#Wanted to do something creepy-ish so I made this

[cyber-tyger]

Behold!

Malak and birb Julian!

[fawnpires]

AMORAL SILHOUETTES — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

༉‧₊˚ ┊ PART 2.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: infatuations with older men were morally wrong, but never applying to him.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: afab!reader, manhandling, breeding kink, pet-names, praise kink, oral sex (female receiving), size difference, creampies, reader is in her 20's, ghost is a single dad, touch-starved, domesticity, squirting.

You've seen him around the neighborhood before — towering in height, bulging biceps, and a skull balaclava sheltering the structure of whatever laid under, the structure of his concealed face. It was a known fact that you bear an attraction to him, but you just couldn't own up to it, feeling a little too shamed to be conscious about a little school-girl crush on a man much older than you. A man who was a hard-working, ex-military, single father who paid no attention to girls in the same line that you found yourself in — but was it hard not to steal a view glances whenever he was seen around the neighborhood whether it was for a few minutes or seconds despite his lack of ability to communicate with others, though it was obvious he chose not to be around others for a good waste of his time excluding his children.

So when he came strolling up the slope of your driveway and a gloved fist beating at your front door, you had thought you were in another one of your trances — molded daydreams of him; minor fantasies of Simon Riley in that same balaclava giving you all of his affection, kissing you, treating you as if you were his pretty wife — a life that you could never make a single complaint about.

Ghost — his more preferred name used on other's tongues — stands eerily underneath the giving-out light of your porch, with nothing but a set of dusky eyes and a whole lot of muscle beneath the puny fabric of a black v-neck. You, stand on the opposite side of the door and impassively stare, nonetheless avoiding the eye contact when he gapes at you for longer than intended.

"I'm assuming you're the daughter." he said, reserved, dull.

"Sure am, did you need something?"

He clears his throat. "Well, this might be a strange thing to ask — and a bit sudden," He brought his hands to tuck in his pockets. "But would you mind looking after my kids for a while? I'll pay you for every hour, just a couple days of the week."

His offer was the last thing on the brink of your mind when he happened to show up, asking you for a favor — being in his house, where he lived, with his presence ghosting around. It sounded creepy. A bit stalker-ish to think of it like that — but you played it off as an innocent favor he asks of his neighbor, just a few hours of your day taken off to go kid-watching for the man who you admired the most.

"A couple days of the week?" You repeat his words back to him.

"I'm certain."

"I mean, sure, I'll take the offer, but when do you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening is fine, around six."

You bit your lip. "Got it. Have a good-night, Mr. Riley."

"Knew I could rely on you, thanks, doll."

A single wave was managed. No verbal good-bye, just a wave from the hand that was freed from the confines of his pocket — and a pet-name taken straight to the pinpoint of your heart. You watch as he turns his back and finds himself across the street to where he coincidentally had lived — watching as he outstretched his arms and embraced a young girl with no emotion that had intentionally been shown to the public. Doll. It was unknown if his label for you was something he did purposely or had just slipped from his masked lips.

Either way, it made you feel like cherished like never before, his doll.

The day in which Ghost's favor was asked of you passed by quickly into the day the favor was actually supposed to be performed, straight at six, right in the center of where the sky was going through modifications of warmth to a bitter cold. Much like him with more anxiousness residing in your chest, you were across the street and bound to his porch, a dress shrouding your figure up to the bottoms of your thighs. Dressing and dolling yourself up made you look like you were going more on a night-out rather than a baby-sitting shift. Unintentional was the word for it. Unintentional to be all formal when in the same proximity. You half-recover from your birthing nervousness and thump on the door gently.

"Mr. Riley, it's me." you blatantly said, the door still closed.

With your words blurted out the door seemed to open on command — aggressively, as if it were going to be discharged from the hinges. Rather than a giant of a man in the doorframe there stood a girl half the size of it, lightly-shaded blonde hair up in pigtails with a cherubic face, staring right up at you as she titled her head. Honestly, you weren't good with children, but kindness was fundamental as of that. You give her a forced smile pressed up into the corners of your mouth as if held at gunpoint, whispering a small greeting and a wave. How maternal of you.

From further into the house came footsteps, blaring footsteps, and the little girl was no longer stood two feet on the surface of the ground but lifted into her father's arms with a brief giggle. You weren't going to stand here and be blamed a liar if that didn't advance an adoration for him in the moment.

"Thank you so much for coming and apologies, it's my fault for letting you in late," he said. "Make yourself at home."

"Don't worry about it." you reassure.

Ghost's house was clean and neutral, but gave off a decent interior of a past lieutenant's home well. There were a few toys littered around, a locked exhibition cabinet of ex-military trinkets, piled-up envelopes, and one other silhouette of a little girl bearing similarities to the one in his arms. Nothing in his house gave off a girlish ambience, besides two daughters, but it was masculine; like an adequate, suburban variety of a old-fashioned farmhouse with rifles and deer heads on display replaced with military collections.

There was a microscopic chance of danger with a bunch of firearms and artillery gear laying around but as someone as wise as himself, of course he kept a lock on it. Chain, even, if he wanted to get that far into territory.

"Bedtime's at eight, food is already ordered, and you have the entire house to yourself past the eight-o-clock mark." Ghost said. He provided you with a spare key, his bared fingers brushing against yours as he placed it in the middle of your hand. "So you have plenty of time to, you know, relax."

"When will you be home?"

"Around ten, but wait up on me — I'll give your pay up before you leave."

"So I stay until ten?"

"Sure do."

"You can trust me, for sure."

"I know I do." he said.

His eyes trail over you for a minute longer before bending his knees and and allowing his daughter to be freed from his grasp, legs straightening up again as he pat your shoulder. "Thanks, kid, I'll see you later."

All of these nicknames were blurted from his mouth like nothing — first it was doll, now kid, and it just left you anticipated for what he would grant you next with. That though stuck to your mind like a nail screwed by a hammer, watching as he took his jacket and folded it in his arms, swearing that he gave you one last glance before he unlatched the door and shut it behind him — leaving you to bathe in the first touch he acted on you, his effortless terms of endearment, and the two resembling daughters he relied to be cared of.

Spiraling. You had to be spiraling.

Your hours spent with the children were calm. They had warmed up to you pretty fast and had dragged you nearly to every spot of their home. Up the stairs where their shared bedroom stood at the hall, a couple of bathrooms downstairs, a storage closet, the showcase of weaponry, and even Ghost's bedroom. They declared his room was some kind of secretive hideout, only being in there a limited amount of times, but urging you to take them in there along you. It was going to be difficult to get out of the pressuring so, having your own fun, you let them explore around his room — like you were a cool older sister, or mother, to them.

The title "Mother" exclaimed from one of the girls, ultimately leading into them repeatedly a series of them calling you variations of mom, mommy, mother, throughout the night instead of the name you had given them to call you. You weren't extremely irritated with it, you actually found it slightly adorable considering that they didn't even have a mother and latched onto you as some sort of female parent never obtained, nonetheless it was practically harmless and brought no harm down on you.

Baking cookies, some sort of role-playing they convinced you to star in, doing their hair in all sorts of girly ribbons and accessories almost made you feel like you were a little girl again — it had drained them out pretty easily but gave them a sense of girlhood, giving no offense to Ghost. A vision crossed your mind, eventually spearing your mind, that you were the real mother to these girls. A female figure to look up to and issue them a full family with a packed set of two parents. It had been drilled to you the other half of the the night, you kept a close eye on them as they had gotten ready for bed and prepared themselves under the covers.

With a deportation of reading a shabby bedtime story and a few ruffles to both of their heads, you finally had his home to yourself. Anything you wanted to do was accessible, easy-to-do, but with no danger of waking up the girls. Exhaustion was present, though, with all of your lone ideas to-do in mind you ended up on the couch. Your head tilted in one palm as you legs crossed under the skirt of your dress, the illuminations of late-night talk shows on television glowing your face in shades of dissimilar hues.

Staying up and waiting for Ghost to walk right through the front door was starting to become a challenge. Blaming his daughters for putting you in a state of pure fatigue was never the right thing to do, although it was easy to admit. Your eyelids were heavy with one more glance at the clock, which read a quarter to nine, meaning that this night could come to its finale and you could see that face of his — physically, up-close, like you did three hours ago.

As you were right at your breaking point into a slumber the doorknob trembling and echoing into the room where you were buzzed you awake. Stretching over the arm of the sofa and sloping your head to where the door was visible, knob had stopped with the commotion, the door silently opening a crack before blew open. To your relief and satisfaction it's the man who've you longed for the entire day, like a depressed stay-at-home housewife. His jacket is thrown on a nearby table as he could only stare at your laid figure over the couch, eyes squinting.

"Welcome home."

"Appreciate it. Are the girls upstairs?" Ghost asked with a finger pointing to the floor above.

"All knocked out."

"Jesus, what did all of you do?"

"Just a little girl-fun, that's all, baking — stuff like that." you said with a no-teeth grin.

"I could only thank you again for that," he sighs and pulls out a couple dollar bills stuffed in the jean of his pocket. "You don't have any idea how hard it is to get those two asleep."

"Really? They're like little angels, they loved me."

"I bet they did," he said while setting your pay on the coffee table. "Here, an entire hundred stack."

"Hundred?"

"You deserve it, do you not?"

"I'm only a part-time babysitter, Mr. Riley, not a full time worker."

"Yes, but you're a good girl, are you not? Going through all the trouble to make time for me and my kids — so I can assure you this is my pay for you, think of it as a prize."

"God, well, thank you." you said, processing his terms of good girl, heat rising to your face. "You really love those girls, don't you?"

"They're my pride and soul." he said while taking a seat next to your half-laid body, dipping the cushion of the couch. "I only want the best for them, that's why I chose you to look after them."

"Me, why?"

"It's difficult to explain, and a bit strange but — you've always reminded me of my past wife, kind and loved her kids, soft spot even for the people she didn't really know."

"I didn't know I could resemble someone so much." you said, mouth going dry.

Ghost laughs. "Yeah, she was quite beautiful too, like you."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Hell, love, you've got the looks any man you could fall for.

His hand comes to gently rest on your thigh and you look up at him through droopy eyelids, this didn't feel real. This couldn't be real, right? It couldn't be proved as false when his calloused fingers started rubbing tender circles into your skin, eyes of his own half-lidded and crinkling around with the tar-like paint staining skin. You and him were playing a dangerous game, pent-up tension right in here in his living room, a man by all means older and more mature than you've ever been — it was so easy to give into him so fast.

"You like that, huh?" he keeps his voice low and continues the strokes on your thigh. "You ever been touched like this, dollface?"

"No, sir."

"Mm. I liked the way you called me sir, honey. Come here, sit-up."

You balance yourself on twitching elbows and Ghost moves in between your thighs, his body weight heavy compared to your smaller physique as he lifts the cloth-edge of his balaclava for you, revealing a light stubble peppering the anatomy of his face and somewhat coarse lips that pressed up against yours. Your hands hoist to caress his face, kneading into his sinking cheekbones with each move to intensify the kiss. His pink muscle of a tongue forces your lips open and laps at every crevice of your mouth — your arms linking around his head, his fingers once at your thighs now under your skirt and massaging in circular motions at your fabric-clothed cunt. Small whimpers of shame leak into the kiss, evolving into moans, his massaging enhancing with every finished motion.

Ecstasy ran through your veins, pulsing with adrenaline and contentment. Your legs are fragile, trembling, alongside your cunt flourishing a moistness in its fiber confinement. The man of your daydreams no longer is just a fragment of your delusional head, but right where you've longed for him to be, taking and compelling you to be obedient for him. Only him, always him.

The ministrations on your veiled cunt withdraws and drags a moan from the depths of your throat. One of his hands instead crawl underneath your pushed-together legs and the other supports your back. You dive into his lips with a hunger once more and he manhandles you so delicately despite the tough behavior, you're drunk on the taste of Ghost as he works through the house up the stairs, through the hallway, and brings you into his room where you once stood earlier — the click of the lock confirms your status, you're safe as long as you're with him.

His hands pressing into the flesh of your body is loosened up as he lays you gently on the mattress as if you were created of porcelain — which did have some sense in it bearing in mind that you, essentially, were his doll of a girl by his own words. Defines of his eyes stream your body up and down, towering over you in height, yourself much more reduced and small. Fingers assist you with stripping your dress, leaving you in an arrangement of panties and bra complimenting every curve and bow of your figure. He curses mutely under his breath, huge palms cupping and kneading at your breasts, his knees resting on the bed.

Your whimpers are more pristine and clear to his naked ear. Looking through your languid-like eyes, a bulge is positioned right at his jeans, and his shirt had been ripped off of him — possibly during the time where your eyes had been closed to immerse in his touch.

"Such pretty tits, love." He said with a grunt. A deep guttural grunt.

"They're all for you, mister, always have been."

"Not mister, not even Ghost — Simon to you, and it's going to be Simon when I'm pounding into this tight little cunt of yours."

His words add on to the wet arousal staining your panties, swearing a second heartbeat could be felt, a throbbing and senseless feeling.

"You like this pair?" Ghost asks, nudging at your panties.

"Not important." you reply through short, cut breaths.

With your consent, he takes both of his hands, ripping the fabric in half. A gasp delivers from your open mouth — both at the cold air's impact on your exposed entrance and the material ripping apart. He has a look in his eyes that resembles a feral animal, one that is undomesticated and always in a repetitive state of hunger. Ghost backs you up to lay against his pillows to allow more space for him to climb on the mattress with you. He wastes no time with leaning himself down and hooking your bare legs in a hold around both arms, resting right at his broad shoulders. Those same eyes of hunger peer up at you with the bottom half still exposed from the bruising make-out session.

You feel a mushy lick bumping at your clit, causing your back to arch to the ceiling with a high-pitched moan, who knew such a motion could make you so submissive in a short span of time. The palm of your hand is instantly cupped around your mouth like a guard as Ghost continued his ministrations on your lips — no longer kitten licks but long, dragged out ones that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and struggling to muffle such sexual noises deprived from your mouth for the sake of his daughters fast-asleep down the hall.

"You taste like heaven," he grunts. "You're such an angel, making those sweet noises all for a guy like me."

"Only you, fuck, you feel so good." you whined, fisting the bedsheets at your sides.

"That's my girl."

The slant of his nose stimulates your clit while he proceeds with his longer, stroking tongue advances reaching deep inside your cunt. Your surroundings are heated with an addition of pure wetness, sweat, and mess clogging your brain up. His tongue provides you with a pleasure even your own fingers couldn't drive out of you, drool pools at a corner of your mouth while his grip on your legs hardens, strokes of his tongue becoming more aggressive — driving you quicker over an edge, your stomach in knots and oversensitivity. Your vision starts to blur out once you realize you can't control the sounds that he forces out of you, his tongue again and again savoring you as if you were his last meal on death row — he was desperate and willing to lap up your juices staining his face and your inner-thighs, Ghost was just as deprived as you were for him.

A thick sensation adjoins his tongue and nose, overwhelming sparks of emotion possessing you. The palm around your mouth is useless at this point, it lays flat and abandoned as a fist clutching at the sheets, moans chased out humiliatingly. You needed to come, come for him, for your own sake — but that was hard to think about when Ghost was mouth-fucking and finger-fucking you at the same exact time, much like some pornographic type video. A cliche one.

You were squeezing around whatever he stuck in you next — his tongue, his fingers, his tongue, or an combination, you were with no doubt tight and squeezed around any of his body parts.

"Fuck, you gonna come, sweetheart?" he asked, muffled with your clit puckered between his lips. "It's okay, come for me, just like that."

"Baby! Oh my go-"

Your back arches to an impossibly high rate when the knot in your stomach unties itself willingly, a wave of arousal gushing in streams on his face. Audible whines fall from your lips as you fall back right in contact with the plush of the bed. Sweat and the scent of sex reeks around you and Ghost, your chest rising with each hefty breath that is fished from your lungs. Your blurred vision is somewhat returned to its original shape, enough to make out Ghost — with his bare chest and your arousal at his face, tongue used to make said arousal transpire licking around at it, and his inked forearm. He was sticky and sweaty, a little tired, but obtained the right amount of stamina to be right inside you, just like he had wanted.

"Simon." you heaved out below, his fingers pressing into your hips. "Fuck me, please. I need you so bad, needed you ever since you've first moved here."

Ghost releases a low grunt and within a few seconds, he's messing with his belt — shakily unbuckling it and shrugging his pants to the floor. His boxers are no place of concealment, the prominent outline of his bulge protruding beyond the fabric, the sight provoking you to press your thighs together and rev-up that weakness present in your knees. He tugs at the waistband and slowly, painfully, lowers the border bordering item down — his cock almost immediately coming to press against his lower abs, at his lower stomach, really giving you the idea of how big he was. His balaclava is fully suited back on his face as the he leans down to give a final stream of soft kisses at your stomach through the mask, a hand pumping from the base of his cock to the tip.

"You want this, angel?" he groans with his pumps before he releases himself from his hand, positioning the tip of his cock right at the entrance of your swollen cunt as he provided a pre-fuck with only his tip. "Want my cock deep inside your pussy, pounding you into the mattress?"

"Oh god, I do, want you to fuck me as if I'm your wife, your pretty little housewife."

With one unforeseen jolt of his hips, he slams into you, your tight walls fondling him as if you were made for him. Your arms link around his torso as he moves his hips slowly, nails etching into the muscles of his back.

"Fucking hell, I can feel you squeezin' around me, love," he pants out, thrusts developing into a more faster pace. "This pussy is so good to me..."

"You're so fucking big, fuck."

Ghost jackhammers his cock into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, your legs squeezing around his waist. Your mouth widens with each moan and whimper he could drain you of — he pounds into you, fucking you like an animal rabid, sinking fully inside with each thrust of his hips. There's a composure and steady rhythm he keeps, allowing him to punctuate each of his plunges with his cock kissing at your cervix, his hand moving down to your clit. His thumb rolls over the bud and correlates it with how he fucks you, your nails digging at the skin of his back.

"Want to put a baby in you," he groans as his hips rock faster, nearly knocking the breath out of you, his fingers ghosting over the imprint of his cock in your lower stomach. "We'll have a perfect lil' family together, such a pretty little mother to my kids. You would let me do that, yeah?"

He's pistoning his hips in-and-out of you, your cunt naturally squeezing around him as your whines grew in pitch. His words held so much meaning — an entire family with him? Spending a lifetime with the older man you've adored from across the street? It had sounded more like paradise, anything that you've ever wished for in life. He knew he loved you so much, and you knew you loved him as equally, so much that he could imagine your cunt all full of his seed — stomach swelling with his child.

You nod as an agreement and he grunts, thrilled at the idea of you and him birthing something so intimate with each other. A family, your family, his family. It was a scheme he never thought he would be overly-obsessing, despite his disagreement with it during his time serving the army. But he dropped it, as long as he had you, and a devoted life.

"Want that so bad-" you squeal out, the sensation of a knot in your stomach on its last support heels, each of his drilling thrusts pulling you nearly to a climax. "Wanna have your baby, yours forever." Your phrase comes out slurred as the knot is broken of the last support it was on, sending you back into another session of short paradise.

"You're so beautiful. Going to breed this pussy with all my cum, honey." He sinks into you more erratic as he feels the walls of your cunt grasp abnormally tightly around him, his head going bare and distorted, the only initial thought in-tact was to keep the flow of thrusts he had fabricated — though, said flow was quickly dismembering.

His fingers of projecting veins running up his knuckles that were conveniently gripping your hips with such a pressure molded your skin into his contact easily. Your moans coming from a thrown back head against his cologne-scented pillows merged with Ghost's persistent heavier grunts — it's almost like a choir, using two valid voices, and delivering some sort of out-of-tune melody but with a hint of great profound beauty behind it.

The sensitive nipples of your breasts rub up right against his sweat-sheen chest in company with the dog tags strewn around his neck swaying in your face. He's leaning into you and has you caged in with no escape, his flow of thrusts gone, both of you desperate for a release. His muted breathing is irregular and heavy, your legs trembling and weak encircling his waist. His name is on your tongue and it leaks into the air, chanting it like your life was depending on it at the moment — depending on him. The lewd squelching of the head of his cock kissing your cervix, his noises combined with yours, the slapping of skin-on-skin — all of it was such an erotic sight to the human eye.

His head is back resting in the expanse between your head and shoulder, balaclava raised to expose the area of his lips once again, the warmth of those lips stamping sloppy, wet kisses into your neck; you squeal out as you're driven to your breaking point, a rush of arousal pressuring from your cunt and spraying onto his lower abs while he douses his cum deep into your swollen cunt. His own high-point doesn't stop him from sneaking a few more smaller thrusts for a bit, assuring all of his seed stays remains inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice breaking off, his knuckles are ghosting a shade paler than white while he keeps purchase on both sides of your hips. He's stuttering over breaths as he tries to catch up with them, eyes falling to your immobile self. Your mouth is vaguely unfastened with breaths taken, eyes nearly closed, body slightly shuddering with the collisions of his cock still felt up inside of you — leaving your filled cunt fluttering around nothing.

"Too rough on you, sweetheart?" He asks, raspy.

"I think I'm okay, besides —you made my night even better."

He chuckles, a rare vision coming from a man like himself. "I'm happy to assist with that."

"Also," you imposed a dopey grin on your lips. "You should ask me for favors more often."

[livingemkayde]

in plain sight

joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 2.8k

↳ warnings: lets see what were cooking with today team, this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, joel is kinda creepy (!) but in a fun way!? public / visible undressing, idk if this counts as it but like voyeurism?? or exhibitionism? idk im not too versed with my -isms. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: heres a little short (ish) one shot because i have COVID and i am SAD!!! joel is literally peeping tom 😭. idk where this came from, and i will not be giving an explanation at this time! thanks for reading and supporting, as always, inbox is sooo open and i love you all.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble.  “You should close your blinds.”  “You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest.  “You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?” His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further.  “Hm?” he slots your body between his legs.  You shake your head.

He can see you—through the window. 

You weren’t sure at first. He’s new in town, took the place next to yours. But it was a peering, sneaking feeling following you around your room. Especially in that limbo between dinner and midnight. When you get especially restless and the yellow light emanating from your room is highlighted against the blueish black sky. 

You knew it was something, an unvoiced feeling that made you keep your mouth shut. But it didn’t will you to shut your blinds. It wasn’t creepy—it excited you. Maybe some sick part of you changes in front of the window just for him. 

So when you had caught him—two nights ago. It only spurred you on further. 

You got caught in the rain, sprinting upstairs and stripping down to your underwear. You didn’t even think he was home. Maybe that’s why you didn’t close your blinds before shedding your clothes—or maybe it was something else entirely. 

The soaked cotton of your t-shirt plopped down onto the hardwood. You stepped out of your jeans, turning your back to the window subconsciously. And when you reached around your own back to unclasp your bra, you felt it—that peering gaze. 

Delicate fingers undid the clasp and as you pulled the straps off your body, you looked over your shoulder, hitching your chin to the side. 

And you saw him, standing at his window. He had a cup of something in his hand, a tight fist wrapped around it. The soft rays of sunlight pushed a heavy glare over his body but you could see his face—a deer in headlights. A thief, caught red handed. In a blazing offense. 

And you, equally shocked—that it really was him looking all this time—that he spent his afternoon hours peering over into your room instead of living his life in his. That the stoic, grumpy, brooding — Joel Miller — stood studying you undressing like a showgirl. 

You had gasped a little, a quick thing, and he shut his blinds just as quickly and turned away—his shadow faded into the dim light of his bedroom window. 

Truthfully, you look for him everywhere you go. At the market. In the mess hall. At the stables when you’re rounding up hay. You don't see much of him, but you look for him. Take a quick inconspicuous peak over your shoulder. A watchful eye on the entrance to the bar. A peering gaze through windows, just like he does to you. 

You look for him behind your eyelids, in those late hours of the night, when his window goes dark some time after yours floods black.

It almost seems like you’re always looking for him. 

But you never truly see him. Not really. It almost seems like he’s avoiding you. 

But it’s somewhat of a celebratory night—Tommy’s birthday. So you get all too particularly dressed up for the Tispy Bison and rush over, the feeling of Joel’s gaze two nights ago still stuck sweetly to the skin of your back. 

A set of peering brown eyes meet yours when you walk in but they look away quickly. They always look away quickly. And maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or the younger Miller brother waving you over, but you want to change that. If it’s your life’s mission, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away. 

“Happy birthday, old man,” you smile at Tommy, he pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing tightly against the breast of his jacket. All you can feel are eyes on you—the curve of your neck, your hand resting gently on Tommy’s waist. 

“C’mon,” Tommy shakes you slightly, “not that old.”

Then he looks back at Joel in a quiet, joking kind of way. 

“Hey,” you breathe, nodding towards Joel. He clears his throat, straightens his back, wets the skin of his lips and gives you a sharp nod in return. He drops your eyes for his fingers resting on the bartop. 

“Aren’t y’all neighbors?” Tommy questions, almost confused why the air seems so — awkward. 

Joel’s eyes flick under the gaze of his question, the muscle in his jaw tightens. He shoots a quick glance at you and then back to his brother. Your palm starts to sweat where it rests on the bar. 

Neighbors. 

You stay silent to let Joel answer his brother, but he fails, landing a defeated fist gently on the table, and turning away from the two of you, towards the bartender. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Yeah,” you jump in, nod, smile, deflect, “We are.”

“Tommy!” A rowdy group of men pull Tommy backwards into the forming circle. Happy Birthdays are exchanged following many claps on the back. They stagger away into the background noise. 

Only Joel and you are left. 

You wave down the bartender.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you say, nodding towards Joel at your side. 

A sweaty man emerges from the dancefloor to order a drink at your side. He smiles at you. You ignore him. 

“You like whiskey?” Joel mumbles from your other side, bringing the glass to his lips, staring directly ahead. You study the curve of his nose. 

“Sometimes,” you slide closer across the bar towards him, away from the other guy.  

Joel’s fingers tap on the wood. Your foot hits your own bar chair to the beat of the song. Your heart beats a little faster when he sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s almost like he’s waiting with bated breath — anticipating you to confront him about the events of two nights ago.

You don’t, though. Not yet, at least. 

“Y’all close?” he says, nodding back towards Tommy. 

You nurse your drink at your lips. 

“Patrol,” the whiskey burns as it goes down, “you gonna get out there soon?”

“Old man like me?” 

“Not that old,” you bite the rim of the glass, “Could probably use you out there.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, swinging the glass in his hand, “Probably.”

“You should come check it out,” you look at him through your lashes, “I need a new partner.”

Joel huffs a breath, almost downing the rest of his drink. You sneak out of your chair and move closer. 

Tommy’s group breaks into laughter from beside you. A man bumps into your back and your drink spills to the floor, sloshing around in the clear glass while you stumble a little. 

Joel’s hand reaches out to grab your hip. The warm callousness of his thumb notches against that soft skin of your side, uncovered by fabric. He grips you, his thumb, featherweight, pushing against bone, sending a heat between your legs. 

Your hand lands on his bicep.

“Sorry,” you mumble, he doesn’t take his hand away, not until you straighten your shirt and turn your body back to the bar. He grumbles a quiet apology to follow yours.

“Can I get another, please?” you ask the bartender, your cheeks heat. Your whole body does. 

The bartender places a whiskey in front of you and you grab it promptly, swinging your body towards Joel, raising your glass to him. He looks at you silently, then down to your outstretched drink in hand. 

A quiet contemplation. 

“What for?” He asks.

Your palms start to sweat and you’re worried it might fog up the new glass. The yellow lights of the bar turn his skin golden. He’s wearing that green flannel you saw him in at the window, the sleeves of it pushed over his elbows. The wired muscle of his forearms flick under the tense air. 

You’re nervous he might take this the wrong way. But like you thought earlier, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away. 

So you smirk at him, choose your words carefully—and decide to bite.

“New neighbors.” 

His gaze flicks to yours. His lips part, then close again, maybe shocked, maybe something else. Then he lets out something strangled, air between teeth and tongue and he huffs like he can't help it. Like he doesn’t know what to do with what you’ve given him—with what you’ve baited him with. 

New neighbors. 

His glass doesn’t meet yours, so you clink them together for him, sipping on the dark liquor with a small smile behind the rim. He clears his throat, and gatherers a staggered breath while downing the rest of his drink. 

“You like your new place, right?” you ask. 

Joel stares at you, almost scared, questioning. 

“‘S fine,” he finally says. 

“Just fine?” 

“‘S nice.” 

“I think so too,” you get closer to him and when he doesn’t back away, “big bedrooms.” 

You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down. 

“Yup,” he whispers. When you get closer, he slips a hand into your jacket, palming at your waist, spreading the broadness of his hand across your ribs. You try not to gasp. He holds you there, almost a warning. A cautionary message. A blaring stop sign.

But you were never much for listening, anyways. 

“Nice view?” you mumble, staring at his lips. 

You can feel his breath punching against your face, the hand on your ribs slides higher. 

You tilt your head, a question — in more ways than one. 

He doesn’t respond, the muscle in his jaw flicks the longer you stand there studying his face. His eyes keep flicking down to your lips—you’re worried he can feel your heartbeat when he inches closer. Some country slow song comes on, maybe the lights dim, or maybe his stare darkens — turns devilish — and it makes it seem like it does. 

“What are you doin’?” he whispers. 

“Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like—” he huffs a breath and looks down to your lips, “—nothin’.”

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble. 

“You should close your blinds.” 

“You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest. 

“You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?”

His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further. 

“Hm?” he slots your body between his legs. 

You shake your head. 

“Yeah,” he whispers in your ear, already pushing you towards the entrance of the bar, “Yeah, ’s what I fuckin’ thought.” 

_

“Fuck—Joel.” 

You press the palms of your hands to glass, your own breath fogging up the pane in front of you. The skin of your cheek bites against the coldness of it, you can barely make out Joel’s reflection from behind you. 

“You like this?” he shoves your pants past your hips, “like me watchin’ ya?” 

And yes, you’re kind of surprised at how much you do. You like this. You like him watching you in those late hours of the night. Before you would retreat behind the safety of your covers and make yourself come to the thought of Joel Miller. 

He slaps your ass, and kneads it where he leaves raised red marks behind in his wake. Your tits push against the window, pebbling your nipples. It almost hurts when they’re pressed up against the glass like that. 

“Joel,” you moan, ignoring his question. 

“Put on a show f’me,” he runs his fingers through your wetness, teasing your aching clit, “every day. Fuckin’ tease.”

Your open mouth kisses the window, breathing heavy fog onto it. You push back against him but he keeps you pressed against the window with a strong hand on your back. 

You don’t know how you found yourself in Joel Miller’s bedroom, let alone his house. Somehow between now and the bar, rough words, and teasing touches managed to get you slotted between him and his bedroom window. Forced to look out towards your room—where you baited him for weeks. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, feeling your wetness, collecting it and letting his fingers disappear between your legs. Yours grasp at nothing, squeaking against the pane there, looking for something, anything to grab onto. He’s got you up against the window like a painting on a canvas, the sill framing your bodies for everyone to see. 

But he doesn’t care—that anyone could see—and that excites you more. 

You look back at him, he’s got a pained look on his face, staring down at your body bent for him. You bite your lip and hide your face between hair and glass when you hear the clink of his belt. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling himself out, groaning at the sensation, spreading you all over himself. You wait with bated breath. 

A big and rough hand hangs on the back of your neck. You can feel him notch himself against your entrance. You move your hips back to meet him, but he stops you. You’re frozen under his touch, a model, waiting to be molded however he desires. 

“You like this, angel?” he whispers. 

This—being pushed against the window, where anyone can see, like how he saw you, all those nights, all those times before. 

Yes, hell yes, you do. 

“Yeah,” you whimper, he presses your head into the window further, you squirm in anticipation. His rough hand tangles between hair. The tip of his cock almost pushes into your cunt. 

“You do it for me?” 

It—undressing in front of the window, pacing around in your underwear, framed by the golden light escaping from the glass, never shutting your blinds, just for him. 

You’d be kidding yourself if you said no. 

“Yes,” you whisper in a hoarse voice—then suddenly, his fingers drop from your head. 

Joel slides in, slowly. Pushing past your tightening walls, your hand pounds a heavy fist into the windowpane and the glass shakes under the pressure. When his hips are flush with yours, he waits. 

“Pretty,” he mumbles into your hair and you freeze. 

You don’t say anything, still panting against the window, “Always—” he pulls out, and thrusts back in, setting an agonizingly slow pace, “—pretty.”  

You tense around him, whimpering. Your forehead ducks down and lands against the glass with a thud. 

“Wanted you to—ngh—” you moan. His hand braces against the window and you hold on to it, grabbing at it aimlessly. He slides his fingers between yours. “—wanted you to see me,” you admit.  

“I know,” he drawls, “I know, baby.” 

His pace is slow at first, gentle. But it speeds up into something deafening. Your body pushes up against the glass with each thrust of his hips. He grabs at your hair, holds your hand, and kisses your neck through it all. 

Joel wraps his arms around your waist when he feels you going numb. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, “doin’ good. So—fuck—so good.” 

The angle is deeper, sharper—he’s bigger than what you’re used to. You bite your lip in favor of screaming. 

He hits something inside you and his breath snags somewhere deep in his throat, pushing grunts out into the crown of your hair. 

It’s obscene. The gesture. All of it. The throb between your legs comes to a splitting pitch, your breath sharp and cutting just like his. Your head spins, panting through fuzzy vision. His words go straight to your core. The thought that if someone were to walk by and happen to look up, they’d see you—how he’s got you pressed up against glass like an exhibit. 

“Joel—” you yelp, he cuts you off, playing with your clit, pushing you over that thin edge. Your muscles choke his cock, turning to putty in his hands as you whine his name, crying out so the glass echoes it back to you. 

He bites down onto the bare skin where your neck meets your shoulder. Leaving behind marks that you’ll see for days to come. Not that you mind. You reach back, crumple up cotton into your fists and feel his wired muscles flex under your palm. 

“Fuck, angel,” he groans, you spin around to kiss him, and swallow his moans with your own. Teeth and tongue and whimpers to go with the rest of them. 

His hips stutter into yours, you push against him, bordering on the edge of too much but when his breath stalls from above you and his hand holding yours goes tight, you finally relax. He spills into you, you feel his cock pulse from somewhere deep inside you. 

His head rests against the back of your neck for what seems like forever, you can feel his hot mouth trail kisses down your back until you both laugh and he finally slips out of you and lets you turn around. 

He kisses you. Really kisses you. And when he pulls back, he sighs. Pushing out air between his parted lips, like he doesn’t really know what to do now. But he looks at you. And keeps looking at you, even when you think he might break your gaze. 

Looking at you, and never, ever, looking away. 

_

[hyperfixatedbastard]

do you write hypnosis stuff?? it's not specifically against the rules but idk it's kind of an iffy era for a lot of writers-

if it's okay with you, could you write some Vox x Singer!Reader who he uses his mind control on to sell their soul to him so they remain under the VoxTek label? (im sure remaining with him is an ulterior motive of his as well lol)

thanks :]

I can absolutely do that! I’m a little iffy about NSFW hypnosis, but I can do a SFW oneshot :)

siren songs

Obsessed!Vox x Singer!GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

WARNINGS: Yandere-ish behavior, hypnosis, manipulation, toxic behavior, all that good stuff

A/N: I told y'all I'd be back with some toxic Vox!! I wasn't entirely sure how to end this one, but I've spent enough time rewriting it to stop caring. This one is only romantic in theory - nothing actually romantic happens between Vox and Reader, it's more mutual pining than anything else This is also my first time writing obsessive behavior, so I hope I did it well!

Dividers

You’ve been working with the Vees for years now. You were originally recruited by Velvette, who’s like a bloodhound for new talent. She saw some popular videos of your singing online, and she made you famous.

But you don’t work with her that much, oddly enough. Over time, you gradually started to see her less and less. Vox was the one to take her place. By the time you noticed, there wasn’t much you could do about it—you’re certainly not an equal to the Vees, so there wasn’t much you could do. Sure, you could’ve quit then and there, as you’d never signed a soul-binding contract, but you really liked your job. You were getting to do what you loved for a living! Who wouldn’t want that?

Well, you. You don’t want that anymore. You’re getting burnt out. You feel like you’re out of creativity for writing songs, and singing no longer has the same appeal it used to. It feels like a chore. Getting on stage doesn’t get you excited—it just fills you with dread.

Then you saw the videos of the annual clown pageant down in the Greed Ring. How Fizzarolli, Mammon’s favorite little jester, just…quit. Just like that. 

Can you do that?

You don’t have backup like Fizzarolli did. There’s no Prince of Hell to protect you if the Vees lash out in response to your resignation. But the Vees aren’t Mammon. They’re powerful Overlords, sure, but they wouldn’t kill off an easy cash grab like you. And they don’t have any leverage to use against you—you’re a fucking superstar, you learned to stop keeping secrets a long time ago.

Yeah, you can totally do this!

You spend the next week making a plan. You currently live in V Tower, so finding another living arrangement is a priority. Luckily, your standards are just as low as before you got famous, so snatching up an apartment doesn’t take long. You’ve been building up savings for some time now, just little bits here and there that wouldn’t look suspicious among your bank withdrawls, so you have enough money to last you a while. You’ve made a go-bag, but you’re not too worried about bringing anything with you, as you have enough cash to just buy new shit. By the time the end of the week comes around, you’ve got your escape plan ready to go. All that’s left is to actually quit.

You decide that directly speaking to Vox is your best option. Velvette and you don’t have the same rapport that you used to, and Valentino is just… no. During your time working with Vox, you like to think there’s some sort of friendship there. The two of you chat amicably, and he always makes sure you’re okay when it comes to creepy fans and the like. You feel like there could be something more than just friendship, but you don’t plan on staying long enough to find out. As much as you like Vox, you’re not willing to spend the rest of your afterlife hating every second of your job just for him.

You stand outside Vox’s lair, mentally preparing yourself for this conversation. You take a deep breath, and right before you can knock on the door, it opens.

Okay, here goes.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You aren’t as sneaky as you seem to think you are.

A normal boss wouldn’t have noticed the small transactions in your bank account, or the little trips you’ve been taking to go look at apartments. But Vox isn’t a ‘normal boss’ by any means. And he noticed.

From the moment Vox set eyes on you, he knew he wanted you. You’re beautiful, and fuck, your voice—he just can’t get you out of his damn head, no matter how hard he tries. And he really fucking tried. But he couldn’t avoid you, thanks to VoxTek being such an integral part of your performances. And you’re like a damn siren with that voice of yours, even though he’s supposed to be the hypnotizing one here. Eventually, he just gave in and accepted that he was more than a little obsessed with you. That’s why he started drawing you closer to him, pushing away Velvette and taking control of your brand. He doesn’t like sharing.

Obsession isn’t a particularly new feeling for Vox. He certainly has… tendencies. But this isn’t like whatever the fuck he’s got going on with that deer-headed, old-timey bastard Alastor. It’s not a lust thing, either. You’re certainly attractive, and Vox most definitely would sleep with you, but that’s not the main factor at play here. This is a deeper obsession than any of that bullshit.

Vox knows that he doesn’t own your soul. He’s well aware that he can’t truly stop you from quitting. Even if he managed to trap you inside V Tower, he can’t force you to keep up the performances. If he had you under a proper soul-binding contract, though…

He would own you.

Now, he’s not Valentino. He doesn’t plan to take that kind of advantage over you. He doesn’t want to change a damn thing. He just wants you to stay.

And he will make you stay.

He knows when you approach his office, and he opens the doors with the touch of a button on his desk. He plasters that casually perfect smile on his screen and turns to face you as you enter. The doors shut behind you.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, my dear,” he lies easily, the charismatic mask fitting into place like it was never absent in the first place. “How can I help you?”

You hesitate, your anxiety starting to get to you. But you’re determined to do this. You clear your throat and step forward. “I’m resigning.”

Vox’s smile doesn’t falter, nor does his screen glitch. His demeanor is…unnerving, to say the least. You’ve known him to be temperamental, emotional. You expected some kind of reaction. But he’s just smirking at you like he always does.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to change your mind,” he replies smoothly, tilting his head to the side just slightly.

“No,” you confirm, trying to sound confident in your answer. You’re not sure if you succeed. “I’ve already made my decision.”

Vox sighs, though he doesn’t sound very defeated. His smirk hasn’t gone away, either. “Well, then. It’s been a pleasure working with you, darling.”

He holds his hand out for you to shake. The gesture immediately worries you, as it’s the well-known sign of a deal. But you reassure yourself that there’s no deal being made here. Hell may be chaotic, but there’s rules when it comes to these kinds of things. Neither of you have offered anything, therefore there’s no harm in shaking his hand. It’s just a respectful gesture of a boss wishing their employee farewell. It all feels too easy, but you’re too relieved to think too hard about it.

You go to take his hand, but as you lift your head up to meet his gaze, everything goes fuzzy.

Vox grabs you by your wrist before you can shake his hand. He’s not rough with you. He’s careful of his claws, ensuring they don’t put too much pressure on your skin. Not that you’d notice, either way—your mind is far gone at this point, thanks to those spirals in his eye.

“In exchange for your soul, you’ll remain under the VoxTek label and continue working for me. Your work will remain the same as before. You’ll forget about leaving. You will want to stay here. You will want to stay here with me.”

A golden scroll appears out of thin air, and it floats in front of you as it unfurls. “Sign it.”

Your body moves on its own. You sign your name on the line at the bottom of the page.

Vox releases your wrist, and takes your hand in his own as his eye reverts back to its normal state. When you come to just moments later, he’s shaking your hand with calm professionality.

“I’m glad we got that sorted out,” Vox remarks smoothly, his smirk looking almost proud now. “I look forward to your next performance, my dear.”

You blink a few times as you become more lucid and aware. “Uh, yeah. Can’t wait!”

You smile, and Vox releases your hand, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You don’t remember what exactly you came in here for, but you’re happy with the outcome.  “Perfect.”

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Requesting something where reader works as a barista and her boss/co-worker is flirting with her like non-stop. She finally reveals to her BF Ethan about it and of course he’s livid. Ethan/GF makes a visit to the cafe to show boss/co-worker to leave y/n alone for good. Later that night Ethan reminds y/n that she is ONLY his. Please include as much smut as you deem necessary. Btw absolutely adore your writing. 💕

Hiiii! I hope you like it💕

I Mean It - Ghostface!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: Your creepy supervisor threatens to get you fired after you reject his advances, so Ethan takes care of the problem.

Contains: Suggestions to murder, workplace harassment(Nothing graphic), oral - f recieving, p in v, rough-ish sex

A/N: I was going to post this earlier today but life happened haha

Ethan was the sweetest boyfriend to you. He loved to randomly buy you flowers just to see you smile, plan date days for the two of you, and he was always doing something to make you laugh, especially if you were having a bad day. He was also very protective. Whenever he’d be out with you somewhere, if he noticed that another guy was staring at you, he made eye contact until the person took the hint. God forbid anyone said anything or catcalled you because Ethan didn’t mind confronting someone. He didn’t want anyone else to think they could have you, but he also thought it was disrespectful to you.

You knew how Ethan could be, so when your new supervisor at work, Logan, started to flirt with you, you didn’t want to tell him. The last thing you wanted was for Ethan to pop in one day and say something, and with his occasional hotheaded tendencies, you were sure you’d get fired. You needed your job, especially with Ethan talking about how he wanted you to move in with him.

“Hey cutie,” Logan said, as you’d just put your apron on. “What are you doing after work today?”

“You know I have a boyfriend,” you said, brushing him off as you checked to make sure the coffee that was already brewed was still fresh. “Plus, you’re my supervisor. Don’t you think it’s a little unprofessional for you to keep hitting on me?”

“No,” he said, leaning on the counter beside you. “I can’t believe you’re with that loser.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you warned, as you once again, walked away from him. You peaked in the fridge to see what milk you needed to grab from the back, but he stayed right beside you.

“He’s not going to do anything,” he said, as you sighed in frustration.

“Seriously, Logan. Let it go. It’s never going to happen,” you said, making a mental note of what you needed before going to grab the extra milk.

He was still behind you, and you were starting to get a little uncomfortable. He was always flirting, but him following you into the walk-in cooler where no one else could see the two of you was making you nervous. You tried to push any anxiety you had to the side so you could get what you needed and get out, but once you had two gallons of milk in your hands and he stood in front of the door so you couldn’t move past him, you were starting to get mad. You huffed as you sat the milk down on one of the shelves.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked, staring him down as he smiled.

“I could write you up for talking to me like that…but I won’t if you let me take you out. Just once,” he said, trying to manipulate you into giving him a chance.

“Yeah, I can only imagine how that night would end,” you scoffed, as he started to smirk.

“Hopefully with you naked in my bed.”

You didn’t have time to process what you were doing before your hand connected with his cheek, the sharp sound muffled by the hum of the cooler. Your hand was stinging as you pulled it away, a red mark appearing on the side of his face as he stared at you in disbelief.

“I’m getting you fired for that,” he said, stepping away from the door as he ran his hand over his cheek. “I’ll tell the manager about this in the morning.”

“I’ll tell him about you sexually harassing me,” you snapped, grabbing the milk off the shelf and walking out of the cooler.

Your other coworkers looked at you as you walked out, noticing that you were trying to hold your tears in. You put the milk in the fridge before Logan walked out, an angry look on his face as he made his way towards you.

“I think you should go home for the rest of the day,” he said, as you took your apron off.

“Fine. I didn’t want to be here with your creepy ass anyway.”

“Expect the manager to call you in the morning,” he said, as you made your way out of the coffee shop.

On your walk back home, you knew you needed to tell Ethan. If Logan was going to get you fired anyway, you knew you’d be happier with the situation if Ethan confronted him. You dried the stray tears on your cheeks before you pulled out your phone to text him.

You: Can you come over before your late class?

Ethan: Yeah

Ethan: Wait, why aren’t you at work?

You: I’ll tell you about it when you come over.

When you made it to your dorm, you noticed Ethan standing outside of the door, waiting for you.

“That was fast,” you said, as he took in your sad appearance.

“You know I live in the next building over,” he said, as you walked up to him and rested your head against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hand soothingly rubbing across your back. “What happened, baby?”

“Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you,” you said, pulling away to unlock your door.

As you explained the interaction with Logan, Ethan was starting to get angry. His leg was bouncing as he tried to keep calm in front of you, but he knew that Logan needed to pay for the way he’d treated you. Ethan wouldn’t tolerate him flirting with you in the first place, but the idea of anyone thinking they’d even have a chance with you had him fuming, because you were his.

“I don’t know if I can stop by the coffee shop tonight, but I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he lied, already having a sinister plan floating around in his head. “Maybe if you tell your manager what happened, he’ll be the one that gets fired.”

“All that man does is kiss the higher-ups’ asses, and he cornered me where he knew there weren’t any cameras,” you sighed, as he took a deep breath.

“I promise you, you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Ethan said, as he stood up. “I’ll take care of it. But I have to run right now or I’m going to be late for class.”

“Okay,” you said, as he grabbed your hands and pulled you close. He placed a sweet kiss on your lips before he pulled away. “Wait, my roommate had to go home for a family emergency. If you think you could sneak back in here tonight, I’d love to spend some alone time with you.”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” he said, smirking at you. “Leave your door unlocked. I might not get here until late, but I don’t want to get caught in the hallway.”

“I will. I hope your class isn’t too boring,” you said, as he mumbled “I know it won’t be.”

It wasn’t going to be because he wasn’t going. After seeing how upset you were, and the possibility of Logan getting you fired after he harassed you, he knew what needed to happen to him. He’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you, and he’d do anything to make sure you didn’t have to see Logan’s pathetic self again.

Ethan always paid close attention to his surroundings, even when he was visiting you at work for your breaks. He’d met you at the back entrance a couple of times when you had to close…the back entrance that was never locked until the supervisor left. He knew that was his way to get in, he just needed to plan it out perfectly.

He ran to his dorm to get the things he needed, hoping Chad wouldn’t come back as he put the robe, mask, and knife in his backpack. His roommate walked in just as he’d finished zipping his bag back up.

“Hey, wanna play Mortal Kombat when you get home later?” Chad asked, as he held up the game he’d just picked up.

“No, I won’t be coming home after class. I just stopped by to grab some extra clothes,” Ethan said, as Chad shook his head.

“Don’t get caught in her dorm again,” he said, as Ethan rolled his eyes and walked out.

Ethan found a little hiding spot outside of the view of the exterior cameras of the coffee shop as he waited for his opportunity to go in. His head snapped up from his phone once he heard your coworkers talking amongst themselves as they walked out the back door. He locked his phone and slid it in his pocket before unzipping his backpack and grabbing what he needed to not get caught.

He held the knife tightly in his hand as he walked up to the back entrance and opened the door, peaking around the hallway. He noticed that the coffee shop was dark, aside from the glow of the fluorescent lighting in the manager’s office. He quietly stepped towards it, and once he made it to the doorway, he tapped the blade of his knife against the metal door frame to get Logan’s attention.

As soon as Ethan finished what he went there to do, he wiped the blood off his knife before heading towards the back exit. He slowly opened the door to make sure no one was outside before he bolted to where he was hidden before. He took off the robe and the mask and shoved it, along with the knife, into his backpack.

You kept checking the time on your phone, wondering what was taking Ethan so long. You almost thought he got caught by your RA, but you knew he would’ve messaged you to tell you that. You jumped when your door quickly opened as Ethan ran inside.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you sighed, as he turned to smile at you.

“Sorry. I almost got caught,” he said, his breathing heavy from all the running he’d just done.

His adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as he took in your appearance. You had the cutest little pajama set on, and he was dying to get you out of it.

“You know you’re only mine, right?” he asked, as he stepped closer to you. You noticed the dark look in his eyes as you curiously looked at him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned, as he let out a light chuckle.

“You didn’t answer my question. Maybe I need to show you who you belong to,” he said, as your core started to throb at his words.

“Are you still mad about the Logan stuff? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was flirting with me until it got bad,” you said, as he shook his head.

“You do need to tell me when stuff like that happens, but…” he trailed off, once he noticed you laying there, clenching your thighs together. Your eyes were so needy, and you were struggling to sit still. “I think you want me to show you that your mine.”

“Mhm,” you said, as he sat his stuff down and pulled his shirt over his head.

He got on your bed and hovered over you before he leaned down to place his lips against yours. Your mouths were hungrily moving together, like you couldn’t get enough of each other. You felt Ethan start to tug at your pajama shorts as he pushed his tongue past your slightly parted lips. You lifted your hips so Ethan could slide the shorts down over the curve of your ass. As soon as he got you out of them, his fingertips gently moved up your thigh.

You whimpered into his mouth as he started to rub you over your panties. He slid them to the side to rub painfully slow circles against your needy bundle of nerves. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t help it. He loved teasing you until you were begging him to fuck you.

“Ethannn,” you whined once he pulled away to catch his breath. “Move your fingers faster.”

He smirked at the pouty look playing on your lips as he barely changed up his pace. It was almost unnoticeable, as you gave him a ‘Really?’ look.

“Oh, you want more?” he asked, his fingers quickly rubbing against your clit. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” you moaned, as he started to laugh and slow his fingers. You whined in protest as he almost came to a stop. You were starting to get a little frustrated, especially after you’d thought about Ethan taking care of you in the way you needed him to the entire evening. “I thought you were going to show me who I belong to?”

His smirk dropped and his eyes got so dark at your question. You weren’t trying to piss him off, but you felt like you did as he stared at you.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warned, “I do so much for you.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I know you do,” as he scooted down the bed and looked at you from in between your thighs.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, before he leaned forward, his tongue licking stripes up your clit.

Your hands went to his hair as his tongue skillfully moved against you, but you still needed more. He already knew that, but he wanted you to ask him for it. You stayed quiet, not wanting to make him mad like you did before. Your bottom lip was in between your teeth as you tried to hold your sounds in, because you didn’t want anyone to hear you. Ethan loved it when you were loud, but you didn’t want him to get caught in your dorm again.

He wasn’t satisfied with your silence, a low moan slipping past your lips once he sucked your clit into his mouth and started to move his head from side to side.

“Unf, fuck,” you whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed as he fought to hold them down. “Please use your fingers.”

He slid his middle and ring finger into your dripping pussy with ease as he kept sucking on your clit. He curved his fingers just right, your legs involuntarily twitching at the feeling. Once he sucked even harder, you felt your orgasm building.

“I’m close,” you whined, as his fingers pressed harder against that spongy spot inside of you.

His eyes connected with yours as your moans kept getting louder, the feeling in the pit of your stomach getting stronger and stronger as he brought you closer to the edge. Your hands were tugging on his hair as you started to move your hips with his fingers until your entire body started to shake. He watched you fall apart as that feeling finally washed over you, your breathing shaky as you whimpered his name.

He slowed his fingers as you started to come down from your high and switched from sucking your clit to gentle licks. Once you started to pull your hips away from the slight overstimulation, he removed his fingers and sat up to look at you.

“You’re mine, right?” he joked, as you stared at him through your post-orgasm haze.

“I think so…I need you to fuck me so I can be sure,” you said, teasing him as he glared at you.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he said, sliding off the side of your bed to take his jeans and boxers off. He walked over to your bedside table and grabbed a condom before he crawled back on the bed with you.

He grabbed one of the extra pillows from beside your head and placed it under you as you lifted your hips for him. Once he slid inside of you, he gave you time to adjust to his size as he leaned down to kiss you. His tongue glided across your bottom lip as you let him deepen the kiss, but you were starting to squirm underneath him.

He started off with slow, deep thrusts. The tip of his cock was brushing against your g-spot as he caught all your moans with his mouth. Your nails ran over his back as he fucked you at a slow pace, but you were craving more. Your legs wrapped around him so he could go even deeper, but he knew what you really needed.

He pulled away to look at you as he rested on his knees, still thrusting into your soaked core.

“Are you mine?” he growled, as you nodded. “You better fucking say it.”

“Mmm, shit. I’m all yours,” you said, as he quickly sped up. His cock was slamming into you so hard that the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, along with the loud moans flooding out of your mouth, were bouncing off the walls.

His brows were furrowed as he concentrated on keeping his pace, his cheeks a rosy pink as he tried to keep his breathing as steady as he could.

You snaked your hand down to your clit, before he swatted it away and replaced it with his thumb. He was rolling circles over it, the pressure making you whimper.

Grunts were slipping past his lips as he started to drill into your g-spot even harder, your shaky hands gripping the comforter to brace yourself for your orgasm.

He knew that if the sounds already coming from your room weren’t loud enough for anyone else to hear, the sounds you were about to make definitely would be. He placed his hand over your mouth, your eyes wide as your eyebrows knitted together.

Your pussy started to flutter as you let out a loud cry against the palm of his hand, your entire body bucking as he tried to fuck you through it.

Your chest was heaving as your body started to relax, but he still kept his hand in place just in case you couldn’t be quiet as he chased his own orgasm. It didn’t take long for his hips to stutter.

“Aahh fuck,” he moaned out as he pulled his hand away from your mouth, his head falling forward as he gave a few more week thrusts, his cum filling the tip of the condom. He slid out of you and flopped on his back as he tried to catch his breath.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, as he turned his head to look at you. You looked like you could fall asleep in that moment, so he got up to take the condom off, and grabbed your panties and his boxers off the floor.

“Let me help you, baby,” he said, as he slid your panties back up your legs and over your hips. He slid his boxers back on before crawling in bed beside you and pulling you closer.

You moved your head to his chest, and he heard your breathing slow as he drew patterns on your back with his fingertips.

“I love you, babe,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Love you, too,” you said softly, as you started to drift off.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against the nightstand. You lifted your head off Ethan’s chest as he started to wake up, a sweet smile on his lips as his eyes stayed closed.

“Oh shit,” you said, grabbing your phone. Ethan’s eyes opened as you glanced over to him, your phone still vibrating in your hands. “It’s work.”

You hesitantly answered it, a nervous “Hello?” slipping past your lips. Your eyes went wide as you listened to your manager speak, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to process everything you were being told. Ethan was trying so hard to hold in his smile over the horrible crime he committed, but he’d do anything for you. He had no shame in that.

Once you hung up with your manager, you turned to Ethan, your eyes still wide as you tried to put into words what you were told.

“So uh, the coffee shop is a crime scene right now,” you said, as Ethan looked at you, fake confusion painted on his face.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, as your words got stuck in your throat. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Logan was murdered last night after everyone left,” you said, the shock fully hitting you once the words left your mouth. “Oh my god. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah…I’m just happy you weren’t there,” Ethan said, as you nodded.

“Me too…I wonder what happened,” you said, as he shrugged.

“We’ll probably know something soon,” he said, as he started to laugh a little. You didn’t think it was very funny, your questioning look letting him know he needed to explain himself. “It’s not funny, but I guess you aren’t getting fired, after all. He was a scummy person…now he can’t treat anyone else the way he treated you.”

“That’s true,” you sighed as you laid your head back on Ethan’s chest.

[yourlocalcryptidbee]

⭐Lucifer Morningstar Headcanons

Headcannons about the lovely Lucifer Morningstar and the ways he acts with the even lovelier reader! Grab some snacks and a beverage, get comfy and enjoy <3

~1k words

GN-ish! Reader (mentions of hair long enough to braid that’s it) NOT proof read.

Dude hates crowds, like has a burning(get it? hellfire? burning…never mind) hatred for them, most of them anyways. Crowds, people in general, can’t seem to think for themselves when around him. It’s always ‘whatever you want, your majesty,’ ‘don’t let us stop you, your majesty’ ‘we’ll do whatever you ask, your Majesty’ It reminds him of Heaven and the councils, and the masses, and the sermons….the list goes on. It’s Groupthink on steroids. A complete echo chamber that a young Lucifer tried to break. That version of Lucifer stood up to the majority and lost everything because of it. Of course that man still can’t stand it, especially now that he’s on the other end of it. He wishes that sinners could at least try to have a personality around him, not just a bunch of spineless pushovers, ready to wait hand on foot in fear of being smote.

He likes to watch you, not in a creepy way! At least he hopes that it isn’t creepy to you. Simply put, Lucifer likes to see you there, see you take up space in his home. Although he isn’t apposed to helping cook breakfast or clean, he’d much rather just watch you do it. It’s a comfort thing for him, watching you physically move around and disturb his space reminds him that you’re real and not something his mind made up as a last ditch effort to fix his depression. In the beginning when you would sleep over at his house, Lucifer wouldn’t make his bed after you left. He’d just leave all the bunched up blankets and sheets exactly how you left them. It made him feel less lonely when he had to sleep by himself the next night.

Frivolous. Like, truly does not care how much he spends on shit. Couldn’t even try to think about caring. It doesn’t matter to him. Partly due to his pride, he’s the big dick in charge of hell! of course he has the money for that 24k gold and diamond encrusted something or other. Especially if he’s buying something for you or Charlie. Your wish is his command after all.

His house is sssssoooo dusty. After his divorce he had quarantined himself to his bedroom, bathroom and office. He never went anywhere else in his house, he would portal himself between the rooms when necessary so he didn’t even use the hallways! Which one could imagine would leave a substantial amount of dust EVERYWHERE. He had invited you to his home for the first time on a whim, feeling proud of himself for finally asking and had coincidently walked through his front door, only to cough from inhaling so much dust. That pride turned to horror as he realized he only had an hour to clean his house before you showed up. That man had never moved faster in his life. He was so focused, unfortunately sometimes on the wrong things, I mean why was he cleaning the support beams that were 15 feet high and attached to the ceiling and not, I don’t know, the kitchen!? 

Lucifer cannot throw things away. Just look how long he wore his wedding band after he and Lilith split. In fact, he still has kept the ring after getting together with you, though he’s not wearing it, Lucifer just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of something like that. It still lives in a nice box in the very back of his nightstand. This is even worse when it comes to gifts from either you or Charlie. It could be the stupidest thing and he’ll cherish it and hold onto it for eternity. All those rocks, broken crayons, leaves, and bottle caps that baby Charlie gave to him? All tucked away safely to this day, hell, sometimes he’ll look through it all as a little pick me up. Maybe this has to do with being physically thrown out of his home in heaven or maybe he just is sentimental, even Lucifer doesn’t know.

Loves having his wings be taken care of. It was hard after he fell from heaven, those beautiful white wings now a blood red? Not something he liked to look at. It reminds of what he failed to do and of the pain he created for all of humanity. Having you take care of that is so special to him. You take the time to preen his wings and make sure they’re perfect. One of the things that are constantly reminding him of his failure as an angel is just so easily accepted and loved by you. Something so small to you, means the world to him. You can look at something that symbolizes failure and still love it unconditionally because it’s Lucifer’s? Yeah, he loves it that you take care of him.

Will 1000% make dad jokes when he doesnt know what to say. It’s honestly adorable. This happened on multiple occasions when your relationship was still new. A conversation would finish and there’d be a lull or a pregnant pause, and then he’d just “what-what do you call a can opener that’s broken?”

.

.

.

“a can’t opener. ” 

Cue his quiet, stifled yet awkward laughter at his own joke and the distant groan from Charlie who has probably heard that a million times already.

Has a gift for braiding hair. Honestly, he’s pretty good at styling hair in general but allow him to braid your hair and his talent just shines through. His own hair has some length to it so he has in fact braided his own hair but come on, his (ex)wife and baby girl have some of the longest blonde hair in the underworld, of course, he knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t matter what style or where the braid originated, he can do it. The cherry on top is that when he’s combing out your hair beforehand, there isn’t a single tug. Could this be magic? Yes. Could this also be a skill carefully cultivated over the literal millennia he’s been alive? Also yes.

[sansundertale14x1]

why NauseAxe_404 loves your writing so much…

based on this silly tweet, I’m gonna use ‘Nick’ for this- for ease of writing (and for my poor poor hands.)

no pronouns but ‘you’- little post cuz I haven’t written in a while.- use of the in-game website: "Dumblr", no it's not a typo;-; Proshippers DNI

word count: 878

content warning: brief explanations of canon violence, creepy stalker-ish behavior (NOTHING SEXUAL ATTACHED), Nick being a weirdo honestly.

vvv that isn't my art, and this entire writing is a fanfic for a game " Monster x Mediator" made by HeadLocker! I really recommend playing the game or watching the gameplay, cuz it's really fantastic!

Story under cut :3

Nick’s in love with your writing…(if you already couldn’t tell), but it’s difficult for you to understand why.

Usually, when you'd open up your laptop, it was after a tough shift at your crap job and you just wanted to do something to fill in the time after dinner and before bed. It was always on the shorter side, 100 words each, and was normally just a quick and crappy self-insert fic to satisfy your creative urges from doing a boring-ass job all day. You never really thought your tiny one-shots would attract any attention, but the man you've been staying with proves otherwise.

"NauseAxe_404" is what he called himself, but you've just been calling him 'Nick' for now. He had been reading your old Dumblr blog for who knows how long, and he's taken a major interest in your little shitposts...So much, so that he had taken the time to print out every single one of your posts and personal information pinned to his room's walls. It's extremely creepy...but also sort of charming?

For the last few days or so, you've been held in Nick's hotel room, practically glued to a desk with a typewriter...slowly making your way through a 100-paged fic that he specifically requested of you. Though you technically could stand up and leave...you'd really prefer for your skull to stay in one piece...and not have a bullet put through your temple.

Nick has been staring at you almost the entire time...which only certified in your mind that he is not human. Every time you turn to see if he's still there...like an unmoving fortress, he always is. It's been a solid 8+ hours of you sitting there and writing...and your stomach starts to emit loud sounds of hunger. You pray he didn't hear that, and continue to type away at the dated machine. However, to your dismay, his deep voice chimes in.

"...What page are you on...?"

Nick asks, seemingly trying to speak quietly for you, but his naturally booming voice isn't giving you any favors.

"...uhm..."

You take a moment to review what you have done...it doesn't look like much but it feels like it took AGES to write out...

"About...10? It's not a-"

"That's wonderful, Superstar!"

He cuts you off just as you begin to speak.

Of course, he's going to be ecstatic. You can't fathom why he seems to be so hopelessly in love with whatever you slap on the paper. You're curious..so you begin to speak.

"...uhm...Nick...why do you..take interest in my writing?"

You softly speak, trying to be careful with your words...you can't afford to overstimulate this man.

For a chatty guy...Nick was oddly silent at the ask of this question…or at least for a few seconds.

“I was trying to find a way to ease the boredom and loneliness of this fucking hotel, so…huff…I joined Dumblr and started to search for writing…that was…huff….purposeful…and that could fix me..”

No way in hell your crackfics could change this man...He must've come out of the womb like that. (or...however the hell he was made..)

"...I came across your first post years ago..huff...and fell in love with the way you wrote your love interest....huff...I knew you were talking about me when I wrote all those comments~"

You never looked at comments due to embarrassment...and you honestly didn't think anyone would even care to comment in the first place.

"....you weren't responding to me...huff...so I might've found everything about you in the meantime...huff...just so I could notice you in a crowd...I always will~"

Okay, now it's getting creepy. You hope that by just turning back around and continuing to write maybe he'd shut up...You guess it's sorta your fault for striking up a conversation with the creep.

"All the other writers don't know shit about writing...huff...1k word counts...huff...long and complicated stories that don't make any fucking sense..."

There goes the rambles. You stop typing for a moment to process what the hell he just said. He either is really balls-deep into this fantasy of you being a perfect human...or he's just trying to fluff you up so you'll continue writing for him. He's really delusional, that's it. It's seriously hard to believe your crap was life-changing for Nick.

“Simplicity is the most important part…huff…not describing some stupid walk sequence for 3 sentences…huff…it’s a waste of space..”

"....maybe you just like simpler writing...?"

You softly reply, yet again praying that you didn't accidentally strike a chord with this guy. He stares you down, and even if you aren't looking back at him, you can still feel the burning of his eyes on the back of your head.

"That's possible."

Oh, it's highly probable. He gets so emotional over the tiniest bit of anything, so...He just doesn't need too many words to evoke a reaction...It checks out because you also like to write a straight-to-the-point sorta piece.

"but don't let your mind wander for...huff...too long...my superstar...you've got at least 90+ pages to go~"

Shit, he was right...time to get back to work.

[sleepy-platonic-yan]

(Platonic) Yandere Spirits + Teenage Reader.

Hello This Is My First Post. I Hope You Can Enjoy This And The Rest My Blog Will Have To Offer. Please Forgive Any Grammatical Errors.

Reader is gn, but the ghosts refer to them as their son—————

You and your mother had moved into a new house. After the tragic death of your brother and father, the house held way too many memories that made it so even walking down the hall could leave you sobbing.

Your mother wanted to really get away from it all, to go out in the country side and ‘blend with nature’, but that was not unexpected of her, she’s always been distant and ready to abandon things at a moments notice for work or her own personal desires. She would have put you and your brother up for adoption if it weren’t for your dad.

but at the end of the day all this really meant for you was that you have to do school online now cause mom bought a farm house in the middle of nowhere.

she made sure you were fine with it which was a bit unexpected, and at the time you really were! It’s just, the house was built in the Victorian era and had seen years of use, hundreds of families and many deaths. And although the house has had new things added like heating and hot water, the house freaked you out still is all.

As you pulled up to the house, its tall figure landing ominously against the moon in the sky, the house looks like it belongs in a horror movie. The large willow tree beside the house with a rope swing that sways in the wind making a ‘creeeek’ every once in a while doesn’t help either. You suck in a breath and don’t open your door, but your mother either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about your fear as she opens her door.

she goes to the back of the car and opens the trunk before shouting “(Readers name) get out of the car and carry your luggage! I ain’t carrying all of this” you mumble an affirmative and open your door. You keep an eyes on the swing, making a note of how it seems to have stopped for an odd amount of time before getting back into swinging ‘wind must be different over there?..’ you think.

you grab your one duffel bag and a few of moms bags before heading to the front door with her. The gravel path to the front door makes crunching noises with each step, making you hyper aware of how loud you’ve been since the second you got here. You shake your head, it’s fine. This is your house. ‘Is it tho?..’

As your mother grabs her key from her purse, you her a weird ‘crunch’ behind you, like the sound of something starting to walk up the path. You whip around but no one’s there. Damn, barely five minutes here and your already paranoid. Your mother opens the door and you walk in.

as you step in, you step into what seems to be the family room, wood floors throughout the house or as far as you can see. The room has a white couch with soft pink flowers as the pattern and white wood legs. That pattern stays with all the furniture in the family room. There is also a old-ish tv.

“hey mom, do you know why the previous owners left their stuff” you ask a bit suspicious, a huge house with good looking furniture selling for a absurdly low price yet it was on the market for months. There’s gotta be something off.

your mom shrugs and tells you it must just be because they don’t need them. You decide to just go with that. Yeah, they just didn’t need them. You and your mother walk around the first floor of the house a bit before ascending the stairs. The stairs are creaky and give a bit to much for your liking with each step. Again your mother doesn’t mind.

as you get to the next floor, it seems most of the rooms are old bedrooms. Your mother immediately goes to the master bedroom with a small yell of “just take any room, I don’t care”

as you look at the hall full of rooms, non seem particularly interesting or safe. You know you have to pick one tho so you peak in each.

Each room contains different items, but each have a painting of a different person. The only one the not have a creepy painting is one of the smallest, with no windows and the bare minimum items.

you end up picking the one that doesn’t have much furniture other then a bed and a desk. The desk is creaky and wobbles at the slightest push. As you toss your duffel bag on the bed the bed creaks loudly as well. You don’t mind, it’s better than being watched by a bunch of most likely dead guys.

You also don’t have much that you brought, so you don’t need much room. You lay down on the bed. This is fine, your just being paranoid.

as you sit down on the bed, or it’s yours now you suppose, you grab your phone from your jacket pocket. As you turn it on you are blinded for a minute by how bright it is, turning down the brightness, you quickly put in your passcode and flip to discord.

as you open up a group chat between you and a bunch of your friends, you begin to talk to them. You talk for a few hours, even hoping on call and showing them your room (they agree it has a creepy vibe to it), you finally say you have to go to sleep at around 3 am.

you remove the blanket that came from the house as you fear it could be moldy, so you’d prefer to just wash it. You take the duffel bag off the bed and open it, grabbing a blanket. The blanket that came with the house is admittedly much better, your blanket is thin and warm with a few holes. But never the less you turn off the lights and hurry back over the bed.

you realize a bit to late you didn’t change clothes, but in all honesty you don’t want to change in this house.

as you lay back on the bed with a creak, you can’t help but think you see things moving around in the darkness.

————

you wake up pretty late in the day. It’s summer break so you don’t have school, or else you would have never stayed up that late. As you sit up you notice oddly enough you’re covered in both blankets, not just yours. You could have sworn you just wore yours but but, uh you must have put it on in the middle of the night!

yeah, that’s what you did. You probably got cold, and put the thicker blanket on for warmth, and if you don’t remember it that’s fine.

As you sit up you notice something on your desk, a piece of paper with a cup of water. As you stand you walk over to the note, it’s from your mom

hey (reader’s nickname), I got a urgent call from work and i need to get back to the office by next week, and I have to leave now to make it. I know I said I work on line these days but they really need me. I know you’ll understand, your nearly a adult you can handle yourself for a few weeks, when I get home I’ll spend lots of time with you.

There’s money attached to the back of the note, and I put all our food from the car in the kitchen.

love - mom

You sigh. it’s always been like this. Seems no matter where you guys live, mom will never be home. You know she works hard but it feels she doesn’t see you as a priority.

although in the back of your mind you recognize the writing looks different then her writing, and she always signs off with her real name and not ‘mom’

As turn the paper around you see that yes, there is money, and it is way too much. 500 bucks. You blink. What. You shake your head, you are not using all of that. You remove the money from the paper and throw the letter in the trash.

For some reason you have a gut feeling not to leave your room. Something feels wrong with this house and it’s even worse with no one else here. You grab your phone again and hop on discord, as you talk to your friends you let them know where you live.

Turns out some friends you met online live real close to you, and they’re cool to come over tomorrow to hang out and keep you company till your mom gets home. You just have to survive today and tonight.

After your friends have to go you’re left sitting on your bed with nothing to do, so you remove the bigger blanket again and decide ‘hey, best way to lose time is to sleep!’ After a bit you slip into unconsciousness.

//change of POV//

as the many pairs of eyes watched their sons eyes close, they can’t help but coo

their sons ‘Mom’ is not fit clearly, so they had to step up. And so far they’ve been doing great, their lovely son is even gonna bring friends over to meet them!

their son is adorable. And all theirs

[minihotdog]

Schoolboy Crush

Part 2 / Part 1

Pairing: Ghost x fem!reader

Summary: Ghost finally puts the moves on

a/n: ahhhhhh idk what I'm doing. maybe part 3 if I have a vision and I'd want it to be more his POV unlike this one.

C/W: Risk of being caught, Some NSFW actions, Ghost kinda being creepy-ish but also an ass?edging? idk I just work here

Word Count: 14k

The gathering was in full swing, the flat buzzing with talk of the up coming game. Price, like the dad he was, was out grilling hamburgers and sharing a beer with Gaz. Soap was helping you organize the various foods and deserts on the small round dining table until he heard Price call out something along the lines of “You Manchester lot” and ran out to defend his football team from the two giggling men.

You didn’t see Ghost when you entered the flat, assuming he was out on the balcony. The thought of him made your hands start to clam up and you wanted to relax before greeting the menacing man. He was confident, on the off chance he spoke, sometimes would even come off cocky.

At times, his presence was too overbearing. His deadly gaze paired with his sheer size, it made you feel a mix of fear and need. You’d see him walking around the compound with his muscles stretching the material of his T-shirts as everyone scrambled to get out of his way. And to make it worse, when he would speak, his voice would leave your panties sticking to you while you hung on to every word.

“Hello, pet.”

You jump, clutching your chest. Ghost chuckles at your reaction, standing only a foot away from you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, love.” 

His deep, gravelly voice sends a shiver down your spine. You lift your head to meet his gaze, pulling your long sleeves over your hands in an act of nervousness, which he finds adorable. You’d only seen him with his face completely covered but there he stood bare-faced. You’d imagined what he looked like a million times. 

He was blond, his typical military cut overgrown, touching his ears, the top now curling over one of his eyebrows. The bridge of his nose carried a scar from one side to the other, along with a light scar running down through his eyebrow just below his eye.

“Ghost-” You sigh in relief only for it to disappear once you realize that the two of you were alone together for the first time. He was a handsome man but the natural intimidation he carried didn’t help with the way your heart pounded when he was nearby.

“Simon.” He corrects “We aren't at work.”

“Right, sorry…”

He was giddy on the inside. His callsign was essentially his one and only name from how often he’d heard it. But he needed to hear his name fall from your lips. And it fell so sweetly.

You glance around trying to think of something to break the tension. 

“Simon, would you like some pie?” You mentally kick yourself, realizing that the food hadn’t even been served yet.

Ghost on the other hand didn’t care. He hadn’t heard his name spoken with such a honeyed tone since he was a small child. It stirred something inside of him, leading him to wonder what the two syllables would taste like coming from your pink lips as he tormented your small body with the brutal pace of his hips against the backs of your thighs. He’d bruise your waist with the death grip he’d have on you to keep you from squirming away from him.

He watches you bite your bottom lip nervously when he takes a second too long to respond. He steps closer to you, ignoring the question. You instinctively step backward, hitting the table behind you. The smell of his rich cologne clouds your senses and you try to discreetly press your thighs together to quell the fire rising inside of you. 

There you stood trapped between a table and the brick wall of a man in front of you. His hand grazes your exposed thigh, slightly lifting your skirt. Your eyes trail down to his lips, his smugness displayed in a smirk. He raises your chin with his left hand and your eyes dart up to his. His deep blue eyes, usually dark and hidden under his brow, were now clouded with hunger, leaving you feeling as if he was a predator finally having caught his prey.

“Don’t try and run from me, pet.”

He growls lowly, and you feel the vibrations when his chest lightly bumps into yours. He places his large hand on your thigh, gently squeezing the plump flesh before moving under your skirt.  His touch sets you ablaze. Your hands grip onto his biceps when cups your womanhood and his thumb grazes your clit. Your breath catches in your throat. The corner of his eyes crinkles slightly when you glance at the door. The voices of his teammates still bleeding through the slight crack.

His hand leaves your chin and tangles itself in your hair. He passes over the bundle of nerves a couple more times until your hips, against your will, twitch into his hand. He coos at you condescendingly, “Oh you poor thing, you want me to play with that sweet little pussy of yours?” You whimper at him and his jaw tightens at the lovely sound. He nuzzles your neck with his nose before leaving wet kisses along your jaw.

His thumb begins leaving circles on your clit and your grip on him tightens. His hot breath rolls over you and he nips your skin.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet.” His words cause you to clench around nothing. Your soft whimpers leave him salivating. He firmly grasps a handful of your curls and forces your ear to his lips.

“What would everyone think if they caught you with my hand up your skirt playing with your little pussy, huh?”

“S-Simon,” You breathe out.

“I think it’s time I show everyone who you belong to.” His growl makes you feel even smaller in his hold.

He releases the grip on your hair and pulls the collar of your shirt just enough to expose your shoulder. His thumb swipes your clit in an up-and-down motion. You moan softly feeling his tongue drag from your jaw to the newly exposed skin. Without warning he sinks his teeth into your shoulder forcing a yelp to leave your lips. Your body stiffens at the pain. He shooshes you, soothing the now red skin with his tongue.

He pulls your collar back to its place and rests his forehead against yours. His fingers push your panties to the side and his middle finger runs up your slit. 

You try and push him back when the voices outside become clearer but he doesn’t budge. He plunges his middle finger inside you. Your eyes shut and you bite down on your lip to keep quiet like he told you. 

“Tight little thing you are,” He nearly moans. “Bet you’d be a mess with only two of my fingers in you.” You attempt to stifle your moans with his lips when he starts sliding his finger in and out of you but he pulls back. 

“Tsk, tsk. So needy.” He teases you, curling his finger. Him tapping that precious spot has you digging your nails into his tattooed skin and your head falling onto his shoulder. His scent paired with his actions almost send you over the edge. He gives you a few more pumps before his hand abandons your needy cunt and he pulls you against him by your waist. Your breaths ragged, face heated from his antics.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, pet.” He chuckles to himself, pulling away from you as he sucks your essence off his digit. You shutter at the vulgar sight.

Soap's voice becomes clearer and you scramble to fix your skirt and attempt to revitalize your ravaged curls before the balcony door swings open. Ghost leans against the counter already beer in hand, popping the cap off with his teeth.

“Game’s aboot tae start and I’m already ragin’!” Laughter emerges from behind the door. Soap stops in his tracks when he sees you in your disheveled state. He knows better than to say anything, but a suspicious look replaces his scowl. “Ye gonna join us?”

“In a moment,” You force a smile and he saunters off to the couch facing away from the kitchen. Ghost sips his beer unfazed by the intrusion. He leaves you behind not giving you a second look. You stand there bewildered, wondering if you imagined the events that just took place. 

Soap elbowed the man now sitting next to him, shooting him a look. 

Before you had arrived Ghost had asked him what he should do. It had been a long time since he tried to court a woman and his days of having flings were long gone as he felt more disconnected from what he’d consider “normal people”.

“Ah don’ know wha’ ye should do. Just don’ shag her in ma house.” The Scot said with a goofy smile. “At long last, LT is gonna bag some. Ah cannae believe it!”

“Fuckin’ hell...”

[tnt-kokoo]

Piano

pairing: Itoshi Rin × fem!reader

summary: You're a musician and Rin was fascinated by your piano play. He wanted to be the reason you continue to play.

warnings: nothing ig?

It was the summer festival of your school and the teachers asked you personally to play a piece on the schools piano. While doing so, you managed to gather a pretty big crowd. One of the students watching was Rin, who you could say was a fan of you.

after you were done, the clapping of the hand in the school hall were cleary to hear as people showed their fascination for hearing you play a hard piece.

Rin, especially, was fascinated by how your soft hands slid from key to key in such a soft motion that made it look like it was way too easy for you.

Sadly, something all students, teachers and even Rin didn't know was, that it was the last time you sweared to play on the piano. So, trying to act normal and let your emotions not overflow the already teary eyes of you, you bowed down a bit and left as the clapping continued.

____________________________________________

Everyday after the school's festival, Rin was hoping to hear you again in the music room. The room where you usually play the piano in most- nearly every break. But sadly he never saw you there. The boy lost his hope to see you again but he promised himself to hear you again. He needed to. It was what calmed him down and put him in a sort of trance whenever he felt overwhelmed by his emotions or the people surrounding him.

You may not know him but he knows you, and as creepy as it sounds he was anxious to get to know you. Considering you're not even in the same class.

____________________________________________

After a whole week of not having your fingers press the piano keys for him, he grew annoyed and couldn't care less anymore about his anxiety of meeting you. He stormed into your classroom in break, finding you there, sitting and eating your lunch. All the eyes from the people in the room went to him as he could not care less and walked towards your table. Infront of you, he started to rethink his decision but it was clearly too late when you gave him a judging look for interrupting a peacefull break to stand infront of you, not saying anything.

"Can I help you?" You asked, rising an eyebrow.

"You're Y/n, right..?" what stupid question, he already knew you were. He just didn't wanted to seem like a stalker.

Nodding you wanted him to continue with his reason as to why to come to you.

"I want you to play again. On the piano." The boy seemed so serious while he could swear he would piss himself if you continued to be silent and look at him judgingly.

"...."

"No"

After your denial to his order, he felt pretty much embarrassed and tried to leave the room as you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him out of the room yourself. Walking him to the snack automat, you put in some coins and sighed.

"How do you even know I play in school?"

Growing red in the face, he was considering if he should tell you about how he would sit infront of the slightly opened door or if he should make up a story. But considering that dark haired football freak was bad at everything other than his hobby, he knew his lie would be way too obvious.

"Whenever I am stressed, I come to listen to you play..." the quiet murmur was still able to be heard as you grew embarrassed by the fact that you had a listener all the time.

"So you're a stalker?!?" You said annoyed and slightly disgusted while raising your voice for only him to hear.

"Ye- What?? NO!" The younger Itoshi brother was pretty hurt to be called a stalker even if what he did, could be considered creepy and stalker-ish.

Defending himself he made sure to quieten you down to let him ask a final question. "Why don't you play anymore if I am allowed to ask?"

"...I don't know." "You're bad at lying." "OH be quiet." you snapped back sassy.

"I guess I don't really have a reason to keep playing." you finally answered.

....

"Then I will be your reason."

____________________________________________

ᯓᝰ YAY a new storyyy

I am so afraid for my finals I think I am going to fail 🙏🙏 Especially math and French.

[strawberryya]

how to befriend a vampire

Yeosang x reader

synopsis: what could be better when you’re bored of life in every way than a hot vampire fuck buddy?

word count: 2k

genre/contains: smut, vampire au, vampire!yeosang, gn!reader, strangers to lovers/fwb, unprotected sex, general tw for vampirism and being bitten (the word blood is not used but heavily implied), stalker-ish behavior from both individuals, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms

rating: 18+

a/n: first arousal august fic is here! I hope everyone likes it and looks forward to the next little blurb I have ready and waiting in the drafts :>

my arousal august masterlist

original event for arousal august

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Summer was over and new classes were about to begin. Returning to your normal routine wasn’t too hard, you had done it before. Your friends were the same, your dorm was the same, although your roommates were new, and the classes all felt as usual. Nothing special was happening at all. Of course, it would’ve been nice if something were to happen, anything really. Just something that would make life this year a bit different than last year. Maybe you should drop a class and pick up something that has nothing to do with your goal, perhaps cults would be fun to study for a term or two? 

Nothing was wrong, it was just so very…boring. 

“A back-to-class party?” Not a terrible idea, you reasoned when your new roommates asked if you wanted to come along to the park that first weekend back at campus. 

It could be horrible, but at least it would mean that something would happen other than studying or watching movies with your new, and so far reasonable, roommates. It had been a while since you had been with anyone too. Maybe this party was the perfect opportunity to find someone a bit attractive to hook up with. The one from last year had ended up getting into a relationship during the summer - rather annoying, because he really wasn’t that bad in bed. 

You needed orgasms to get through the school year, and so you went to the party. Dressed up from head to toe, in clothes that hugged your ass and glitter in your hair, hoping that the outfit would be enough to gain someone’s attention. 

Your mission was… sort of successful. It did attract tons of people, some really attractive people, and some incredibly sleazy and creepy people.

You regretted coming after about two hours of nonstop socializing with other students which led absolutely nowhere. Nobody grabbed your attention, everyone fit perfectly into the little presaved folders in your head. It was so predictable, so incredibly boring. 

“Should we just give up?” You shouted to one of your new roommates. At least, you found some hope in the fact that neither one of them had ended up finding someone interesting among the large crowd that flew past one another like ants in the campus park. You weren’t completely alone in yur failure. 

“I’m ready to go, honestly,” one of your roommates agreed, while the other one had already disappeared in the crowd without acknowledging your question. 

You grabbed ahold of one another. Neither of you sober enough to be able to navigate your way home without losing one another in the night. With arms folded together, in a way only possible for two almost strangers when drunk, you two trudged away from the party and the loud bass that made your head pound. 

“I wanted to fuck someone tonight,” you groaned and fake sobbed into the chilly night air, your roommate only laughing at your unapologetic whining. “I’m not kidding, I don’t care who it is. I just really wanna be obsessed with someone! I wanna be in love! I don’t care if it’s actually love or just really great sex.”

It seemed a bit silly to say out loud, but it was the truth. You probably wouldnt have been so honest with your roommate this soon had you been sober tonight. Nevertheless, the truth was that you just wanted someone to think about, someone to crush on, someone to sleep with when the days became too boring to handle by yourself. 

You were wobbling down the cobbled streets on your way back to the dorm. Your arm was still entangled with your roommates, thoughts having moved on from your honest feelings and instead focusing on whether or not it would be possible to order fries to your dorms. 

When he bumped into your arm, or more correctly, when you stumbled into his arm as he passed, you almost fell over. Enraged at the audacity of this random guy to walk right into you, you turned back around, prepared to yell at him with all your might. But when you began shouting a loud “Hey!”, your anger soon ebbed out as the stranger turned around, revealing his perfect face in the yellow light from the streetlight above. His features were striking even in the dark. His eyes were piercing. His hair was dark and pushed back from his forehead in a light wave. Beside one of his eyes, you noticed a blushy pink birthmark, almost matching the pretty red shade of his lips. His lips… were a lot redder than any lips you had seen on a random guy before. Was he wearing lipstick? 

You had forgotten why you had yelled out to the stranger. His gorgeously handsome face distracted you completely. 

“Y/n, let’s gooo,” your roommate whined, pulling at your arm, evidently not enraptured by the pretty stranger you had bumbled into. How was that possible? You had never seen him before, never known he existed, and you were already obsessed with him. His name, his interests, his favorite place to kiss his lover, you needed to know it all. You needed to befriend him. 

The night was mostly a blur the following day, everything except for the stranger.

For some reason, his face never left your mind. For two weeks you searched every room for him, scanned the streets as you walked down them, and took walks on the campus every shot you got. 

You never found him. He could’ve been an illusion, but you knew deep down that he wasn’t. At least looking for the mystery man in the night had given you something to think about, someone to obsess over, even if you didn’t even know his name. 

It took yet two more weeks and another walk to the convenience store to finally find that one necessary piece of information. You didn’t understand how it had taken this long to find him, it wasn’t like he was hiding. He was walking around in the park, just like the last time you had bumped into him. Dark hair falling onto the sides of his head, a long coat half open to reveal a simple black polo and jeans, almost exactly like last time. You took it all in, stopping mid-step as to not loose sight of him, the plastic bag you had bought filled with snacks and drinks for the late-night studying you had planned on doing was rustling in the wind. He had seen you too. 

He wasn’t moving either, maybe he thought you were a weirdo for simply staring at him in the dark park. 

You drew in a breath. “Hey you! What’s your name?!” You shouted across the grass. If you were going to be a weirdo, you would do it properly. 

He didn’t shout back. Far away someone shouted in the night. You looked towards the sound for half a second out of reflex, and when you looked back the stranger was gone. 

Again?? You thought and damned the universe for teasing you like this. 

“Yeosang.” 

The voice was deep and it sent chills down your back. It made you quickly turn around, finding the stranger right behind you now. He was even hotter this close. 

“Yeosang…” you whispered under your breath. He was rather tall. He gave you a small smile, white teeth flashing cold in the moonlight. Unusually pointy. “I’m y/n…”

His smile got wider. “I know”

Your mind blanked, but you needed to say something. “Let’s be friends!” You hurried to say before he could have a chance to mysteriously disappear again. His smile dropped, eyes looking at you surprised and slightly suspicious. Understandable. 

“Sure,” he said after a moment of only the wind in your ears, a smirk appearing on his face. “If a friend is all you want, I can grant you that.” 

“It’s not,” you said honestly and quickly. His smirk grew. “I want a lot more, but I only found out your name ten seconds ago. Thought I’d give you a chance to get to know me before I tried getting you into bed with me.” 

You felt feverish, the embarrassing reality of what you were telling this stranger hitting you hard.

“I know enough,” he said before his hand found the side of your face and his lips leaned in to meet yours. He tasted like aluminum for a split second but the way you could feel his toned body against yours where your coats fell open distracted you and you soon forgot about the unusual taste. 

A swishing sound made you open your eyes again, the cold from the night air in the campus park seemingly gone and replaced with much warmer air. You were inside, you were inside your own bedroom. You didn’t know how it had happened, you didn’t really know what had happened, and you didn’t know why you didn’t even care. The stranger in the night was named Yeosang, and he was kissing down your neck in your bedroom, pulling your coat off your body, and throwing it into the corner of the room. He was no ordinary person, that you had already caught onto. 

“Can I bite you?” He mumbled against your skin. 

His hands were caressing your body and your mind was buzzing with desire, but the desire didn’t clog your mind yet. You were clearminded and saying “Yes” before you could stop and think about what a bad decision it might be to agree. 

Small pecks now your throat made arousal pool in your lower abdomen. “Bite me as you fuck me,” you whispered. This made Yeosang smile against your skin, moving up to kiss you passionately once again as he pulled his own clothes off along with yours. Pushing you down on the bed as his hard cock pushed against your thigh. It would be tight, but you needed him to use you and stretch you out enough to make life interesting again. 

That, he did. Nothing was mundane or boring about his hands on your body or his tongue on your chest. He was surprisingly gentle as he began filling your hole with his erect cock, but his pace grew feral as he continued pounding into you. You were moaning and clawing at his sculpted body when he hit the right spot inside of you. When his lips let go of you, you looked at him gazing down at your bare neck, he wanted to bite you for real, it was clear he meant it, and you wanted him to as well. You shifted your neck, inviting him to do what he wished. “You look delicious,” he mumbled before he threw himself onto your neck, piercing the skin ever so slightly. You barely even felt it, but the way he suckled on your skin after the small sting felt like he was trying to mark your skin, sending goosebumps down your body when he continued licking and humming against your neck. 

You came as he pounded into you, his hands working their magic while getting to know your body. He didn’t stop until you came for a second time, whining at the overstimulation. 

He cared for your neck and cleaned you up, his movements swift and gentle as he handled you. He caressed your skin with great care, careful not to be too rough. A world’s difference from the way he had fucked you a moment ago. He didn’t force any small talk, a nice change from most other guys you had been with. He had gotten dressed and given you some of your own pajamas to put on before he was ready to leave. 

He couldn’t leave just like this, you collected all the courage you had left and began with an unsure voice. “We’re friends now, right? So you’re welcome here anytime, we could do this again…” 

“We’re friends, yeah.” He smirked and looked at you as you pulled your shirt over your head. “I’ll be here if you need me, or if you’re just… bored.” The last word he said was paired with a small wink. You chuckled nervously, he had known all along. Could he read your mind as well? Maybe you could find out next time. 

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

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[lovedrots]

little moments

iii . little moments  -  p.p. x reader ᥫ᭡

synopsis : you spend the last days of your trip to italy with the boy you admire most. ( includes one-bed!trope and mutual pining )

warnings : creepy pedo old(ish) men, mild swearing, very, very rushed. this is the first time i have written in a while. :( unedited, not proof-read !!

a/n : this is my first time writing in . . . a long time ! so please note that this likely isn’t very smooth, nor is it proof-read / edited. also i am begging you guys to give me requests in my inbox .. i gotta write more !!

word count : 6,921

italy ; 1:56 p.m.

venice was supposed to be fun.

this was supposed to be your opportunity to get away from your parents, to live out your cliche teenage late-night dreams with your closest friend, betty.

but instead, you were stuck trailing her and her new boy-toy, ned leeds.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like ned. no, he was funny. kind. but what bothered you was that he had wormed his way right into the middle of your plans. betty and you had put together list of what you wanted to do: sneak out at night to drink hot cocoa on the roof, pet the pigeons, take every boat you saw … of course, those were all thrown out the window.

and it didn’t really help, that ned’s best friend, peter parker wasn’t around. you hoped that he would at least have his – rather cute – best friend by his side, but it seemed that even he wasn’t content on watching ned and betty suck each other’s faces off.

understandable.

turning your attention from the pale waters, you tried to catch your blonde friend’s gaze – mission failed. you pursed your lip, fingers picking at each other. you were getting antsy, with a need to go something. anything.

“have you guys checked out the saint mark’s basilica yet?” you quipped, sliding in front of them. you were sick of trailing them like a helpless dog.

“doesn’t look fun,” ned muttered, dark eyes glued to betty’s grinning face. and the other didn’t even think it proper to reply. neither of them seemed to notice you, as they brushed past, the girl’s shoulder bumping yours in the process.

your face flushed with something resembling anger – both because of their lack of attention, and the fact that you may have been a little jealous of the couple. just a little. who wouldn’t be? sure, you could say they were just in the honeymoon phase, but the way they looked at each other still had you yearning for more than your life offered. when would you get to experience that? just thinking about it had you kicking your feet, fireworks going off in your tummy.

though you would never admit it, some nights, you would imagine yourself sleeping beside someone. it made you feel … safe, when no one else did.

that’s when you realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks, ned and betty out of sight. you frantically looked around, e/c eyes scanning heads as you stood on your toes. shit. gone.

“lost, amore?” a old, sultry voice rasped. you turned to see a man – likely in his fifties – looking you up and down. though he was smiling, it was certainly nothing kind.

lost? you weren’t lost. just exploring, yeah? you knew where you were; the cream walls, beige roof of the building to your left … the totally familiar waters …

okay, sure. you were lost.

but you couldn’t tell a stranger that!

“no, sir,” you replied, and though you tried to put strength into your voice, it still managed to come out as nothing more than a squeak. “i was just – just looking around. i’ve been here tons of times.”

you began inching backwards, uncomfortable with the older man and unfamiliarity of the situation. though you were sure he had no ill intentions, (were you?) you were rather put off by his use of such an intimate name. after all, you were a teenager; very obviously one, too.

“please, miss! you look –”

you stumbled into a hard surface, warmth seeping into your back, an oomph leaving whatever it is that you crashed into.

you spun on your heel, whipping your head up to look at – peter parker. oh, just the person you needed to see, you thought, sarcasm pounding your head. your gaze shot from man to boy, as if unsure where to focus. you were jet-lagged, disoriented, and maybe a little creeped out.

setting your eyes on peter, you tried to channel your feelings of long (momentary) suffering through the irises. though, in all honesty, you probably looked like a drunken madwoman. but when your e/c eyes met his, the honey-brown so enchanting, you felt a little more secure. it wasn’t quite a warm, safe blanket; after all, you didn’t really know the boy. you’d only watched him from afar. stuffing books in his locker (they often fell out), sneakily mixing chemicals in the lab (you could never tell what, exactly, it was), tapping his foot to taylor swift songs when he thought so one was looking.

yeah, you were smitten.

“sorry mister;” came his wavering voice, “she’s got me!”

sorry? you ‘got him?’ needless to say, you were baffled. never had you ever spoken to the brunette, yet he was acting as if you were the best of pals. you gave him a quizzical look, nearly crossing your arms. but the silence, the bothered look on the elder’s face, had you playing along. “pete!” you choked out, the nickname forcing itself through your teeth, “i was looking everywhere for you.”

“i was down by the – the docks,” he quipped, scratching the nape of his neck. he – rather reluctantly – placed his palm on your shoulder. Though his composure was stiff, and his acting skills horrible, you had no other choice.

feigning annoyance, you crossed your arms, thick brows knitting. “you could’ve answered my texts!” for the fun of it, you fished your cell phone from your back pocket, swinging it between your fingers.

he huffed, tapping his foot. now you were really getting into it, the little squabble. “my phone was dead! you try replying to messages with a pitch-black screen?”

the two of you shot back and fourth for god knew how long, pointing, grumbling, and prodding at each other. To the two of your, your humorous scene was only a few moments long. but, by the time you’d calmed down, laughter at the tips of your tongues, the man had drifted away. last you had checked, he was staring down the two of you with awe and anger, mouth opening and closing each time there was a heartbeat of silence, as if to interject.

the giggles finally bubbled up, leaving your lips in a string of gurgles as you attempted to suppress them. your newfound travel companion, upon hearing your racket, couldn’t help but explode. Peter doubled over, clamping a hand to his mouth, as if to stifle his guffaws; but, it was no use. both of you look utterly insane, like drugged maniacs.

but he thought your laughter was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard.

though, you didn’t know that. you were convinced that you sounded like a crow that had just drunken twelve bottles of whiskey. plus, you were too busy admiring his joy, through the whisps of hair that fell into your face as he chuckles subsided.

you averted your eyes, pupils refusing to shrink back. “thanks. for helping me back there, i mean. that guy was … something.”

he nodded in agreement, a boyish, lopsided grin plastered to his face. “oh, um, anytime!”

you suspected he would be on his way. that he’d turn around, and you would be left alone again.

instead, he analyzed you, head to toe; the hydrangea-print top, the sun-kissed cheeks and nose. you thought you looked like a sloppily put-together mess, but peter thought you looked dream-worthy. “i didn’t know you knew who i am.” he said once he collected his thoughts.

you blinked, your only sign of surprise, ‘till you spoke. “who doesn’t know peter parker? you’re basically the only reason our decathlon team wins every show-down. smartest guy we know!”

was that too much? perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. you only just topped yourself before you could have slipped out something along the lines of, plus, you’re gorgeous. very handsome. i like to watch you in class, you’re so pretty.

but, even when he wore an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, his grin grew impossibly wider, his chest puffing in pride. “i mean – i try. not the smartest, though. try mr. stark. he’s a real genius,” he rambled. “and, hey, you’re pretty smart, too. mrs. warren seems to like you! you always get good grades in her class.”

“you notice?” you rose a brow.

“well, i sit directly behind you, so it’s kind of hard not to listen to it. that’s the only reason. it’s not like i’m a stalker or anything!”

of course, he wasn’t watching you because of some feelings. it was just by chance. if you sat at the opposite end of the room, he probably wouldn’t even know that you’re in his class, for thor’s sake.

needless to say, you were butthurt. but you couldn’t let it show through.

even so, you only found the strength to nod, watching the waters of venice ripple. how could you have gotten your hopes up? you rubbed your arms, droplets of the rivers spraying them with each crash of the tides. you hated the silence. it was your chance; your chance to prove that you were worth becoming friends with. but your awkwardness, your shyness, kept you from saying a word.

you looked up at his face, expecting him to be looking right back – but instead, those puppy eyes were glued elsewhere, to the dark wood planks at your feet.

maybe, he was as nervous as you were.

you cleared your throat, shifting your posture a few more times than it would be, if you were casual. “you haven’t got anyone else, or any plans right now … right?” you tried, foot tapping.

“No, no no!” he quickly ushered, hands that were once behind his back now set in a defensive position. “none at all. i just wanted to walk around, y’know?” he bit his already rouge lips, the action only emphasizing the color in his face. “d’you want to join me? if you don’t, that’s fine! i mean, we only just really met, and it might seem kind of weird. not that i’m weird. am i? i don't think so, i just –”

oh, you were helpless for this man. the way he went on a tangent, deep eyes sparking, you had fallen far before you could really acknowledge it. your stomach was doing summersaults, head feeling light, but not quite dizzy. when were you going to wake up from this dream? you wanted to pinch yourself.

“oh, no, i’d love to . . weirdo,” you added with a quick wink. you weren’t flash, after all; you’d never intentionally bully the poor guy.

peter shook his head, curls bouncing as his face contorted further into a content happiness.

you slipped your phone into the front pocket of your jeans, slipping past him to launch into a slow stroll. you almost instinctively reached out a hand for him to take, as though to guide him, but you pulled away as quick as it came up.

the two of you were oh-so close, shoulders nudging every so often as you walked. it wasn’t always this way; at first, you’d been feet upon feet apart. but as you spoke, you seemed to gravitate towards the enter – or, towards each other.

“but, blueberry pie has such a good balance of sweetness, and the texture is so much more . . it’s just nicer!” you insisted, upon peter bringing up his favorite pie.

“but –” he countered, “that place down the street from delmars? best cherry pie ever.”

you shrugged, mocking offense. “well, i’ve never had it! how should i know?”

he scoffed, hand to his heart. “fine. when we get back from europe, first thing we’re doing? i’m taking you there. and ordering two slices of cherry pie, extra ice-cream.’

if we even make it that far, you wanted to mutter, but held your tongue. instead. you jabbed at his shoulder. “yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that.”

your bantering, since the little skit you put on, never seemed to stop. but your differences never made your heart beat less for him; it only made you more curious. one of the most interesting, being his view on heroes in comparison to yours.

“i appreciate them; i do,” you had said, “but they can’t save us all. kids still go missing. murders still happen. it’s impossible to stop.”

“but they try! they’re humans, too,” he countered. though his tone was harsher than you were used to, you didn’t miss the kindness, the understanding, in his eyes.

“i know,” you said softly. “but – they always say they’re going to ‘save everyone.’” you paused, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “it’s – it’s why i like spider-man, actually.”

you found it curious, how his eyes widened, and his cheeks grew crimson. “what do you mean?” he squeaked out.

“well; he’s not like those other heroes. he looks out for all of us. robberies, drunk drivers … stuff that most of the avengers wouldn’t bother watching out for. i admire him.”

“somebody’s gotta watch out for the little guys,” he murmured as if you couldn’t hear. and those words, stuck in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

somebody’s gotta look out for the little guys, huh?

italy, 6:34 p.m.

it was dusk, by the time you had left again. hours before, peter parker had walked you to your hotel, where you weren’t surprised to find betty missing. likely with ned, peter had scoffed. you nodded, shrugging. at least you has some peace to yourself. you had shared an awkward moment before he left; he had gone in for a side-hug, while you had expected a full-on one. this had both of you struggling to find a comfortable way to meet, before you settled on a less-than-shitty … fist bump. yeah. a fist bump.

you groaned at the memory, shaking your head. you needed something to clear your head. and that ‘something’ was a boat ride!

you wove through the busy streets, eyes glued onto the boat-stop, humming with delight as you watched one pull into view and –

“rose, lovely?”

you jolted once more, struck into reality as a man in a cap resembling a beanie held out a singular red rose. you shook your head, cursing yourself for not avoiding the packed walkways.

“american, yes?” he tried again, signaling the flower in his hand with the dip of his head.

opening your mouth to offer a curt reply, you instead felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “um – hi, sorry to interrupt, man. y/n?”

you quickly spun to see peter parker behind you, yet again. “peterrr … hi!!” you quipped, a fake grin splat on the panes of your face.

“hey,” he smiled back, sliding his fingers from your shoulderblade to your hand, entwining them with yours. “let’s get our boat, yeah?” he gave your hand a gentle tug towards the dock, his other occupied with a small pale bag, making a point to raise the one holding yours just enough for the capped boy to see. and, though you shouldn’t have, you squeezed his palm just a little tighter. to remind the fluttering of your heart, that it was real.

when you sat on the slick bench of he raft, peter, alarmed by the pools of water on said bench, shrugged his jacket off, swiftly placing it where you were aiming just before you took your seat. you gave him a quizzical look, to which he replied, “i just – i just didn’t want your jeans to be ruined! they’re pretty.” his voice wavered, soft.

his little display of respect had you over the moon. and though everyone else was out of sight, you hadn’t let go. side by side, hands clasped, the two of you seemed to look opposite ways. you towards the city lights, and peter towards the open waters. but, in reality? you were looking at each other when the other turned away. it was like a game of whack-a-mole, to catch one another red handed. the few times your eyes met, you felt your skin ignite.

the entire ride, not a word was exchanged. but you never moved away. you would feel the occasional squeeze to your hand, which you would respond with one of equal gentleness. They seemed to communicate, ‘is this okay?’

it was short, sweet, the crossing not lasting anything more than ten minutes. when you stepped out, you seemed frozen. his irises, illuminated by fairy lights, were so sweet, like pools of milk chocolate.

but, nothing good lasts forever. the worker on the boat coughed once. twice.

right; money.

you slid your hands into your pockets, grabbing from your wallet … but the boat as gone as soon as you looked back up. peter was sliding a wrecked, leather-bound square back into his pants. you sighed deeply, rolling your eyes. “oh, please. you couldn’t have let me pay you back at least once?”

“pay me back for what?” he asked innocently.

you scoffed, dropping the wallet back where it came. “yeah, yeah, mister hero …” you shook your head, though you could feel tingles of a smile warping the edges of your lips. he had let got of your hand to pay, and though it did not find yours again, you could feel the ghost of his touch linger on your skin. “we have got to stop meeting like this,” you added, referring to the assistance he offered you. two times, now, had he led you away from odd men in this foreign land.

peter shrugged, fiddling with the handle of his paper bag. “at least i means we meet, somehow.” though his words came off as casual, there was a strain in his voice. as if he wanted to say more. “besides; if i didn’t turn out, where else would you be?”

rolling your eyes, your eyes followed the sun, watching it sink below the horizon. “i had it covered …” but, upon seeing his face drop a fraction, you felt yourself soften like warm wax. “okay, maybe i didn’t. you saved my ass, i admit it.” you rose your hands in surrender, a tight-lipped beam lighting your face.

he seemed to perk right up, like a dog receiving praise, posture straightening with delight. you could practically envision a wagging tail.

and you didn’t mind it, when your fingers drifted into his once more as you led each other back to where your class was gathered.

italy, 2:12 a.m.

you kicked your feet beneath the thick bedsheets, the absence of your friend hitting you like a ton of bricks. originally, the two of you planned to stay up late in face-masks, drinking smoothies and eating chocolates. but, where was she now?

with her new boyfriend, obviously. and thor knew how the hell betty managed to sneak into his room.

actually – never mind. your teachers were too much of a deadbeat, to pay attention to the lot of you the middle of the night.

you wrestled with the duvet for a few more moments, both hot and cold wrecking your body. blanket on? too hot. blanket off? too cold. how did people even manage, in such conditions?

you felt your feet touch the fuzz of your slippers as you swung up, laced night-dress crinkling against linen. you wanted to sleep, so badly, yet it never came. each time you closed your eyes, stars would appear, and you would replay your walk home with peter in your head. it was all so strange. you had met only today, really, and it felt like he was your ‘soulmate.’

or, maybe it was you trying to convince yourself that things could work out between you and the coffee-eyed boy.

you kicked your legs, emitting soft thuds to the mattress, unsure of what to do. you’d tried listening to ambience between the time of 1:34 to 1:56, but that didn’t seem to work, though it often times did. you also attempted the classic, ‘counting sheep.’ but, when does that ever really work. you even got so distracted, that you had begun to name the damned sheep that were jumping over your little imaginary fence.

your personal favorites were sir mcwooly and baaa-rney.

toddling over to the small desk by the hotel’s queen’s bed, you rubbed your arms, feeling the goosebumps spiking up on your skin. you sat on the swiveling chair, the small lamp as blinding as the sun when you turned it on. you seethed, squinting as you made a grab for the miniature sketchpad and pen assortment you had packed

you scribbled away, filling pages with tiny stars, before your hand began to flow out portraits of your friends. first, betty; with her shining blonde hair, her sugar-sweet grin. you doodled her and ned, despite the small crack in your heart at the thought of them so happy together. you drew them on the flight together, when you had been kicked out your seat to sit behind them, watching the new couple giggle through the cracks. you added little notes, complaining about their mushiness, about how empty they made you feel.

Needless to essay, the page was ripped from the booklet.

your pen found it’s way to paper once again, this time, the lines forming the familiar silhouette of peter. you started with his doe-brown eyes, making emphasis on the shining in them, the familiarity. though you enjoyed drawing each part of him, something about those eyes had you grounded to them. and it showed; when you were finished – or, more specifically, you noted how cliche you were acting – anyone could see the emphasis you’d placed on his irises. darker than all else in the portrait, white cut-outs of hearts and stars, if you looked close enough, bright against the ink.

you shook your head, gingerly, not to break the paper, tearing the page from the notebook. you set it aside, atop your previous project. the cold was getting to you; you were shaking like a wet dog, and, god, did you feel like you were sick. the small blotches of pen-gel on your hands didn’t help the look. it was like you were catching the plague.

padding for the suitcase propped against the wall, you dug through it, slipping a alpaca-fur sweater over your head. it would leave a mess of hairs, later, but in the moment, it was worth the suffering.

only issue was, your hands were still cold as ever. but you knew just what to do.

italy, 2:59 a.m.

the aroma of milk chocolate wafted through the room, the small kitchen’s floorboards creaking as you twirled and bobbed your head like a bird. you had your earbuds shoved deep into your ears, ramones blasting through the tiny speakers. you were careful to avoid the odd, slimy bits in the floor. though venice was a beautiful city, your academy didn’t seem inclined on letting the lot of you stay in a nice hotel.

whatever; the trip was free, anyways. you’d take what you could get.

you dipped your spatula into the thick, italian-style cocoa, buzzing with delight as you licked a speck of the liquid from your finger. heavy, yet delicious. even just a drop, was like a cup’s worth of flavor of those sad, little packets of hot-chocolate at home.

you poured a bit of the mixture into a small mug, surprised to find a good half of it left in the pot. you groaned, realizing that you did not, in fact, have a personal fridge to store the drink in for later. and you didn’t trust anyone from your class to not steal it from the hotel’s storage unit, if you chose to keep it there.

you’d have to gulp down the whole damned container. it was like sipping on melted-down icing.

you absent-mindedly poured the rest into a matching cup, grumbling at the spare dish you’d clean. you whispered the lyrics to the song playing through your ipod, foot tapping – rather noisily – on the old wood planks.

but, your peace was short-lived.

a small voice seemed to echo you, repeating the very lyrics you thought only you could hear. you pulled one of the buds out, head whipping about until you came face-to-face with peter, who was leant against the cracked doorframe, muttering to the very lyrics you were whispering.

you froze up, quarter-full pot in hand. like a deer in the headlights. “a ramones fan?” you squeaked out as soon as you remembered that you had a voice.

“yeah – yeah. they’re cool,” he replied with equal eagerness. though he made an attempt to look casual, the constant shift in position and blush staining his cheeks opposed it. “how many song d’you know?”

“not many. this just showed up on my playlist, i guess,” you clarified, not quite meeting his gaze.

“oh! that’s fine. music is kinda subjective. and the ramones aren’t exactly in style now, so –”

you cut the poor boy off with a chuckle, holding out a cup of chocolate to him. “now, don’t undermine your tastes over me. hell, i’d be happy to listen sometime.”

“really?” the panes of his face seemed to heighten with joy. “awesome. people don’t usually .. they don’t tend care about that, y’know?”

you nodded, letting go of the mug as he took hold if it’s handle, fingers brushing yours with a spark. “it’s the little things that matter, though. i mean, imagine having someone who just knows everything about you like that?”

he gazed into the cup with wonder, as if pondering your words. “yeah … i mean. it would be easier than having to explain every little thing to ned,” he stuffy joked, scratching at his neck (again; a habit, it seemed) as if there was a switch to turn his awkward energy off.

you gave a polite giggle, leaning over the dusty counter, drink in hand. this silence seemed to be a reoccurring thing between the two of you. you would look anywhere, but each other, until you caught one-another red handed in the act. each time your eyes met, you melted a little, seeing the warmth behind them. and a sprinkle of something else. something dark. lonely. sad.

peter cautiously swiped a tinge of chocolate from the inner rim of the pot, tasting it, with a hum of approval. he took a soggy paper towel off the rack, wiping his fingers free of the sweet treat, before clearing his throat once. twice.

you looked back up, watching him frantically digging through the pockets of his jeans; front left. front right. back left. back right.

… the item he was looking for was, actually, in his hoodie.

when he at last came across it, a wide grin spread across his face, a depiction of relief. you caught a glimpse of red, shining against the soft light of the kitchen lamp.

“turn around?” he pleaded, fiddling with … whatever it was.

though you weren’t sure if you could trust it, the innocent, hopeful look on his face had your knees weak. so you obeyed.

you nearly gasped as you felt warm, calloused hands caress your neck, shifting your hair over your right shoulder. and as, in contrast, a cool metal chain was placed around your throat. as he clasped it together, he seemed to linger there, hands unnecessarily raking through your strands.

not that you minded.

you took the jewelry – a necklace – between your fingers, heart puddling to find a rose made of red glass resting on your skin. “oh, pete … why?”

“i just – i-admire-you, you-know? i-mean,have-you-seen-how-you-work-in-decathlon? or-how-you-help-mrs. warren, even-though-she-can-be-a-little … difficult. not-that-she’s-bad! no! and, um. you’re-gorgeous. not-in-a-creepy-way, but – still. yeah.”

boy, was he out of breath. you could barely understand a thing he said. “peter … i seriously didn’t catch a word of that. slow down, yeah?”

his cheeks grew scarlet as he nodded. “i was just saying that i, kind of, admire you i guess?”

you blinked, fingers that were fidgeting with the bud now frozen. “you admire me? peter parker? well, i must’ve done something right,” you laughed – not quite understanding that his words were, actually, a confession, and not words similar to that of a student and a mentor.

you didn’t catch the grimace of disappointment that passed over his face.

“right … yeah. of course,” he assured, taking a large step back. did your breath smell? you pondered, shoulders tensing. but he only padded to the spare cup, giving you a look of inquiry – to which you nodded – as he picked the ceramic up, taking a swig from the thick drink. you grinned as he pulled away from the mug, upper lip lined with deep brown.

“you’ve got something there,” you quipped, jutting your chin towards his face. he took a swipe at his mouth, missing the small puddle by an inch or two. again. again. by the time he’d given up, you were struggling not to spill your hot chocolate as you guffawed. you tip-toed to his silhouette, napkin in hand, and quickly swiped the dessert off his skin. “there, dork. all fixed up,” you declared.

the smile on his lips quivered, as though to keep it from turning into a full-on, toothy smirk. you lingered, body soaking up the heat radiating off of him. how you longed to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. and oh, gods, how he smelled. warm apple pie, laced with fresh rain.

you wondered if he tasted just as sweet.

but you couldn’t think that way. you shouldn’t have. what you wanted, what you knew, was nothing more than a fantasy. you only ever watched peter parker from the sidelines. hell, you didn’t know what his favorite food was. his favorite colors. all you knew was his favorite subject, how he tugged at his curls while we was stressed. the way he bounced his leg as your teacher spoke, pink lip tugged between his teeth. though, you could never really tell if he was really focusing; the boy’s eyes were always glossy, clouded. like he wasn’t really there. at this point, you were confident he lived inside his laptop screen.

except for the fact that he answered every damned question he was asked.

seriously, it had you rethinking your own intellect.

you didn’t grin back, your own foolishness taking a toll on your mood. you stumbled your way to the sink, his heat leaving your body feeling empty. setting your mug down with a clunk, you couldn’t meet peter’s curious gaze. “i’ve – got to sleep. early day tomorrow, yeah?” your voice was weak, no matter how hard you tried to bring humor to it.

and as you tuned to leave, what you didn’t catch, was the crushed look on your love interest’s face.

the moment you had reached your hotel, you were rather dejected to see betty missing. you scoffed, face-planting on your side of the queen-sized bed, right hand unconsciously shooting up to protect the glass art around your neck from the harsh impact. you gripped it just a fraction tighter as you sighed into the pillows, the heaviness of silence dragging anxiety from the depth of your heart.

it took you a few minutes, to find the strength to get up. but when you did, you slipped into a silken night gown, wrapping your skin in a thick robe to protect it from the cold air. your face was slathered in a gray mask, hair pushed back by a baby-blue headband. you could feel the clay on your face drying, sending a strange tingling sensation through your flesh. ick.

your eyes welled with disappointment as you stared at yourself in the mirror. were you selfish, for wanting your best friend back? you were supposed to be doing this together, face-masks and all. but instead, you had been abandoned for some guy. you blinked back your worries, determined not to let your sullied mood ruin your almost perfectly dried clay. instead, you took a deep exhale, eyes trained on the knob of the hotel’s front door.

it was as if you had summoned it with your eyes; a sharp, quick knock at the dead of night.

you blinked, almost confident that you had been hearing things. but it came again, once. twice. three timed, before you approached it, scowling. if she was going to stay so long with her boyfriend, why come back now?

“you should have just stayed where you were,” you bit out as you swung the door wide open, huffing. your voice was venom, and deep down, you were sure you’d overreacted. but you were hurt. “really, bett! it’s – what – three in the –”

were betty’s eyes always such a deep shade of brown? you didn’t remember her hair being so short.

oh.

oh.

you blinked back your angry tears, wishing you could take each little word back. you’d been a fool, for lashing out at your friend – much less, the wrong one. you rubbed your eyes, barely missing the crusted clay inches beneath. “peter?” you coughed.

“bad timing?” he swallowed, taking a step back from the door; an offer to leave, if you so chose. you felt your heart crack, just a fraction, as you shook your head quickly, opening your door a bit wider.

“more like, bad situation,” you shrugged, far too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “what . . .” you continued, “what are you here for?”

peter’s mouth pinched, as if he was thinking carefully for his next line of words. “i got kicked out,” he finally admitted, a sheepish grin pulling at the panes of his face. “betty took my side of the bed, and i didn’t really want to listen to them flirt all night.”

you giggled, a warm rush coating your skin as you nodded. “you should have seen them earlier,” you replied, spirits lifted with his caring presence. “i couldn’t even get a hold of the girl, for god’s sake. she’s infatuated.” you took a deep breath. the memory wounded you, but it felt nice – to laugh about it with someone who understood. “did you . . want to come in?” you finally asked after a heartbeat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. you looked like a grizzly bear, in your fluffy turtleneck and your dark clay mask.

but he didn’t seem to mind. hell, little did you know, he thought you looked beautiful. sure, he enjoyed watching you from his seat in chemistry. enjoyed gazing at you as you bit your lip while working through an equation, or how you raked your hand through your hair idly, when your fingers had little to do. but above all, he enjoyed this the most. you, in your rawest, most natural state.

“yes. yes, please,” he quipped, slipping past you, into your dimly lit hotel. you trailed after him, the air far heavier than it had been moments ago. what were you to do? the boy you’d been eyeing for ages now stood in the center of your room, looking lost and helpless.

sucking on a tooth, you sighed, “just . . . sit, yeah?” you pulled out the office chair to your right, rolling it just behind him, like the gentleman (gentlewoman, you supposed) you were. “i’ve got to wash this—“ you gestured to your skin, caked in product, “—off my face.”

you excused yourself with a forced grin, despite the butterflies in your stomach. even if you were happy, you were far more bashful than anything else. you gazed into the mirror as you shut the bathroom door behind you, noting the texture of your skin, the dryness of your lips, the bags beneath your eyes. you looked like the devil herself, ruined and exhausted.

you gently scrubbed the mask off, turning the mini-towel you had brought a light grey, so as not to irritate your skin. you didn’t want to teeter out looking like a seeded strawberry.

once your skin shone with water, not a trace of dirt beneath, you dug through your bag for a plethora of items; chapstick, moisturizer, a nightgown, a hairbrush . . . it took you little over twenty minutes, to took anything like the girl you were, this morning.

slipping out the washroom, you tugged at the sleeves of your nightgown, the beige a contrast to the deep red trousers he had chosen.

“so!” you clapped, falling back onto the plush mattress of the hotel bed. “you can take the bed, and i will take the . . . couch.” though it was soggy, and looked a strange color, you couldn't bear the guilt of making him sleep on it. he’d already been kicked from him own room, for christ’s sake.

you had expected relief to wash over his face, but instead, he panicked. “no. no! i can’t let you do that,” he gave you a pointed look, his eyes darting between the cushions and you. “i intruded. i’ll take the couch,” he announced, sitting up a bit straighter.

you were having none of it. “oh, please. you cured my loneliness. i wasn’t the one who got kicked out of my own hotel, was i?”

the brunette’s lips tightened, as though he was about to give in. you watched him hopefully, your tummy fluttering with absolutely glee as a sigh loosened. “yeah. yeah, okay.” he broke out in a grin, and though it looked sweet . . . mischief lurked beneath it. “if,” he continued, peter’s nervous aura replaced with a sly air, “and only if you’re willing to share. i know those couches suck, probably full of germs and mold . . .”

you cringed, remembering the soggy floorboards and furniture of the foyer. did you really want to sleep on . . . that? you could already feel the stale, reeking water encasing your arms. shaking your head, you finally replied. “you’re . . . awfully stubborn. fine. only because i can’t stand the smell.”

the boy before you, however, seemed taken aback, cheeks glowing a red hue. had he not expected you to agree? you stifled a giggle behind a cough, padding to the bed, testing the springs of the mattress with your fingers. “are you tired?”

“very,” he admitted, wincing. “being out all day . . . yeah.”

“right.” guilt washed over you. it was your fault, wasn’t it? you had wanted to explore, and he complied, for your benefit. you sat, patting the space to your right. “please, sleep. i’ll be in soon! i just need to text bett.”

he looked up at you curiously, honey-brown eyes sparkling in the dim light.

you giggled, resisting the urge to ruffle his already-messy hair. “i don’t want her coming back in te morning to a boy in my bed, with no explanation.”

“oh. oh.” his expression as it kicked in, had you rolling. he was distressed, burning up, his words incoherent and quick as lightning. you – gently – slapped his shoulder. 

“get your mind out of the gutter, and go to bed,” you ordered, leaping to your feet to retrieve your phone. you could hear the rusting of duvets and sheets, as he settled in. and only then, did you let yourself really think. you had just invited your gods-forsaken crush to sleep in your bed. with you in it. you were so wound up in nerves, you didn’t even text your friend. you doubted she’d even come back, anyways.

so you simply stood there, for a few minutes, simply . . . watching. watching the way his lashes fluttered, the pattern of his breathing. he fell asleep widely fast, already steady and deep in his dreams. you tip-toed back, until you were slipping into the now-warmed cotton, humming in content. the sound of his breaths, his subtle heartbeat, lullied you to sleep like a sweet song.

the last thing you felt, that night, were his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

italy, 9:34 a.m.

it was cold, when you woke up. freezing, in fact. that human warmth from the night before . . . it was gone, but what did you expect? a romantic morning-after scene? you two hadn’t even kissed for christs sake.

you laid there, feeling defeated. had you just made things awkward, between the two of you? would you ever get to speak to one another again, or would he avoid you? but, eh wasn’t like that, was he? no, he was kind, and sweet. and he wanted to share, no? he offered, and you accepted. he couldn’t do this to you.

almost an hour passed before you got up, soles of your feet warm against the ice-cold flooring.

and that’s when you saw it. a single note, crumpled and messy, on your nightstand, amongst the pile of drawings – a few missing, you noticed. his.

oh, shit.

you picked up the sheet of paper, eyes scanning the pages, reading each syllable aloud to yourself.

“you know, it’s rude to draw someone without showing them. i’m awfully offended, and am keeping these!

. . . not because i don’t like them. i love them. a lot. god, you’re talented. they’re cute.

i would have stayed. i wanted to. but i had an emergency, from mr. stark, and didn’t want to wake you with a call, y’know? please don’t be upset. i liked last night. i haven’t slept so well, in a while. maybe it’s a sign we should do it again? if you wanted? maybe?

– peter.”

perhaps this trip wasn’t so bad, after all, you decided as you tucked away the sheet. you’d keep it forever, if you could.

[jester089]

FUN IDEIA ALERT!!!

FUN IDEIA ALERT!!!

Spoopy season requires spoopy things

sooo i was kinda of thinking Ghost!child reader with the gang (platonic, always!)

Lemme explain it to ya, So i wanted to see some hc of an spirit child reader whos soul got stuck into the digital circus, how, you say? Lets say that in the moment that reader putted the headset something fell in their head, killing them instantly, since reader was wearing the Headset, instead of their body and conscience go to the digital circus, their soul got there! Their appearance being something peaceful and pleasing to the eye, like Reader's appearance are a child covered in white robes with some gold details and a flower crown. But reader's eyes represent constant sadness, like there are always rivers of tears falling off their eyes who (strangely) doesnt make a mess on the floor, kinda like Gangle's tears but more sad

If you go close enough to Reader you can hear multiple whispers, inaudible ones cuz its multiple whispers at one time but only Reader can understand them. If they question what the whispers says, Reader will say: "its the voices lamenting." In a full echoish-whisperish voice.

BUUT theres more!

Since reader is a spirit they can lift things with their mind, dim the lights and go invisible (ghost things)

Reader rarely express any other emotion than sadness, but when they snap... OH BOI

Reader will go full hostile mode, their appearance distorts into something really creepy, like their eyes will go full pitch black and the tears turns into some glitchy goo, their robes getting slightly black in the edges, Reader will start throwing things around with their mind and scream loud as hell, basically like a ghost tantrum.

Im very excited with this ideia AAAA

- 🦇

Crying child

Ik that isn't what you meant. But the first thing my mind went to is the crying children from fnaf. Also this sounds honestly really hard to write for. I ain't gonna just not write it though. I wasn't really sure if you wanted headcannons or a oneshot. But this felt like a more oneshot-ish request so I did that. TADC Crew x Child Ghost Reader

You were one of the first people to arrive at the digital circus. You were around 6 when you first arrived and are now much older. But being trapped here as well as being dead had taken it's toll on your young mind so you still act around the same as when you first arrived. Still easily excitable, still gullible, still sad. You really were like a ghost. Not only because you were literally a ghost but you rarely spoke unless spoken to and would just quietly float around an endless stream of tears falling from your eyes. You also had the tendency to just stare at people. You had an aura of sadness around you. The occasional quiet sob and endless depressed whispers that always followed you around made it hard to be around you for long periods of time. Their's a lot of mental problems in the circus already, and you sure as hell ain't gonna help. When you are happy, which is rare you're quite nice to be around. The tears and whispers stop and you really do feel like just a normal kid to the others. Now anger is a different story. When you're angry Caine has to actually lock you up cause you've killed a few people. Your usual appearance resembles a fallen angel. Snapped halo, dirtied once pristine white robes lined with gold. But when you're angry it flips. Your robes singe at the edges leaving behind a brownish blood red color your halo sinks into your head and is replaced by a single broken pure red horn. The fact that your soul is in the circus makes you have some kind of power. You don't really use it cause you don't know how. But when you're mad at someone it is proper time to freak out because you've deleted a few people. You always feel horrible afterwards but their isn't anything you can do for them. The ones who have been abstracted at least have a chance of being helped. The ones you deleted not so much. So in the rare occurrence that you're around everyone they do their best to keep you calm, and to keep Jax away from you (He doesn't believe you're a threat.)

(Another kind of strange request. Sorry if this isn't good. I just didn't really know what to write. I did my best though. Hope you enjoyed it.)

xoxo, Jester

[boysbellyrubs]

Under a Sick Stomach

here’s that fic i talked about with being stuck under someone with a sick tummy 😋. i had heaps of fun writing this one.

cw for semi explicit content, making someone puke (sticking their fingers down their throat), discussion of kink

also maybe time skip of like five years, so they’re 24 ish cause why not lol.

—-

Caine and Quinn often fell asleep on top of each other, and it had never posed any issue so far. Caine had stayed awake playing with Quinn’s hair. It had gotten a little longer than normal and he was begging Quinn to never cut it. Long hair was just superior, Caine didn’t make the rules. Quinn had drifted to sleep in the past thirty minutes or so, snoring lightly on Caine’s chest. His hands were resting on either side of Caine’s body. If anyone were to come in they would probably assume Quinn fell on to Caine and didn’t want to get back up.

Caine was content to stay awake though, he quite enjoyed letting Quinn sleep. It sounded creepy but watching him sleep made his heart full. Everything that had been troubling him suddenly disappears and his face morphs into innocence. Caine can’t resist giving him kisses he won’t feel, touching and rubbing every solid area of Quinn’s body. It’s almost like he experiences cuteness aggression with his boyfriend, screaming into his hands when he catches him snoozing anywhere.

He didn’t mind being crushed under Quinn either. The warmth and heaviness drained his stress and created a barrier between him and the rest of the world. It was comforting.

Quinn was slowly easing into deeper sleep but every now and then his body twitched and brought him back. Caine shushed him each time, one hand still fiddling with his hair and the other running softly down the length of Quinn’s back. His gentle touches weren’t enough though to stop the tiny movements. Quinn was also letting out these tiny sighs and grunts that interrupted his breathing. When this happened, Caine’s eyes kept darting down to look at Quinn’s, making sure that he was still resting.

The next anomaly was Quinn’s stomach. With the way they were lying, Caine’s own stomach was almost directly under Quinn’s and he could feel each time he inhaled and exhaled. Along with his breathing, there were little gurgles happening inside Quinn’s belly. He originally had thought the boy was getting hungry, but they didn’t seem like empty growls. These ones were thick and pushed through his stomach like molasses, coating Quinn’s tummy in sick sounds.

Caine, with all his soul, was freaking out about this. It didn’t sound or feel very pleasant, but Caine was having trouble containing himself. Quinn’s noisy belly let out another sick gurgle, one that travelled from his actual stomach to lower down his belly. Quinn moaned sleepily and moved his head, smushing up Caine’s shirt. Caine’s hands no longer had the strength to play with Quinn’s hair, instead he was clamping his mouth shut with both of them. His boyfriend was clearly in pain, but there was something so incredibly erotic about being able to feel each gurgle and hear each moan so close to his ear.

Another growl and this time Quinn’s legs curled up. He moaned again and Caine felt himself flush red. He gritted his teeth and put his hands back on Quinn, down by his tailbone. He tapped and glided his fingers along the area, feeling a little guilty he was doing almost nothing to soothe Quinn. It was just too good. His brain thought of all the possible reasons as to why Quinn’s stomach was bothering him. While he was daydreaming, Quinn’s belly had grown more upset and it wasn’t letting up with the noises. Each growl and gurgle pierced Caine’s ears and made the boy on top of him squirm.

The more he squirmed, the worse he made his belly. Each time he moved, Caine could swear he felt the contents slosh and groan, churning up whatever was inside to mush. As Caine felt more grumbles, Quinn whimpered and his limp hands suddenly curled underneath Caine’s back. He jolted at the touch a little, but Caine let it happen. Quinn was probably going to wake up soon so he wanted to savour this. Caine felt Quinn’s belly contort and a loud grumble echoed out, making Quinn moan and squeeze his hands tighter around him.

Fuck, Caine thought to himself. There was another crucial part to this dilemma too. Not only was Quinn’s belly turning his brain to goo, everytime Quinn squirmed he was doing so right on his dick. As soon as he woke up, Caine would have to push him right off if he wanted to keep his dignity. It was almost unfair.

Quinn’s hands squeezed, his belly jumped and a sick sounding burp fell out of his mouth. Caine had to stifle a groan. He was actually about to explode. He looked down at Quinn and found that his brow was contorted and his mouth was open like he was panting. As he watched, Quinn let out another involuntary burp and he groaned out a miserable noise. He didn’t know how much longer to let this go on; he debated whether to wake him up or enjoy this for a little longer. It was probably quite cruel to let Quinn stay in pain, but…for a few more minutes.

So, for the next few minutes Quinn kept moaning and groaning, squirming on top of him and occasionally burping and hiccuping. A particularly sick gurgle broke through the overall noise and Quinn’s head jumped upwards, and it seemed he was finally awake. Caine immediately went into caretaker mode.

He groaned, “Caine.” His voice was gravelly. Quinn tried to roll over but he curled inwards, instead sliding down off of Caine until he was kneeling in between his legs. He moaned, one of his hands came up to cup under his chin as a bit of spit escaped. Caine could only watch. Quinn’s eyes were half shut, his cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed from his sleep. His ‘fucked out’ look was made ever better with him on the verge of gagging and his hand digging into his belly.

Caine wanted to capture this moment in his brain forever. He sat up and grabbed Quinn’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, love, look at me.” Quinn’s frantic eyes locked on to his, watery and red. Caine’s hand pushed up Quinn’s hair, touching his forehead at the same time. He had quite a fever. “It’s okay, calm down.”

Quinn shook his head, “No, no, I-I’m…I don’t feel good. Sick.”

“I know.” Caine leant up to kiss Quinn’s forehead. As he did so, Quinn’s throat made a strange noise, and he was suddenly much closer than before. He burped and a splashing sound alerted Caine to the fact that his boyfriend was now being sick. He rubbed Quinn’s back as he coughed, another strangled sound came out of his mouth and more vomit puddled in between the two boys. Quinn moaned as he panted, leaning more and more on Caine’s chest. He burped again but nothing happened, so he lifted his head and looked at the mess he’d made.

“Oh, Caine, I'm so sorry. My belly…”

Caine couldn’t be mad at him. Honestly, he was more grossed out with himself for being so turned on from this. His lap was dripping with puke and his boyfriend was still moaning and spitting saliva that dribbled from his lips. When Quinn finally looked at him, the vomit stuck to the corner of his mouth and the tears trailing down his cheeks was enough to make Caine’s eyes widen and his cheeks burn. It was criminal how good Quinn looked right now.

While he stared, Quinn’s stomach gurgled again and he heaved, bringing up a small amount of bile that fell down his chin. He dropped his head and another burp forced up another mouthful, making him cough and splutter. Quinn’s hands were pushing in on his belly, and by the looks of it, it was a little bloated from being upset. Caine didn’t think this could get any better.

He was wrong. When Quinn pushed in on his tummy, he groaned and gagged yet nothing came up. So, the next logical thing was for him to look up and meet Caine’s eyes and whine out a sentence Caine had been pretty much dreaming of.

“Can you help me? I still need to puke, my belly won’t let me.” He moaned out each word, pain and nausea lacing the syllables. Caine was dumbstruck.

He pointed to the bed, “R-Right here? We should probably move to the bathroom.”

Quinn wasn’t having it. He whined as moved a little closer to Caine and grabbed one of his hands. The boys touch was shaky and warm, hands sweaty with exertion. He brought it up to his mouth and let’s Caine’s fingers touch his chin.

“Please. My poor tummy needs to be emptied.”

There was a moment where Caine thought he was dreaming. This was single-handedly the hottest and weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Quinn was acting so strange, but if he needed help, Caine wasn’t going to deny him. He crawled around to be beside Quinn instead as Quinn’s hand dropped from his own, now cradling his stomach again. Caine kissed Quinn’s shoulder as he inserted his fingers, feeling spit and residues of puke on them.

He got closer to the back of Quinn’s mouth and felt a hiccup and then the vibrations of a moan, Quinn’s mouth dropping open a little more to let him have access. Caine’s heart was pounding. His free hand went around Quinn’s waist, his fingers rubbing a little. He could feel how bloated Quinn’s stomach was from this angle too, pushed out far against his ribs like he’d eaten a big meal. Quinn’s belly rippled as he hiccuped again, but still no puke.

Caine was taking too long, he felt Quinn’s hand come up to push his hand in further and he almost choked on it. Caine pushed him away.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got it. Don’t worry babe. Relax.”

Quinn whined, “Please hurry. My belly is killing me.”

“I will.” He kissed Quinn’s shoulder again. His fingers pushed inside again and he felt some more saliva trickle out of Quinn’s mouth. The nausea was ramping up it seemed. Quinn’s belly gurgled loudly and his hands gripped it, one on either side and showing off his swollen gut. He leaned back onto Caine, now rubbing his belly from side to side as it grumbled at him to get a move on. Quinn tossed his head on to Caine’s shoulder and moaned. Caine’s fingers eventually reached the back of his throat again, but he was too focused on the way Quinn’s belly was almost being presented to him. He wished Quinn’s shirt was off so he could see how stretched his skin was. Maybe his lower belly would still be soft, the sickness not reaching there yet. It gurgled again and Caine bit back a moan of pleasure.

Back to the task at hand, he guided Quinn to sit back up again and his other hand curled further around to rest on the bloat of his belly. As he did so, he jammed his fingers into Quinn’s throat and the boy jerked forward. His throat spasmed on his fingers, more and more saliva dribbling out. Caine tried again, and this time Quinn coughed up a small amount of bile. He moaned and rubbed his belly.

Caine leant forward, “How about as I push on your throat, you push on your belly. Try to get as much up as possible, yeah?”

Quinn’s eyes met Caine’s and he could tell the boy was sceptical. “It’ll be okay, baby. I know your tummy hurts but it’ll only be for a second, and then you’ll feel so much better.” Caine whispered, kissing Quinn’s temple.

The other boy whimpered but he felt him nod. Caine smiled and moved so he could be directly behind Quinn, one hand in his mouth and the other resting on his stomach. He rubbed a soothing motion into his shirt.

“Ready baby?”

Quinn nodded.

“Okay, push hard. 3,2,1”

The strategy worked. Quinn let out a retch that brought up the last bits of puke. Vomit coated Caine’s arm as he pulled it out of his boyfriends mouth. He let it hover over Quinn’s legs as the boy continued to puke, burping and moaning as it tapered off. The noises and the way Quinn looked was too much for him. Caine’s eyes squeezed shut as he came, that final heave going straight to his already painfully erect cock and sending him over the edge. Both boys panted, Caine’s head resting on Quinn’s broad back as Quinn spat out the bitterness of his puke.

Caine’s clean hand rubbed along Quinn’s belly again, needing to feel the final churns and jumps as Quinn burped. Fuck, he was so screwed.

They both were quiet for a few minutes. Quinn was coming down from the intense nausea, and Caine was coming down from…well, you know. But, Quinn broke the silence first as he leaned back into Caine.

“Thank you. Can we please go get cleaned up now?”

Caine raised his head, “Yeah, yeah, for sure. Come on, i’ll help you.”

Caine got off the bed first and helped Quinn move. He was careful not to let Quinn’s legs get even more covered in vomit. He got Quinn into the bathroom and turned the water on. He let Quinn undress as he went to get the sheets off the bed, he was a little worried about them staining the mattress. When he got back to the bathroom, Quinn was only in his underwear and was sitting on the toilet seat.

He looked up, “I got a little dizzy. And my stomach started hurting again.”

Caine couldn’t help but chuckle. He went over to the boy and cupped his jaw, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “That’s okay, the warm water will help.”

Quinn opted to lean a lot on Caine. Caine didn’t mind, his hands were on Quinn’s belly and helping him get clean and feel better. The shower was uneventful in terms of vomiting, but Caine was glad. Quinn was completely silent during it and had his eyes closed. Clearly this was taking it out of him.

It was only after they were dressed and on the couch that Quinn spoke.

“Caine…what was that?”

Caine stiffened. Quinn was resting on his chest now, breathing slowly with his eyes closed. He had a feeling he knew what he was talking about but didn’t really want to admit it.

“What?” He said dumbly.

Quinn raised his head off his chest, now making eye contact. His expression was exhausted.

“Before, when I was sick. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” The face he was pulling wasn’t one of disgust or judgement. Caine stared right back at his boyfriend. He felt his cheeks heat up and his lip was slowly being chewed down to nothing.

Quinn laughed and one of his hands came up to touch one of Caine’s red cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed his nose, “You look frozen, baby. It’s okay.”

Was he dreaming? He had been so good at hiding it for so long, but this one incident made it all come out. He smiled awkwardly.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I’m not some creep who gets off to you being sick. I do care about you. I’ll be there if you’re sick.” He rambled, only shutting up when Quinn’s hand covered his mouth.

“I’m not disgusted by you. It’s something new, yeah, but I love you. I’m not going to hate you or call you gross for something you can’t control.” He leaned back down into Caine, “Do you think I haven’t noticed before? You’re always touching my stomach when you get the chance and you almost ask me to rub my stomach when I’m sick.”

Caine felt his body relax a little. He let his hands touch Quinn again but nowhere near his belly.

“I thought I was hiding it pretty well.”

Quinn laughed, “I can see right through you, my love. But, at least you don’t have to hide it anymore. I was pretty sick before but I said some of those things just to get a reaction out of you. I guess it worked.”

Caine was still confused. How he managed to find a person so understanding was a little perplexing. But, as he sank back into the couch, Quinn laid down fully and stretched out onto his back. His stomach was covered by a shirt once again, but the sickness brewing underneath kept it swelled out to reveal his lower belly. Caine hesitated.

“Go on. It makes me feel better.” Quinn said with a soft voice. He touched Caine’s face again to make him look at him, “Behind all of this sexual tension, I still am very sick. Please, Caine, I don’t feel well.”

Caine’s eyes shut on their own and he breathed out deeply. Everything Quinn said was just making his head spin. He chanced a look and Quinn had his eyes shut, a grimace tugging at his features. His hands were resting on the upper part of his belly and Caine was desperate to replace them with his own.

So, he did. He gently pulled Quinn’s away and touched his stomach. The boy underneath him sighed, tucking his head inwards towards Caine’s stomach. Caine smiled and his other hand went to hold the back of the boys head, playing with the dark hair.

[ilyasorokinn]

So the idea was equestrian!reader x svechy. The reader owns a horse in Raleigh and the canes go to the stable for teambonding and reader teaches them some stuff and svech can't get reader out of his head afterwards so the team teases him about it and so he goes back to the stable in hope to find her and he does and kina slowburn-ish? srry if it's too much😅

LOVE ON THE RANCH

i know literally nothing about horses so this might not slay the house down and i hope you enjoy bestie! also, there isn't really a slow burn (i'm sorry *looks away in horror*) because I've been trying to write this for too long, so i'm sorry bestie, i tried! also, that title is literally so funny to me cause it sounds like the title of one of those cheesy books with fabio on the cover lmao

"these are the stables. usually, all of them are filled but the horse that's usually here is getting prettied up," you explained, leading the group of hockey players behind you through the stables.

"prettied up? what for?" one of them asked.

"he's a racehorse, my nephew's, and he named him after one of you guys." they laughed.

"what's his name?"

"he took a page from erik johnson's book and named him svechnikov." you laughed, looking over at andrei, who was laughing as a few of the guys slapped him on the back.

"so, you guys have racehorses too?"

"just svechnikov. the others are ours. they're our pets and they get all prettied up with hockey teams come to visit." you smiled.

"can they ride the horses?" one of the canes media people asked.

"yeah, of course." you nodded, "so, we have some saddles over there. we'll saddle the horses for you, but there are helmets over there." you pointed to the corner where an array of helmets were, "try to find one that'll fit your heads." you clapped your hands, signaling for everyone to get to work.

the whole day was spent riding around your little ranch with the horses. the canes got the content they wanted and the players had a fun time, so it was a win-win situation for everyone.

a couple weeks after the canes day on the ranch, andrei couldn't stop thinking about you. not in a creepy way, more in an "i regret not getting your number so we can go out" kind of way.

"you still thinking about that ranch girl?" pyotr asked in russian.

"shut up." andrei shook his head, trying to hide the smirk.

"you are." pyotr laughed.

"maybe a little." andrei admitted.

"why don't you go back or something?"

"and say what?"

"you're andrei svechnikov, you'll think of something." pyotr shoved him and andrei laughed.

on his one off-day, andrei made the over hour drive to your small family ranch and found you in the little "gift shop" on the ranch. you looked up when you heard the bells ring above the door.

"andrei, hi." you smiled, setting your book, "what can i help you with? do you want some horse riding lessons?" you joked.

"i wanted to ask you something."

"all right." you nodded, "fire away."

"can i take you out sometime?" you froze at his question.

"me?"

"there's no one else in here." he gestured around.

"did you drive an hour to ask me that?"

"yeah." andrei's hope was wavering and he didn't feel as confident.

"wow." you chuckled, "sure."

"yeah?"

"yeah, i'll go out on a date with you." he slowly let out a breath before smiling.

"great."

"great." you nodded, smiling.

okay, this wasn't the best, so i'm sorry besties!

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Jealous

A/N- Got high. Wrote a fic. Here you go. I also want to try and make this a two parter to give myself some more practice with smut, but the second part probably won’t be out for a while 😅

You can read part 2 here 🖤

Summary- Eddie complains about a girl at school who absolutely will not stop bothering him. It was cute at first, but as it’s gone on it’s just gotten more and more creepy and annoying rather than a little schoolgirl crush. She decides to stop at the trailer for a ‘surprise visit’ while you’re over hanging out and decide to help Eddie by getting rid of her. And it makes him want you so much more.

Genre- Fluff, eventual smut

Warnings- Stalker-ish actions from a side character

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @hellfirewh0re @paola-carter @whiplaaaaaaaaash @ladyapplejackdnd @thatlonelypieceoftoast @efvyqrs @tayhar811 @wistfulwisteriawitch (if you’d like to be added please let me know 🖤)

Words- 2.0k

“Ugh! She just doesn’t stop!” Eddie groaned as he leaned his head back over the couch, his hands covering his eyes in frustration.

“I mean don’t get me wrong i kind of liked it at first, and it’s not like she’s not attractive or anything, but she’s just so. Fucking. Annoying.”

You giggled as you sat back on the other side of the living room sofa, the movie you two planned on watching was playing on in the background as Eddie moved the conversation to telling you about his newest problem.

Her name was Kimberly.

“Why don’t you just tell her to leave you alone?”

“I’ve tried! She just keeps coming back, i think she just assumes i’m playing hard to get or something but i don’t understand how she can’t just get the hint.”

It was funny to see how frustrated she made him, and he looked pretty cute when he was this angry, but you could tell how fed up he was with this girl continuing to try and weasel her way into his life.

You’d noticed little things here and there around school, and you had to admit you found her pretty annoying too.

She’d walk right up to your table during lunch, interrupting whatever conversation you and the boys were having to push you to the side and sit herself next to Eddie and ramble on about whatever nonsense she came up with for that day. Of course all while ignoring the dirty looks she got from you and the other Hellfire boys.

She’d try and stay after on Fridays just in case there was a chance that she could sit in on Hellfire, no matter how many times you’d hear her say how the game was ‘stupid’ or ‘childish’ around her friends, but it would be a whole different story if she got to be near Eddie.

Typically you and the guys would make fun of Eddie for having his own little ‘groupie’ follow him around like a lost puppy, but hearing him vent to you about her was something completely different. He didn’t think it was funny or cute when she would interrupt his conversations or try and get in the way of you or the other guys, or when she started walking around with him to his classes during the passing periods, or even when she decided it would be a great idea to act like the two of them had some kind of relationship so any time he talked to you or any other girls she would step right in the way and be all over him. It was creepy, it was weird, and definitely crossed the line when she decided to start showing up at the trailer unannounced.

“Fuck, it’s gotten that bad?”

The whole scenario made you feel bad for him. If it was a guy doing things like that to a girl they’d be called out immediately but of course when it’s the other way around people think it’s just a funny joke.

“Yep.” Eddie sighed and shook his head, “I had to start telling Wayne to answer the door and tell her i’m not home just so she’ll go away but she still comes back! I honestly don’t know what to do (y/n)…”

You could see how her actions were affecting him, and it hurt to see that this girl just couldn’t take the hint and leave your best friend alone after hearing countless times that he doesn’t want anything to do with her. And then you started thinking back on all the times Eddie helped you when guys were giving you the same creepy ‘affection’. He’d see some guy talking you up and making you uncomfortable and he’d immediately rush over with his arm around you, pretending he was your boyfriend and threaten them off if they kept their act up. It was finally time for you to repay that favor.

“You think she’ll show up today?”

“Probably! It’s like clockwork, she’ll show up every other day in the afternoon and just knock and call for me for like 15 minutes! I usually just ignore her.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of it if she shows up.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Both of your attention was turned to the front door of the trailer, hearing a few rapid knocks on the door before a high pitched voice called out,

“Eddie!”

He groaned but tried to stay quiet to not alert her of his presence,

“Speak of the fucking devil.”

“Eddie, open up!” Her squeals we’re like nails on chalkboard, “Your van is out front so i know you’re home!”

“Don’t worry, i’ll take care of her, give me your shirt.”

Eddie looked at you a bit shocked,

“What?”

“Your shirt! Give me your shirt and go wait in your room.”

He rolled his eyes but he quickly pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to you before quickly making his way into his bedroom.

You pulled your own shirt off and replaced it with his, quickly undoing your bra and tossing it onto the couch. You shed your jeans and tossed all your clothes behind the couch so she couldn’t spot them before smudging your makeup and messing up your hair, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself to open the door to the she-beast named Kimberly.

As you opened the door, her quick knocks ceased and her eyes went wide.

“Can i help you?” You asked her, your eyes darting up and down at her.

“Who are you?” She looked at you up and down as you did to her, dodging your question completely.

“I’m (y/n), i’m Eddie’s…” You paused for a moment, “friend. You are?”

“Kimberly. Where is he?” She stood on her tip goes to try and see over your head into the trailer, and you moved your body to lean against the door frame.

“He’s…” You turned to look down the hall into Eddie’s room, seeing him poke his head out to see if you’d gotten her to leave yet, “a little preoccupied at the moment.” You leaned in a bit closer to her and whispered, “He was feeling a little tired…”

You crossed your arms over your chest and she fully took in your outfit. Panties, Eddie’s shirt, and she could tell you weren’t wearing a bra from the gentle outline of your nipples through the shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest to try and seem a bit more intimidating to you but it didn’t phase you. You knew that deep down she was angry, jealous even of seeing you in such a state, knowing what could’ve possibly been happening moments before you answered the door.

“Can i at least come in and talk to him?”

“I don’t think so, he usually doesn’t like to be bothered right now.”

“How would you know that?” Her tone became angrier and snottier to you, knowing your plan was working perfectly.

“Well, usually he’ll ask me to come over and help him with a little problem he has every now and then.” You giggled to yourself, “Or i guess you could call it a big problem.”

She was growing more and more jealous by the second, having to hear you talk about how easy it was for you to get what she’s been wanting from Eddie for so long.

She huffed and you looked back down the hall, seeing Eddie smiling has his head poked out his doorway. He was hearing your whole conversation and he could tell that it was finally getting through to this girl that he wanted nothing to do with her. And though he loved hearing you finally tell this girl off, he loved watching you do it too.

Seeing you standing there in his oversized shirt and panties, and his eyes widened once he noticed your bra hidden behind the couch. The thought of your bare chest being covered up by his shirt was enough to make him need to adjust himself in his jeans.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you like this before, i mean everyone thinks about fucking their best friend every now and then right? There’s nothing wrong with it. At least to him there wasn’t anything wrong with wanting it.

He could hear how impatient Kimberly was getting at the door, and he was hoping you were able to finally get her off his case once and for all.

“Well i don’t think he’d mind if i just came in to say hi-“ Kimberly said as she tried to shove her way past you to try and get inside the trailer, but you put your arm up to block her from getting any closer.

“I think he would mind, actually.”

She gave you the dirtiest look she could muster and Eddie figured now would be the perfect time to step in and get her to finally leave the two of you alone.

“(y/n)!” He called out from his bedroom, making you and Kimberly turn your attention to down the hall, “Who’s at the door?”

“No one!” You called back to him, a sly smile on your face directed right at Kimberly.

“Well then hurry up and come back to bed!”

You bit your lip and giggled, trying your best not to burst out laughing. Kimberly stood there and she let out a hurt gasp, almost like Eddie had betrayed whatever trust she thought she had earned from him.

“Sorry, i guess i’m needed elsewhere.” You turned your attention back to Kimberly, “Nice meeting you though!”

You quickly shut the door and watched through the window as she finally left in a huff. Your lips curled into a smile and you could feel a gentle warmth behind you, a gentle tickle on your neck,

“Is she gone?” Eddie said from close behind you, his chest pressed up against your back, and though you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not you could feel the slight bulge in his jeans pressed up against your ass.

“Yep. Hopefully for good now.”

You let out a surprised squeal as Eddie picked you up into his arms, squeezing you tightly against him and gently shaking you around as he hugged you, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Finally! Ugh, fuck i could kiss you right now (y/n).”

“Hey! Just cause i’m wearing your shirt doesn’t mean you get to kiss me, i like to be treated like a lady first, and you should have the decency to act like a gentleman.”

“Yeah i guess you’re right,” He finally set you down into his lap as he sat back down onto the couch, “i suppose i owe you that much. Friday?”

You smiled and furrowed your eyebrows at him,

“Are you asking me out?”

“Sure am. Come on, it’ll be fun, i’ll cancel Hellfire and you and me can do something. Just us.” He smiled at you as he saw your blushing cheeks.

You wrapped your arms around his neck,

“Yeah, why not,” You placed your hand onto his cheek and brought him closer to kiss the other side of his face, “i’d like to see how much of a gentleman you can be.” You said, pinching his cheek.

You laughed with one another before quickly realizing the position you were in.

Eddie was still shirtless, you still had no pants on, your arms were wrapped around his neck and his were around your waist. Needless to say, it was the closest the two of you had ever been before, but it was nice to be this close. He was warm, comforting even, and though his arms were only at your waist he kept you so close to him like you were going to fall.

“Hey, um…” He paused for a moment, and you thought you could see the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks, “Can we stay like this for a little bit? It’s nice…” His thumb moved back and forth on your hip and you smiled up at him, quickly placing another kiss onto his cheek.

“Yeah… I’d like that. On one condition though,” You loosened your grip around his neck and pulled one of the blankets across the end of the couch over the two of you to keep yourselves warm, “i get to pick the next movie.”

He smiled and pulled you in close to him, placing a kiss to your temple,

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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