was reminding him with steady and faster mouth strokes.

I backed off a few seconds before he came. I needed this daddy's mouth on my cock before orgasm removed his willingness to suck me. I climbed up and met Scott in another kiss before I pulled back and scooted up to line up my arching, hard prick to his face.

"Take your time," I urged. Not "please suck me" or "would you blow me too?"

I didn't need the pleasantries. I felt his warm wet tongue lick at my head. Tentative as hell, but it was the kind of tentative fear of not doing it right than not wanting to do it.

"Feels great," I assured him. Now running my fingers through his hair. Appreciative, but definitely possessive. I pushed into his mouth. About three inches. Enough to fill him but not trip any gag reflex. "Just take me, man. Nice shallow strokes... there." I was doing most of the work. Maybe I'd train Scott how to be my cocksucker. The very idea got my balls boiling with my load.

Even if he wasn't doing the work he was doing his best. Sucking at me, trying to keep his saliva contained while forming a ring around my softly pistoning cock. I was thick as well as long, and I knew I was a lot. But the man was acting like a champ.

"I'm gonna cum in your mouth, Scott," I warned him. Giving him an out. He had three seconds to do something about the situation. He didn't, so like that I was firing off big. A heavy load right into his mouth. I pulled back so he'd get it mostly on his tongue. I thought he'd feel more comfortable swallowing it that way, but mostly I wanted him to taste me. To know what my cum was like.

I pulled out and felt my prick twitch in the aftershocks.

The man deserved any release I could give him. I scooted back down to suck him to completion but as I approached his crotch, I smelt that familiar bleachy-floral scent. And felt his hands grip my head to stop me.

"I... just came," he admitted.

#drakestories

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humongousgothskeletonfarm · 15 days

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chapter 6 thoughts: (spoilers ahead!)

oh. fuck.

he was king. now he’s a martyr.

holy shittttt

aftg really brings us all together, this is random but i love talking to other fan accounts about the books

anyway fanfics will no longer have to speculate when rikos funeral was, and if kevin attended or not (or if he had a mental breakdown about it)

also neil u have no tact babe and i love u for it

oh renee ur so lovely ur so insightful (neil u should listen to what she has to say)

jean and his ‘i won’t grieve him’ ❤️🫶

- ‘promise me’ jean said with a desperation that should have kill him, nathaniel didn’t hesitate, ‘i promise’ SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THEM THANK U NORA THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED FROM THIS BOOK

THE SWAP FROM NATHANIEL TO NEIL IS JUST AS POWERFUL FROM JEANS PERSOECTIVE IN TSC AS IT WAS IN FROM NEILS IN TKM I LITERALLY CANNOT THE PARALLELS ARE KILLING ME

it’s 1:40 am and i’ve just made a cup of tea to keep myself awake

feeling many things about jeans perusal of the fox photo wall and taking renee’s picture

i know these motherfuckers aren’t accusing neil kevin and jean of abandoning that cunt and leading to his ‘suicide’

WE ARE THE RIGHT PEOPLE I THINK JUST NOT THE RIGHT TIME (look i am admittedly not a jean/renee shipper but good god they are so sweet in this)

A COOL EVENING BREEZE AND RAINBOWS

screaming as silently as i can rn

- petition for someone to put summertime sadness on the jean playlist

whattttt is the mystery about jeremy’s family?? what is this fabled fall banquet that tore his family in half im so intrigued i have to know more

ALSO JEREMY IS IN THERAPY AND HAS SOME SORT OF FAMILY ISSUES I KNEW IT IM SURE THATS ON A BINGO SOMEWHERE

jeremy dad of the trojans checking to see that they’re safe and also cody first cannon non binary character??? pls say yes

accidentally fell asleep in the middle of my planned all nighters whoops it’s currently 7 am

chapter 7:

“I like to indulge,” Jeremy said with a dimpled smile. Kevin’s words mocked him in the back of his thoughts: “Some of them you like.”

i did. notice this in chapter 2 or whatever but is this?? are we getting jerejean???? that’s what this means righ??

jeremy wdym ‘oh to be the pampered elite’ u have a butler??

jean defending kevin saying he’s earned the right to be arrogant be still my beating heart i love these stubborn mother fuckers

He was years away, watching a different beautiful boy lean in close to say, Will you teach me when he’s not watching? It could be our secret.

STOP IT RN

chapter 8!!

flicked him a sly look. “Easy on the eyes, maybe.”

AHHHHH!!!

also so glad that there’s 100% confirmation cat and laila are dating (shared bedroom!)

the description of laila and cats lounge room is so soft and cozy im so jealous i wish i was there

barkbark von barkenstein u will never top sir fat cat mcatterson (although props to nora for always having simultaneously the worst and most creative names for pets)

jean telling cat she’s a good player but misses every ball at her hips is literally every raven! (someone) fic ever come to life where they meet a relatively normal other team and have absolutely no tact or awareness of what others considered rude and immediately tell the other players what their weaknesses are (i’m obsessed)

“Yes,” he said, and if he didn’t sound sure, he at least sounded angry. “Let them all burn. I hope none of them survive.” BABY I LOVE U IM SO PROUD OF U UR SAFE NOW FUCK RIKO FUCK THE RAVENS FUCK THE MASTER

“Oh, he’s good. A bit rude, but I like him. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

i’d say the exact same thing

*jeremy giving jean the keys*

well it’s not andreil levels of drama and symbolism but love a good comparison

or they do not care enough about her wellbeing. It’s unforgivable either way.”

giggling a bit over jean being up in arms about boba knowing that he’d be seriously unimpressed with me if he knew how much boba i drank

he wants to know what it was for

AND WHAT IF THAT LINE BROKE ME NORA?? AND WHAT THEN??

The Ravens had given up everything to be the undefeated champions, only to be destroyed last month by a tiny team from South Carolina.

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

“Loving something is not enough,” Jean told him, right on cue. “When is the last time you enjoyed playing?” Jeremy asked. “Irrelevant,” Jean said. “I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. I do not need to enjoy it to be the best backliner in the NCAA.”

that was what Jean felt safest in, Jeremy would back his decision wholeheartedly.

LITERALLY LEAVE ME ALONE

chapter 9999

also i’m so glad that we have jeremy/laila/cat friendship like in fics and stuff they were always best buddies coz they were the only trojan characters named in the books but it’s great to see they’re actually good friends in cannon

“I need you to listen to me for one moment,” Laila said, “and I need you to believe me when I say it. Fuck Coach Moriyama.”

AGREED AGREED AGREED FUCK THAT CUNT

COOKING LESSONS WITH JEAN THIS IS THE WHOLESOME CONTENT I SIGNED UP FOR

cat talking macronutrients and promising to help with his diet so it’s still familiar but more fun in order to begin healing jeans relationship with food is so important to me

nora bleaching jeremy’s hair blonde after telling us she was shocked we all headcannoned him as blonde while she thought he was brunette is so funny to me,, don’t worry fan artists u do not have to change a thing!

(frosted tips made me giggle too, jeremy u pussy)

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

chapter 10

jean learning basic household chores like sorting and washing clothes and deep cleaning the apartment and learning his way around a supermarket <3

LAILA CAT JEAN FRIENDSHIP IS REAL

Afternoons were filled with whatever the women were in the mood for that day, be it wandering downtown, shopping, or combing through estate sales.

Jean went where they took him because it was better than being left in the house alone,

COOKING IS HEALING JEAN ITS A COMFORT THING SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS EVERYTHUNG HES SO REAL FOR THAT

Ravens graduated; they didn’t leave.

fuck if that didn’t just stop my heart

i definitely should have been more wary of the trigger warnings. if anyone is wanting to read the book but is worried about certain parts, i’d be happy to let y’all know what sections are triggering so u can try and skip around them.

But Jean was not a Raven, and Wayne was dead.

FUCK YEAH BABY NOT ANYMORE U ARENT

the thought of that quiet space with its single bed was so repulsive he turned toward the living room instead. - this is so important to me

He could sense the others’ presence even if they weren’t around to bother him, and that was enough to take the edge off the loneliness eating at his heart.

literally end my life i’m so happy for jean, he’s healing slowly but surely

this was better than anything he’d ever had. It was worlds more than he deserved. He feared it as much as he wanted it;

JEAN U DO DESERVE IT I PROMISE U

wait wtf,, zane is reacher??? in literally every raven fic ever reacher is the most abusive character other than riko

OMFG BEACH SCENE??? THEYRE GONNA TAKE JEAN TO THE BEACH??? CHECK THAT OFF EVERY SINGLE BINGO CARD MADE FOR THIS BOOK

^ yeah i wrote that two seconds before then reading jeans panic attack about drowning and the trigger of riko waterboarding him and neil and now i want to cry

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #tsc #the sunshine court #jean moreau #jeremy knox #laila dermott #catalina alvarez #nora sakavic #usc trojans #renee walker #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #david wymack #nathaniel wesninski

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rosemary03 · 1 year

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sex therapy with Aizen

Masterlist ;3 | tags: @stygianoir |

Note: This is a bit explicit and long, it took me a long time to do it but I liked it haha, enjoy and read the warnings (maybe there are many misspellings and it is not well understood, sorry for that)

It was the first time that you would go to see your therapist, you talked a little with him on the networks to confirm the time of your session but it was not much, he had many good reviews on his page and you needed to relieve your stress in some way, maybe to give you some other advice, so you decided to go.

You were walking through the streets when suddenly your phone rang, you quickly took it out of your bag and… Surprise! He was your boyfriend, so you responded immediately.

"Hello! I just wanted to know how you were and if you had arrived yet" says your boyfriend from the other phone line

"I'm fine, I'll be there soon, I hope everything goes well hehe" you answered as you continued walking, you had a strange feeling, was this really happening?

"Well, in that case I wish you luck, I also wanted to let you know that I'm going out with some friends, so you don't have to worry"

"...Oh, have fun, and uhm...I'm here, so I'll call you later, bye!" you hung up the phone and put it away, then you looked at the big building in front of you, it was definitely the building in the photo your therapist sent you, so you went inside.

Everything was so clean and spacious, a combination of black and white, something modern but elegant at the same time.

There weren't as many people as you thought, just a few sitting waiting to be called for their session with other therapists.

Talk to the receptionist and she gave you directions, go up to the third floor and in room 24 they are waiting for you!

You went up and knocked on the door as indicated, a tall dark-haired man attended you, he told you "I was waiting for you, feel comfortable"

It was a spacious room, as expected, there are some big black armchairs, a desk and a coffee table.

"You are (name) right?" asked the man

"Yep! It's me, and you're Mr. Aizen?"

He nodded with a soft smile and made you sit in the chair across from his desk.

"Okay, let me ask you a few questions first, Miss (name)," Aizen said, his glasses glinting in the light from the computer in front of him.

"yes of course"

"perfect" he smiled kindly at you again, on the one hand you felt good with him, it had barely started but you liked it, again you felt that strange sensation, but hey, it's just your imagination right? I had never been here before.

♡...

You lost track of time, you don't know how many hours passed but what you did know was that mr. Aizen started with subtle questions, like what do you normally do, who are you currently dating, how did your morning start, and that sort of thing.

"So you're telling me you can't cum?" says the man with glasses in front of you.

“Um?! That ? I…” How did he know that? Were you sure you never mentioned it, also how did they come to that? You asked yourself.

"Hmm?"

"What do you mean...?" you asked a little embarrassed, maybe you were getting confused.

"Oh? What do I mean? Isn't that obvious? This is sex therapy miss (name), obviously I mean you can't cum during sex right?"

“Sex therapy…? I didn't come for-"

"Answer my question" Aizen says with a firm voice.

“…That's right, I can't… Uhm but, I think im in the wrong room, I didn't come to do sex therapy mr. aizen" you say as you get up from your chair

"Hmm? No?, you're on my patient list, I thought I'd made clear the type of work I specialize in, miss” aizen stands up and walks towards you, his footsteps light on the ceramic.

"Let me solve this problem, that's why you came here right princess?" he speaks again, now he is close to you, his gentle smile is still on his face, his size makes you feel so small and his words have an effect on you, his firm voice and the way he looks at you makes you want to submit to him.

He took his hand to your neck, squeezing it slightly, your cheeks burned from the closeness and his actions.

“W-what are you doing sir!? "You screamed in embarrassment, you felt how his hand went up to your jaw, caressing it, with his thumb he reached your lips, gently crushing them.

"my job"

"But I don't-" your words were interrupted by the strong slap that Aizen gave you on the cheek, you got scared but you liked that feeling of power that your therapist had over you...

“I didn't give you permission to speak miss (name), I expect you to follow my instructions so that I can do my job well, okay? ” he said between laughs, he was having fun.

“uh…okay” you said as you caressed your cheek that was burning from the slap.

Aizen smiled at you and walked towards the black and shiny couch that was in the living room, the man took off the white coat of his work uniform, leaving it on one side of the couch, then he sat down with his legs apart, his thighs pressed against his pants. white, then he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt allowing you to see his forearms, he took off his glasses and pulled his hair back, letting a lock fall on his forehead.

He looked so hot he was so big and he knew how to be in control you loved him but it was wrong right? You shouldn't feel this way when you see your therapist when they just want to help you have a good time.

"come sit down dear"

You obediently walk over to the couch, but as you're about to sit down, Aizen grabs your wrist.

"Here" he says as he points his index finger at his legs, he wanted you to sit on his lap.

"But I shouldn't…" you reply thinking of your boyfriend.

"mmm? It's okay, do it, after all this is a therapy session" Aizen pulls your wrist and you are forced to sit on his lap, from behind the man begins to caress your thighs, and with the other hand He grabs your chest and pulls you towards him, now your back is pressed against Aizen's chest.

"Well, that's baby" now the hand that was on your chest goes down to your abdomen, leaving caresses and provoking you.

His breath tickles your ear "so don't be so shy, I'm going to touch you and tell me if you like it"

"That... is necessary, Mr. Aizen? ”

"Of course, otherwise how will I know why you can't cum?" You looked back and Aizen quickly caught your lips in a careless and messy kiss, his hand grabs your hair and pulls your head towards him to keep you still, you let out a moan but it was muffled by Aizen's tongue abusing yours .

After leaving you breathless he released you from the kiss, their tongues moving away with a thread of saliva pulling them.

“Okay, now that we've started… I want you to call me sosuke, okay (name)? ”

Your breathing was agitated, your face was red from the heat and the shame you felt to be doing something so intimate with a man you barely knew.

"Okay... Sosuke"

“That's it, now I want to see you, okay? Aizen said as he separated your thighs, you quickly stopped his hands, you didn't want him to see your panties wet from the arousal of your pussy, you didn't want him to know that he was the reason for your lewdness.

"What's going on? Don't worry about a thing, I'll take care of everything (name)" Saying that, he manages to part your thighs now open for him, enjoying the sight of your clothed pussy before slapping his hand to Seeing your reaction, you let out a cry and jump onto his lap, hardly noticing his hard cock under your ass.

“How cute, did you like that? ”

Shit, of course you liked it, you were elated, you knew he only said it to annoy you.

"Answer me," Aizen said, slapping your clothed cunt.

"Yes, I like it!" you respond agitated

Satisfied with your answer, Aizen pulls your panties aside, exposing your pussy, his finger caresses your wet folds from top to bottom, and with his thumb he presses on your clit, circling it.

Damn he was too good at this, you love the way he masturbates your pussy, sighs and moans come out of your mouth, Aizen likes those sounds, he wants to fuck you unconscious but he likes to take his time, he He knows what you like and he's going to take advantage of it.

"You told me before that you have a partner, in that case I need to know if he does this" says Aizen reminding you that you have a boyfriend that you supposedly love.

"Oh!" again you stop his hand, you shouldn't be doing this, you tell yourself.

"Mmm... I need you to answer... And I also need you to be obedient (name), let me do my job.

"We can not..."

Aizen didn't give a shit if you could or not, he knew you wanted him to keep touching you until he finished fucking you like you both want.

His lips settled on your neck, biting and kissing the sensitive part of it, provoking you again, he was encouraging you to continue.

"Answer my question (name) does your boyfriend do this? I want to know if it makes you feel as good as I do"

I completely ignore your words, but you can't deny that Aizen made you feel better.

After so much silence, youresponds, “No, he don't, Mr. Aizen" you feel that he smiles on your neck, although he asked you to call him by his name, you insist on calling him sir as a sign of his power over you.

Aizen looks down, admiring the glistening wetness of your juices on his fingers.

"Get up," he demands, to which you obediently rise from his lap, looking up at Aizen's flushed and slightly sweaty face, your gaze lowers to the large bulge in his white pants, then Aizen's hands drop to his belt. unbuttoning it and exposing a portion of his boxers, your legs begin to tremble just at the enticing sight.

"get it out"

"Uhm? "

“My dick, get my dick out of my boxers, like that or more specific (name)? He says mocking your feigned innocence.

Embarrassed, you sit on his thighs, releasing his hard cock, to which Aizen lets out a small sigh.

He was also enjoying this and it shows by the way he talks to you, teases you and by the pre-cum that lubricates the tip of his cock.

You don't know exactly what happened next, but what you do know is that your breasts are bouncing on your therapist's face from the strong thrusts he's giving you from below, even though you're the one on top he's in control of your movements.

"that is! So good…” Aizen says complimenting you, his hands traveling up your thighs to your butt inserting a finger into your second hole, you moan from the sudden stimulation.

Now he's licking your nipples, leaving visible bites and hickeys, you feel overstimulated, double penetration and Aizen's tongue do their job very well!

"Sosuke don't stop!" You scream feeling how your legs shake with pleasure, you are about to cum, obviously Aizen noticed this, but you weren't very obedient to him, you didn't let him do his job before, so he really doesn't think you deserve to cum now .

So with one last strong thrust he stays still under you before you can cum, you feel your wet and sticky sexes from the juices of both.

"sosuke..." you complain

"Mmm..." Aizen grabs you by the hips and pushes you to the side of the couch, now you're stretched out face down on it.

You can barely respond to his actions when you feel two strong slaps on your butt, you moan from the burning sensation that remains on your buttocks, Aizen raises your hips leaving your butt in the air, with his fingers he opens your lips and plays with your pussy before eat you from behind.

His hands grip the fat of your butt as he sticks a finger inside your pussy, you could hear your juices splash every time his tongue sucked on your clit, you were sure your moans could be heard even in the next room but The ecstasy of the moment mattered more to you than they're going to hear you fucking your therapist.

Aizen releases your pussy with a "pop" and slaps you one last time. "That was good," he says as he stands up and guides the hilt of his cock towards your entrance.

A loud moan escapes your throat as Sosuke inserts his cock, you hear a loud "uughh" from Aizen.

He began to ram you mercilessly from behind, you felt full, wet and overstimulated, it was the punishment you deserved for your disobedience.

"Sosuke that's too much! Your screams and moans were of no use as Aizen grabbed your arms by the wrists and pinned them against your back.

Aizen's rhythm was relentless, your eyes filled with tears, there was a mixture of pleasure and pain that accumulated with each brute thrust he receives, from the screams, moans and the reaction of your body Aizen knew that all the accumulated pleasure was about to break.

Then they increased their speed even more, the noises that come out of your mouth make him smile dangerously, wanting to fuck you until he fills you with all his semen.

Despite everything you loved the way he was fucking you, his last thrust brought you to orgasm, squeezing his cock and squirting on it Aizen slowed down a bit, admiring his work of art, you, wet, messy and made a mess, but it was still missing, now it was his turn to cum and the sight only tempted him more to cum inside you.

"That's delicious! So cute and just for me" he says resuming the rhythm from before, letting go of your arms and grabbing your hips, you feel that he is about to cum too from the hard moans he's releasing, you feel your entrance aching with each push, his cock tenses inside your spongy walls, with one last thrust and an "Uurgghh" he releases strings of semen inside you, their sexes are sticky with the semen of both and that feels so good.

Aizen leans back watching his cum spurt out of your pussy, what a nice sight, he thinks, then wipes himself a bit and pulls up his pants, fixing himself before ending his session.

Looking at his watch, he sees that his therapy hour is over "fine, we've finished today's session... see you next week" and make sure you get home with my sperm inside miss (name)" he gets up and goes back to desk, you're so exhausted you can barely get up and your eyes are heavy.

♡...

You get up from your bed sore, you don't know exactly what happened but you notice the marks on your skin as soon as you look in the mirror, unfortunately the doorbell of your apartment rings and you have to go see who it is.

So you open the door and well, it was just your friend sosuke,

"I hope you don't mind that has come so late" he tells you with a tender smile, you quickly let him in and within the inside the conversation that you have while having dinner together Aizen asks "so how did your first therapy session go?" ? ”

You choked on your food, you skipped your session with Mr. Urahara because you fell asleep all afternoon!

When she catches her breath, she answers that you couldn't go because you fell asleep, maybe you were so tired that you slept too much

"Oh I see! That's bad, maybe I should be your therapist dear? "responds your friend sosuke between laughs

"Wow... Even if you don't believe it, I dreamed that you were" you say embarrassed

“So should I see you for the next session? ”

── ♡ sorry mr. urahara but the therapist aizen arrived first 😽

#bleach #bleach anime #bleach x female reader #bleach x y/n #kisuke bleach #kisuke urahara #aizen sosuke x reader #aizen smut #captain aizen #sosuke aizen #aizen sousuke #aizen x reader #aizen x you #bleach aizen

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tequiilasunriise · 10 months

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"Blake, are your parents dating my mom?"

"...Meow."

@min3nc's post about Snowleopard ripped open the Pandora Box that is some of my headcanons about this throuple (and the subsequent Bellaschneeblings interactions in my post here) so sit tight y'all this list is gonna be long because I absolutely adore this healthy bi4bi4bi poly pilf couple that foils whatever the fuck Divorce Mcgees Summer, Raven, n Tai had going on (don't get me wrong, I adore str-crossed lovers, especially whatever the fuck Rosebird had, but cmon you could power a small nation off of their Divorce Energy alone)

-They have zero in-canon interactions but the thought of Willow slowly healing and learning to love again from two characters shown to be incredibly sweet and patient and understanding and oh so gentle and tender and earnest? Guys this alone should sell you on the ship like!! LIKE!!!

-WILLOW HEALING FROM HER ABUSIVE MARRIAGE TRAUMA WITH THE HEALTHIEST COUPLE!! GHIRA AND KALI TAG TEAMING TO VALIDATE AND SMOTHER THE SHIT OUTTA THIS ENDEARING MILF WITH SO MUCH LOVE AND SUPPORT!!!

-Takes a deep breath. Wowie. Do y'all get it though do y'all understand the vision?

-I need me vulnerable Willow asking the Pilfadonnas fer parenting advice and the pair to be more than happy to help their girlfriend just so eager to help!! They're so reassuring and tender with her, making sure she doesn't feel like a terrible shit fer asking fer help about this like, "Oh, oh sweetheart. You've been through so much, and it's a good thing you're fighting fer your second chance to be the mother your children need and deserve. It's alright, darling, we're right here with you."

-Furthermore, Willow would feel so much guilt eating at her for her ex-husband's crimes against the Faunus as a whole and the Pilfadonnas, the leaders of the Faunus themselves, would help talk through her guilt and affirm that Willow is not to blame fer bullshit Jacques pulled and help her with the process of finding a good therapist like like like!!! There's so much shit here guys!!!

-"It was by marrying me that Jacques gained access to the resources tied to the Schnee name and carved out the world. I didn't do anything to stand up to him and stop him from ruining my family's name, and so by doing nothing I'm a part of his sins."

"....Babygirl we love you so much but there's SO MUCH wrong to unpack here."

-Also Willow deserves to be bisexually panicked by two hot cat people bc I said so she just deserves okay trust trust trust

-Anyways, the Schneeblings are mad sus of the Pilfadonnas at first because they ALLLLL know what kinda abusive bullcrap their mom went through in her dead marriage with Jackass Schnee but all eventually coming around to really love Ghira's and Kali's seemingly endless unconditional love (Weiss was the quickest to adapt, then Winter, and finally little Whitley)

-The Pilfadonnas are so sweet and loving to their new kids and see 'em as their own straight up but don't pressure any typa connection and respect the Schneeblings so much like, "I would prefer just Kali, but if calling me Ms. Belladonna makes you more comfortable then go right ahead sweetheart" LIKE THEYRE JUST THE BEST STEPARENTS EVER SO MUCH VALIDATION AND PATIENCE AND SWEETNESS!!!

-"Chieftain Ghira, sir, it's good to see you."

"Winter, while I won't stop you from calling me by that title if that's what makes you the most comfortable, you don't have to be so strict with yourself. There's no need to address me like you're a military subordinate, sweetheart."

"...I would die for you, sir."

"Oh! Um! I'm very grateful for that, but, uh, let's also not huh? Wouldn't want you dying anytime soon ahahahaaa."

"You're right, sir, the Maiden powers should not be so carelessly tossed around."

".....Alright so we're going to go find you a good therapist and start working on your sense of personhood-"

-The Pilfadonnas introduce the concept of therapy and healthier coping mechanisms to all of the Schnees REALNESS

-"But OP wouldn't Weiss already have learned that from her super supportive friends?" Weiss' found family is incredible but healthy coping mechanisms are NOT part of that package deal holy shit hypertraumatized child soldiers left and righttt baby

-Anyways, one time Whitley slipped and accidentally called Ghira "Hey dad-" and everyone FROZE before Whitley rushed his question and then ran the f u c k off as Ghira started wiping tears with Kali holding him close and Willow being so emotional at the her son finally has a solid, good father figure in his life oMG HES STARTING TO ACCEPT THE PILFADONNAS!!!

-Eventually, the Schneeblings graduate to calling the Pilfadonnas just Kali and Ghira (and Blake calling Willow by her first name was already established back when she was crashing Schnee Manor in V8 so we chilling) but Whitley, oh my heart, sometimes slips with a 'mama' or 'dad' to his stepparents and down the line he even stops getting embarrassed over it and GOSH does it melt the Pilfadonnas' hearts everytime he calls 'em that it doesn't matter if it's the tenth or the hundredth time they're sosossooo soft

-One time Weiss was practicing her fencing stances and didn't realize the Pilfadonnas were watching her, and then when they started to praise how amazing her swordsmanship is? Babygirl actually starts to cry a little because it was always, "You need to be faster, Schnees aren't supposed to be so slow" and "What would your grandfather say if he saw such sloppy forms? Again!" and never, "Oh, Weiss, honey, you were wonderful out there! You must have trained very hard to be so good!"

-If you give any of the Schneeblings a fucken shred of unconditional praise they will crumple faster than a stale cookie. On a daily basis, Weiss jokes and asks Blake how the FUCK did she not end up more well-adjusted (she knows about the bullshit with Adam but Weiss also knows that Blake is aware she's just messing around)

-So we've established some headcanons of the Schneelings interacting with the Pilfadonnas, but hear me out awkward as fuck Blake and Willow interactions bc Willow has NO IDEA how to interact with her daughter's teammate turned stepdaughter???

-Because, you know, "Oh uh hey my ex-husband exploited and abused the shit out the Faunus for years on end and you were one of the people heavily affected to the point where you, as a literal child, turned to a life of vigilante terrorist justice as a form of fighting back for your own basic rights"

-Blake, like her parents, completely understand that Willow had nothing to with Jackass' cruelty and instead gives her new stepmom an easy smile and starts talking small talk about Weiss' adventures with Team RWBY and!! Yeah!! Willow genuinely wants to know what's been going on in her daughter's life since she was so absent from it during her alcoholic days

-The pair bond over a shared loved of Weiss, and at one point Willow says, "If it isn't overstepping, can I just say I am truly fortunate that Weiss has someone like you in her life to support her" and Blake chuckles softly and replies, "It wasn't easy at first, but yeah, I'm glad she's in my life too" AND ARGAGRGRHRH THE BONDINGGGG

-Speaking of bonding, imagine the Pilfadonnas vibing with Klein and bonding over tea together, and seeing their adoptive dad figure Klein vibe with their new steparents may or may not have sped up Whitley and Winter warming up to the Pilfadonnas justttt a litttttlleee

-When Kali and Ghira see their stepkids flinch at loud voices or innocently raised hands, when they notice the low self-esteem Winter still carries or Whitley's facade of maturity so that adult figures actually acknowledge him, in front of the kids they're very respectful and apologetic of accidental triggers without being patronizing, but when they're alone? Straight fucking murder in their eyes. The Pilfadonnas are fucken e n r a g e d they're fucken seething because how dare Jackass Schnee hurt these sweet kids so fucking much

-They make sure neither the Schneeblings nor Willow are around when they let out their furious vents to each other absolutely slandering Jackass' name with clenched fists and bared fangs because they don't want their anger to trigger anyone but yeahhhh. Yeah, if Jacques is still out there we're adding two bisexual cat pilfs to the waiting list fer ripping his head off

-ANYWAYS, on a lighter note, can y'all imagine the Belladonnas are vibing and purring together all comfy and shit and the Schnees see them and are like, "Shit man they're so HEALTHY and FUNCTIONAL what the HECK??"

-Blake groaning, "Dadddddd!!" when her dad pulls up with family albums to talk about his precious daughter's childhood and, "Not you too mom!!!" when Kali excitedly joins in. As Blake is play wrestling with her parents to get the photobooks away, the Schnees are just witnessing this in various levels of amused but also kinda like, "Damn wow is this what a healthy family's supposed to look like dannggg that's crazzzzzyyyyyyyy"

-Vacations to Menagerie where the Belladonnas playfully make fun of their sunburnt as all hell white family members, and even though some Faunus are wary of the visiting Schnees, others are more open to giving these guys a chance and hey!! Turns out the SDC is actually going to be a good company after the shit Jacques Schnee pulled. Imagine the healing between Faunus relations and the Schnee family name when Willow and her kids pull up to help wherever and however they can

-I'm just saying family dinners would be so healthy and healing fer Willow and her kids after years filled with so many isolated, lonely, suffocating as hell dinners when Jacques still walked these halls. Instead of stiff etiquette and barbed questions throw their way by a spiteful bitchass with a clip-on tie, there's warm laughter and jovial banter thrown about; genuine inquires about their day/interests that lead to invested conversation and freely given praise; large, beaming smiles from three dark color-schemed people who radiantly glow like the sun. It's like the Belladonnas breathed back life into the hollowed out Schnees who barely survived all the different ways jackass had hurt them, and that's just so fucken lovely to think about

#please go check out part two with the bellaschneeblings interactions shit was SO FUN to write #also!! yall feel free to reblog with ur own hcs!! the more the merrier #snowleopard came outta nowhere and absolutely rotted my brain like theyre actually so good???#crwby u cowards give me the healthy old ppl polycule they would be so fucken good #Qrow n Willow would be recovering alcoholic bros- much to Winter's chagrin- but its to these two loving cat ppl that Willow comes home to #rebuilding vauco through the power of good parental figures therapy and bisexuality #rwby #rwby snow leopard #kali belladonna #ghira belladonna #willow schnee #pilfadonnas #schneeblings #winter schnee #weiss schnee #whitley schnee #blake belladonna #rwby snowleopard

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thenookienostradamus · 2 months

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It's incredibly interesting to come back to Hannibal (as in the show) after an extremely transformative near-decade of my life and note the differences in how I perceive the characters.

On the first watch, Hannibal came off as charming, suave, persuasive, and solid. I guess it's either a testament to Mads Mikkelsen's acting or a testament to the largely substantiated rumor that he often didn't know what the fuck Hannibal was supposed to be saying in a given scene that now his demeanor comes across so differently. It's still a mask, yes, but it's not one piece. It's a mosaic of hundreds of different pieces held together by (pardon the pun) force of will. Of course even a super-smart, super-sophisticated liar can't keep that many proverbial plates spinning at once, so the slips are frequent. Hannibal attracts curious and/or reckless people, people who want or feel compelled to find out what is underneath the mask. Alana, Mason, Jack, etc.

Of course that's the problem. Regular people - even extraordinarily perceptive ones - have trouble accepting the fact that there is nothing behind the mask. Only void. He's all surface. Hannibal is what he does, and that can vary from minute to minute. Only the occasional appearance of cohesion makes him look like anything other than a creature of pure, self-serving instinct. He collects pretty things, he eats, he tortures and kills. Most straightforward possible motive: gratification.

Will is of special interest to him because here is this sloppy-ass bleeding wound of a person who can't help but carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Will Graham is the universe's doormat...or so he perceives because he can't pry himself out of his own head. He just feeels so hard all the time. Now with some well-intentioned therapy and a lot of work, Will could build himself a toolkit to cope with that too-keen empathy. But he's not in a mindset where he wants to do that - or even can do it - because he thinks he's unfixable. That he alone among all humans is extra-special doomed to a life of constant mortal wounding, all of which somehow fails to kill him. It's pretty fucking exhausting, actually. Like, kindly get over yourself, sir.

Not that Hannibal is any different. 'I don't find you that interesting.' 'You will.' Oh please shut the fuck up, you drama queen.

Which is why their folie à deux comes about. In Will, Hannibal finds someone who is not only a constant victim but someone who deep down (or not so deep down) thinks he deserves everything that Hannibal dishes out. He fights it for a little while, but it's a perfunctory fight he puts up "because that's what a real person would do."

Not that Will is a total sheep (lamb?). Far from it. Once the realization hits, he goes all-in as Hannibal's punching bag. Because he knows Hannibal is just sadistic and patient enough to scrape out every last shred of his humanity. Which sounds like an incredible deal to the World's Saddest Sad Boy, because once Hannibal puts the finishing touches on his design...Will won't have to feel anymore. Ever again. Achievement fucking unlocked.

The other two characters that I find newly fascinating now where on the first go-round I hardly considered them at all are Bedelia and Abigail.

Bedelia knows exactly what Hannibal is and isn't. She sees it right away. But she literally can't stop herself from poking the bear for her own amusement until the bear turns and eats (part of) her. Pretty sure she considers the leg collateral damage...and a fair trade for having had the chance to needle that pompous fuck until he popped. That's how she gets her jollies.

Abigail, well...her dad was bush league. She's the real deal. Once she sees what she can have, she's not just letting Hannibal gut her, she's scooping out her own insides and handing them to him. Honestly, I think that pisses Hannibal off. He can't mold her at every step. He can't draw out the torment, which is his favorite thing. Once the torture victim starts breaking their own limbs or putting the thumbscrews on themselves, it ruins the fun. If she were older, she would have known that. But she's young, she's enthusiastic. She's all in on whatever she commits to, and that happens to be murder. And if she just skipped off into the sunset and leaned in by her own girlboss self, she could carve a bloody path through life that's easily as wide as Hannibal's, if not wider. But she sticks around a little too long, still not quite at the Bedelia level of recognition that kicking the hornet's nest could have visceral consequences, so she has to go. Kind of a shame, but she wasn't quite as good at suffering as Will is.

So Hannibal and Will may be "murder husbands," but the most important murders they commit are inside their own binary system. Will murdering himself endlessly and Hannibal also murdering Will endlessly. Everything else is just incidental.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal meta

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munsonownsmyass · 11 months

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Matt Murdock x tattoo artist reader

Summary: Finally working at the place of your dreams, you get the hardest client of your career.

Notes: When I read The Sweetest Pain (and part two) from @e-dubbc11 it sparked something in me. So I really wanted to make a little piece too. This one takes place in Billy's shop and the stories are intertwined, but can be read separately.

Warning: None. Just some flirting, pining and yearning for hot Matt. What?! So no spice in 3.8K words?! No, sorry. But there will be in part two (if anyone wants a part two, that is 😅)

Words: 3.8K

Standing outside the Anvil Tattoo Shop, you take a deep breath. For longer than you remember, you’ve wanted to be a tattoo artist. For years, you’ve practiced and been working in small, sleezy parlors, anything to get some experience. It had all been leading up to this. Hopefully a place at one of the finest shops you’ve seen.

Whenever you’ve walked past, you’ve been dreaming about working here. The owner, Billy and his employees are immaculate in their work, truly amazing and you want to be part of their team. With another deep breath, you pull yourself together and walk through the doors.

It’s still early, so there’s only three guys there. Billy you recognize instantly, but the other two you haven’t seen before. They all raise their gaze as you walk up to the counter.

“What can I do for you?” Billy asks, looking up from his sketch.

“I was hoping to get a job. I… I love your shop and admire your work so much and I want to be just as great as you some day, so-“ You stop, mentally scolding yourself over how awkward you are. Word vomit as if you’re some crazy fan. Hugging your folder full of your drawings and tattoos, you look to the men before you. “Sorry. I just-”

“Let me see.” Billy gestures to the folder and you hand it to him, hoping it’s good enough to land you a spot in his shop. “Why do you want to be a tattoo artist?”

“Because I’ve been through so much shit in my life and I’ve only ever felt happy when I draw… Or get a tattoo.” You chuckle softly, looking at Billy as he goes through your stuff. “Getting a tattoo is pain, but it’s a pain you control. It’s therapeutic. So whether I’m the one wielding the needle or getting a new piece on my skin, it’s like therapy. It’s something I can control.”

Billy stops and look at you, his eyes looking you over. You see in his eyes that he gets it, that he too have been through some shit in his life. And maybe that’s why no more than 10 minutes later you’ve signed a contract to work at Anvil Tattoo Shop.

The first few days go by so fast. You get your own space and some new gear, watching as Billy works. One of his buddies, Frank, lets you do a little piece on him so they can see how you work. Billy looks over your shoulder at the little skull you’re tattooing onto Frank’s chest.

“Your linework is amazing. You’re already on your way to being a great artist, Shortcake.” Billy rubs your back softly before he walks back to his own station. You blush, thinking this is probably the best day ever in your life so far.

“Easy there, kiddo. Billy is taken.” Frank whispers with a smile, looking at your flushed cheeks. You just laugh, before putting the needle back to Frank's skin.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s not my type.”

You could swear you hear Frank's heart stop for a second. You just grin, dipping the needle again, before tattooing again. “Okay, he is hot. Even a blind person could see that, but… I dunno, just not what I’m looking for.”

“I’ve never heard anyone say that before.” Frank chuckles, looking over at Billy. “I’m gonna rub that in his face.”

“Oh, I believe you.” You both grin as you finish up your work.

You’ve been there for almost a week now, when a new client walks in. Billy had already said that the next one through the doors would be yours and you’ve been sitting on the edge of your seat all morning. But your mood falters when you see his cane and glasses.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but this is a tattoo shop, just in case you didn’t see it. Fuck, I mean-” You bite your tongue, ready to bury yourself in a hole. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He chuckles, showing off a beautiful smile that leaves you weak in the knees.

“My brain stops working around hot guys.” You chuckle, but then shake your head, wishing the earth would just swallow you whole at this point. So fucking embarrassing. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Again. Look, I can get another artist for you.”

“I think you’ll be just fine.” He chuckles. Lucky for you, he seems to find your awkwardness adorable. You look to Billy, silently asking if it’s okay or if he’d rather pull you from this client, but all you see is him and Frank trying not to laugh.

“Okay, good. So what can we do for you today?”

“A tattoo would be nice.” He grins playfully and you hate the way you react to it.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place then.” You bite your lip, hating the fact that your first real client is this hunk of a man and not just some random girl. You really don’t want to make a fool of yourself but it seems like that ship has already sailed. “Right, if you come with me, we can discuss the design.”

“Would you mind?” He extends his arm for you to take, so you do, guiding him to a little desk where he can sit while you draw.

“Looks like we know what her type is now.” Frank whispers, making Billy break. They both laugh and you flip them off, making a mental note to kick their asses later.

“Hey Frank.” The man says, smiling in Frank's direction.

“Hey there Red. Didn’t picture you as a tattoo guy.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He smirks and you sense there’s some kind of inside joke between the men, especially when you see the way Frank just smiles, before he turns back towards Billy.

“So, uhm…”

“Matt.”

“Matt.” You say softly, thankful he is blind and can’t see the heavy blush on your cheeks or the way your eyes study his face. He is really handsome and you're instantly drawn to his lips. Really beautiful lips. This is bad. You should focus.

“What type of tattoo were you looking to get?” You question, but you’re not even sure you hear the answer. Something something catholic. Look at that jawline. And that scruff. Wonder how he’d look with a full beard?

“Okay, good good.” You cough, scribbling something down on paper. Matt laughs, placing one of his hands on your arm.

“You want me to repeat it?” He smirks. Shit. He knows. Of course he knows. He probably has this effect on every woman he meets.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Just so I’m sure we agree.” You say, this time really listening to him. You love the idea he has, already doing a little sketch as you talk. It’s a typical catholic tattoo, a cross, rosary and a text, but you’re determined to make this great and special.

Soon you’ve done talking, already have a time booked and an outline to work with. As Matt leaves the shop, you sigh at the counter, not being able to think about anything else than what color his eyes might be. Frank and Billy come up on either side of you, both with shiteating grins.

“You want me to help with the sketch? I think I paid more attention than you did.” Billy grins and Frank cracks up.

“Fuck off. Fuck all the way off.” You flip them the finger before walking back to your desk. This was probably going to be the hardest job in your career.

When Matt returns a few days later for his first appointment, you’re nervous. Not just because you’re going to be so close to the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, but also because you want to do a good job. You want to do Billy proud and Matt trusts you. He’s put more trust in you than anyone before. You’ve thought about it, him not being able to even know what you’re putting on his skin. So you’ve done something you never thought you’d do.

With help from an old artistic friend, you’ve managed to make a sketch he can feel. Each line is raised from the paper, almost like braille. You know he probably can’t make out everything, but at least it’s something. You slide the sketch over to Matt and watch as his fingers touch the paper.

“I know it’s not perfect, but I hope you can feel some of it.” You bite your bottom lip nervously, studying his face. He smiles as his fingers dance over the sketch and you see the surprise on his face when he reaches the text, made in braille. You already had another sketch with the actual text, this one was just for Matt.

“You-” He looks up, his eyes almost finding yours as he searches for the right words to say. “This is incredible. Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that for me.”

“Yeah, well… I know how much a tattoo can mean to a person and it’s something you’re gonna have with you forever, so… wanted you to know what I made for you.” You shrug, blushing again when you see the smile on Matt’s face.

“It’s perfect. And the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me.” His hand lands on yours, giving it a soft squeeze. “So thank you. Well, should we get started then?”

“I’m ready when you are. Just let me prepare the stencil.”

You lead him to the chair before walking over to get the stencil ready. You hear Billy and Andy snicker softly, but you try to ignore them. But when you turn around, you stop dead in your tracks. There he is, shirtless. His body is beyond what you could even conjure up in your mind, muscular and hard. So hard.

You’re not a believer, but you almost feel like thanking God for bestowing Matt and his perfect body upon you. You praise yourself lucky he wants the tattoo on his back, cause if he had faced you, you’d never get it done.

After everything is prepped and Matt is ready, you start. He doesn’t even flinch as the needle pierces the skin.

“Just tell me if it hurts and you need a break. It is a big piece for a first tattoo.”

“I’m used to pain.” He smiles over his shoulder before laying down again and you continue your work. Billy walks over every now and then, complimenting your work. You’re happy for the praise, you really are, but you barely notice him, all your attention on Matt. How he breathes softly as you work, a small sigh or groan if you hit a sensitive spot.

“You have a very gentle touch.” He says at one point and you almost combust, thoughts about how you wish you could have your hands on Matt in a not so gentle manner. But you just bite your lip, trying not to say anything.

“You making Matt feel good over there, Shortcake?” Billy teases and you just shoot him a grin, shaking your head.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, making sure to look him in the eyes as you dip your needle. “I can do you once I’m done with Matt.”

“Oh, you got a deal.” He grins and you turn your attention back to Matt. It was all just for fun, both because he was your boss and he had a girl. But you enjoyed the playful banter and flirting.

All too soon you’re done with the first session and clean up Matt’s tattoo. You’re really proud of it so far and you make sure to tell Matt all about it, trying to give him a mental image of how it looks. At the counter, as you make his next appointment, he leans in close.

“So you and Billy… Are you dating?”

“What? No!” You say a little too loud, causing Andy to chuckle as Billy feign being hurt. You mouth a sorry before looking at Matt again. “No, we’re not. I’m single. Very single.”

“Good to know.” He gives you another one of his radiant smiles, before taking the card with the time of his next appointment. At the door he pauses. “So. How am I supposed to care for this when it’s on my back?”

“Oh, uhm… Maybe a friend… or your girlfriend can help you?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m very single too.” With a grin, he leaves the shop and you don’t even try to hide the grin on your face. He’s cute, single and you’re pretty sure he just maybe a subtle, but lewd suggestion. Oh, you’re definitely in trouble.

The next few days you try to forget about your hot client and luckily, Billy has some clients come in with wishes that match your style. So you emerge yourself in work, trying to make the days go faster.

When you walk into work, everyone else is already busy with clients. You greet them and see Billy’s girl is in for her second session. You’ve been dying to meet her, so you walk over. But before you say hi, her beautiful tattoo steals your attention. Billy’s work is always beautiful, but this octopus is something else. You lean in close to really see all the fine details, putting your hand on Billy’s shoulder very carefully.

“Wow! Billy, that’s incredible.” You say with a big smile.

“Thanks…” He pauses and looks up at you. “Shortcake, this is my sweet girl. Baby, this is my new artist, Shortcake.”

She extends her hand and you shake it, noticing the beautiful rose tattooed on the back of her hand. “Hi there. It’s nice to meet you.”

You could see what Billy saw in her. Beautiful and she seemed kind. And she did have very good taste in tattoos, so you already knew you’d like her too.

“Oh jeez, I should have recognized you from your pictures. Why didn’t you tell me she was coming in today, Billy?! It’s nice to meet you too.” You say, genuinely happy to finally meet her.

Sitting down at your station, you pull out some sketches for tonight’s client. “Wish I’d known she came though, so I could have made a better impression.” You gesture to your clothes and makeup which was very basic this evening.

Billy just smiles before looking over his shoulder. “You always look good.”

“Aw, thank you.” You smile with a shy shrug. “You too, by the way. Love the new hair.”

You don’t even think about it, always being flirty by nature, so for the rest of the evening you and Billy keep it up, all for fun of course. Your mind is still on Matt and your appointment tomorrow. You can’t wait to see him again.

“You’re daydreaming again.” You hear Billy say as he keeps working on Rose. “Thinking about anyone special?” He grins and you know he’s referring to Matt.

“Oh, you know there’s only one guy for me.” You wink at him, before returning to your client. You focus on your work, but the mention of your name makes you look up in time to see Rose walk out the shop.

“Done already?”

“She was just tired.” He looks after her and you don’t press him further and just return to your client.

One of your favorite things was to sleep in, just laying in bed, maybe reading a good book. And even though you had no plans before later today, you had woken up at dusk, unable to fall back to sleep. Today was Matt’s second appointment. A small part of you had thought about being slow today, dragging it out so he had to come back.

You had heard about Billy’s little trick with Rose, making sure she’d come back. You noticed it quickly. He works fast, but not with her. It was kinda cute. So maybe you could do the same? No, it wouldn’t be proper. You shake the thought as you get ready, deciding to head to the shop early. Better to use your time cleaning than just pace your apartment.

Getting there, you restock on colors, gloves, needles. Clean around your station and the others too. When Billy walks in, he seems pleasantly surprised, but also has a worried look on his face.

“You okay there, Shortcake?” He walks closer, leaning against the counter as he looks at you.

“Yeah, just… Getting ready for Ma- my appointment. Thought I’d clean a bit.” You smile, continuing to sweep the floor. But Billy's hand on yours stops you.

“I can see you’re not.” He takes the broom from you and puts it aside, getting you to sit down on your chair. “You really like this guy?”

“Well, I don’t have to.” You shrug, looking away. Even though Billy has mixed business with pleasure, it doesn't make it okay for you to do it too. He and Rose had been friends for years, so that was different. “I know it would be unprofessional, so-”

With raised brows, Billy looks at you and for a minute you’re not sure if he truly is offended. But his face makes you giggle. “I’m sorry, Billy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” He reassures you as he pulls you in for a quick hug, before he lets you go again. “You’re talented and you’ll do great. And if that Murdock guy doesn’t like you back, he’s a fool. Now, back to work.”

He pats your back as you walk away and returns to his own stuff. You look over your shoulder, thankful for Billy and for him taking a chance on you.

Walking through the doors to the Anvil Tattoo Shop was the highlight of Matt’s week. Ever since the last appointment, he had been thinking about you. Besides being one of the most thoughtful women he’d ever met, you were funny, flirty and smart.

Throughout the session he had a hard time focusing with your hands on him. Surprisingly gentle, considering the needle in your hand. He hadn’t felt the pain, not really, too focused on you. How your heart would beat faster whenever he touched you or gave you a compliment. How your blood would rush to your cheeks at his smile. But most importantly he was surprised at how much he loved his name on your lips.

“I’m ready for you, Matt.” You say softly and Matt has to fight not to smile like a fool at your sweet voice. He follows you to the chair, smirking as he hears the way your breath hitch at seeing his bare chest.

Like the last time, time flies by in the chair. He should feel bad for being here, for enjoying your company as you defile his skin, but he doesn’t. He’ll atone for it later. Atone for the impure thoughts about you.

He knew he would feel everything more given his heightened senses, but this he would never have expected. How soft your touch is, how your breath ghost over his skin when you lean in closer. Your body pressed against his all while inflicting him with this sweet pain.

Between your flirty remarks and your genuine attempt to get to know him, you ask if he’s okay. How can he even answer that? Now that he’s felt this, he will never be okay again. He is exposed in a way he’s never been before, completely at your mercy.

“How’s it going here?” Billy asks as he inspects the tattoo. There’s about an hour's work left and you’re so happy with what you’ve done so far and by the look on Billy’s face, he's proud of your work too.

“With me or her?” Matt questions, making you smile again. “Cause even though I’m no stranger to pain, it’s starting to hurt a little.”

You all laugh and before you can stop yourself, you gently caress Matt’s arm, promising him it’s over soon. Billy gives you a soft pat on the back and notices how some of your hair has gotten loose, so he tugs it back behind your ear, so it’s not blurring your vision.

“Don’t worry, Matt. I’m sure she’ll make it up to you.” Billy winks up at Matt and you can’t help but play along.

“Oh, you know me, Billy. Always leave ‘em feeling good.”

He just about to say something back, when you hear Rose call him from the counter. You’d been so busy with Matt and Billy, neither of you had noticed her come in. She seems upset, so Billy quickly leaves you to your work and follows her out.

“You know what's happening?” Andy asks quietly and you just shake your head. You’re suddenly nervous on Billy’s behalf. You know he’s in love with Rose, that’s clear to see, so you really hope there aren't any problems.

“So, if Billy isn’t your type, who is?” Matt’s question takes you by surprise. You had never mentioned that to anyone besides Frank.

“Ehm, well… I’ve always had a thing for mysterious guys with red glasses. And I do have a thing for eyes, especially if they’re-” you drag out the last word, watching Matt smile as he removes his glasses, revealing the most beautiful hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, “-hazel. I was gonna say that, you know.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You work a little more, seeing out of the corner of your eye how Andy is making his way to the door, trying to eavesdrop on Billy and Rose. Dipping the needle again, you sigh. “I hope he’s not in trouble.”

“He’s not anymore.”

Before you can ask how he knows, they return and everyone in the shop pretends nothing is wrong. When you find out the reason behind Rose being upset, you could kick yourself. You apologize to her several times, promising you didn’t mean anything with the flirting. It’s in your nature, but you promise not to do it again.

Everything seems to fall into place and you finish up Matt’s tattoo. It’s beautiful, if you had to say so yourself and you knew Matt would love it when you tell him about it.

“You know-” he starts, smiling softly, “- the last time it was quite hard to do the aftercare properly. And my friend Foggy was not too pleased with rubbing my back.”

“Well, we can’t have that. So what do you suggest then?” You laugh seductively.

“What if I buy you dinner?” He gives you a flirty smile, making your heart beat hard in your chest. “Then you can tell me all about the after care or… You could show me?”

“Dinner sounds great.” You giggle, feeling your cheeks burn. “But I’m not off until 9.”

“I can take your last client.” Billy says behind you. “She can be ready at 7.”

You look over at Billy with his arms around Rose, both of them giving you a big smile. You mouth a thank you, before returning to Matt to discuss the details about tonight. When he leaves, you can’t help but smile. Dream job and maybe soon, a dream man. You couldn’t really imagine life getting any better than this.

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