#i feel like i have a gist of what's happening but at the same time my theories feel like something a 5th grader would come up with

[yixiangs]

going into begins youth completely blind not knowing a thing about bts' universe other than they're tragic and gay has been such an experience

[tea-stained-tabby]

.

[loveinhawkins]

There’s a table in the school library that’s nestled in the corner, right by a radiator; Steve has claimed it ever since his double block of ‘private study periods’ began.

Not that he’s planning on doing any studying: it’s the last day of school before the winter break, and while his face has healed up from the whole Billy Hargrove Incident, he still finds himself feeling wiped at random—like his body’s having a delayed adrenaline crash ever since he pulled Dustin out of that freaky vine-infested tunnel.

So really, this spot should be ideal for a couple hours of not having to think.

And it would be perfect, if his eyes weren’t instinctively drawn to movement at the front desk.

Because for the past god-knows-how-long, Eddie Munson has been in a back-and-forth with the librarian.

It had started when he ambled up to the desk with a healthy pile of books in his hands, placed them down neatly, all ready to be stamped. Flashed a charming smile.

Steve was too far away to hear the words, but he got the gist that whatever the librarian had said amounted to no, absolutely not, because Eddie scooped the books back up, dumped them on a table a little distance away from Steve’s, then hemmed and hawed before returning to the desk with a more modest pile than before.

He was sent away again with presumably the same refusal, and so the pattern repeated until this very minute: he’s returning with just one book in his hands, his smile less charming now, more desperate.

But… no luck.

Eddie slouches back to the table in defeat. Just stands there, staring down at the books.

And goddamn it, Steve thinks, now he’s invested.

“Hey. Munson,” he says in an undertone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t miss the weird kind of double take Eddie gives him, but at least Steve knows it’s not because of his face being a mess this time—seriously, drawing looks from students when all he wanted was to get in line for crappy cafeteria pizza had not been fun.

“Nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug, and he flashes another wide smile that makes Steve think bullshit. “Apparently I racked up a mountain of late fees. Who knew?” He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch. “Guess I’ve got enough time to just read the—oh. Um. Hey?”

“These books?” Steve confirms, having already stood up to look at them.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Yeah, these—uh, Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re—?”

Steve heads over to the front desk with the books. It’s not all that difficult of a decision to make; he remembers Tommy H had his own library late fees in freshman year, but got nothing more than a simpering, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, sweetie,” just because his mom knew someone on the school board.

“For checking out, please,” Steve says, not bothering with a smile as he hands over his library card.

The only resistance he gets is a raised eyebrow from the librarian before all the books are stamped.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, voice flat; he doesn’t take the books when Steve tries to give them to him, so Steve just shrugs and goes back to his seat, sets the books pointedly on the edge of the table.

“Look, man, it’s up to you, but I’m not gonna take them. They’ll just be sitting here.”

Eddie huffs. He goes over to the books, his hand twitching towards them before drawing back, like he’s at war with himself.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he gets out as if it physically pains him to do so.

Prickly, Steve thinks.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “My account’s gathering dust, so someone might as well get the good of it.”

At hearing that, Eddie looks a little less defensive. He chews on his lips for a few seconds, then says, his tone serious, “Harrington, I’ll—I’ll forget. Like, with the holidays… like, I guarantee you, even if I write a million fucking reminders, I’m gonna take these books and forget to bring ‘em back for months.”

“Oh, no,” Steve says dryly, “lemme go alert the press, I just heard a blatant confession to a crime. Dude, just take them, what do I care if your homework takes you months to—”

“It’s not even for school,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, “it’s dumb, it’s just—”

“Jesus Christ. Lemme call the press again, sounds like you’re reading a book for fun.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve raises an eyebrow in challenge—he could do this all day; just the other week, he’d beaten Mike in a brutal staring contest that felt like it went on for hours.

Eddie breaks first. “Fine,” he says with another huff, but he’s less agitated when handling the books—lingers thoughtfully on their titles, puts a couple in his backpack. The rest he opens at seemingly random parts, but it looks like he knows what he’s searching for.

And then it seems as if he’s just going to pick up the remaining books and walk away—Steve expects him to, honestly—but he ends up staying where he is, gives Steve a look of consideration, almost like he’s a book worth reading, too.

“You stole my table, you know?” Eddie says.

“Uh, no,” Steve says automatically, then adds with more confidence, “I was definitely here first.”

Eddie snorts. “Nope. My senior year, uh,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly, “the first time around. That was my spot. Was pretty possessive over it too, think I signed the table, like, underneath.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in interest; he runs a finger along the underside of the table and soon feels it: an E.M scratched into the wood.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

A pause.

And then Steve surprises himself.

“There’s, um, room here, if you want? I’m not gonna use the whole table.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a long enough silence in which Steve considers just telling him to forget about it, but then—

Eddie sits down opposite him.

It’s not as awkward as Steve was expecting: Eddie seems focused enough on his books, on bringing out a battered looking journal with sheets of paper that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. He roots around his backpack some more, retrieves a ballpoint pen with a quiet, triumphant, “Aha!”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve isn’t even making an attempt to look busy; his own side of the table is bare.

“Didn’t know you were left-handed,” Steve says after a moment.

Eddie looks up from his note-taking. He smirks, waggles his eyebrows briefly. “Fitting, huh? Spooky.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

And Eddie actually laughs—hushed, but it still counts as one.

He soon returns to being absorbed in whatever it is he’s writing, which means Steve has less of a distraction when the familiar wave of tiredness washes over him.

He tries to sit up as well as he can, conscious of the fact that he’s not alone, but the radiator is the perfect temperature, and the steady scratch of Eddie’s pen has a soporific effect. He’s distantly aware of the fact that his head is nodding down with dwindling energy to try and stop it—hears Eddie’s voice, as if from very far away, rising in question.

Steve sniffs sharply, jerks his head back up and blinks hard. “What?”

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, and he sounds genuine. “Didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says.

“Uh, okay,” Eddie says. His lips twitch. “That was an awfully long blink then, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts mildly. He stretches slightly, hides a yawn behind his hand. “Did you actually want something or—”

“Nah, wasn’t important.”

Steve frowns, unconvinced. The side of Eddie’s left hand is covered in ink, and Steve can see where his pen has started to die on him as his writing gets more faded across the page.

Steve puts a hand in his pocket, brings out another ballpoint and throws it at Eddie.

The pen bounces along the table, and Eddie manages to catch it one-handed.

“Good catch,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He sounds almost uncertain.

Silence falls. It only takes another minute or two of hearing Eddie writing away for Steve’s determination to stay awake to waver again. He slumps forward with a mumbled, “M’just gonna…” and lays his head down.

Eddie stops writing.

“Hey, man, are you… okay? Like, if you feel… if you wanna go home I could take you to the nurse? Or—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says into his folded arms. “S’just… the aftermath of… stuff. No big deal.”

“Oh?” Eddie says tentatively.

Steve lifts his head up a bit, squints dubiously. “C’mon, Munson. You must’ve heard the rumour mill.”

Billy Hargrove had spread it all over the school, how he had ‘taught King Steve a lesson.’ In all honesty, Steve hadn’t cared all that much about how he himself came across in whatever story Billy created, was just relieved that at least Max and Lucas’s names had been kept out of it.

“I don’t put much stock in rumours,” Eddie says carefully. “Folks can say… all kindsa things.”

Steve nods faintly. Fair point.

“Okay, but you can take a little bit of stock in this one. Like, a smidge.”

Steve demonstrates with his thumb and forefinger.

It’s only when Eddie doesn’t smile in response that Steve realises he’d been hoping to make him laugh again. Maybe.

“Huh. Well. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Steve says tiredly.

“Harrington. I’m not stupid, y’know? That was more than a… a stupid fight after school or something. Like, I can remember what your face looked like.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve sets his head back down, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t—I just meant whatever it was, it… it went too far. Way too fucking far.”

Steve yawns again, doesn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He’s resigning himself to the thought of waking up with a stiff neck before Eddie sighs and says, “If you’re gonna sleep, Harrington, don’t be an amateur about it.”

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie reaching underneath the table with one leg, hooking his ankle round the empty chair next to Steve and shoving it closer to him.

“Three or four’s probably the best amount for stretching out on,” Eddie says. “Uh, speaking from experience.”

Steve smiles. “Noted.”

He manoeuvres himself until he’s lying much more comfortably across the seats, using his backpack and coat as a pillow.

Frustratingly but predictably, despite his fatigue, sleep doesn’t come easily, so Steve looks underneath the table and asks, “What’re you writing about, Munson?”

He can see Eddie’s boots, how one foot is tapping away, as if in time to a song no-one else can hear.

“Um, I was just… getting inspiration for… it’s kinda like. Like a story, but—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dude,” Steve says, “I know what a campaign is.”

The foot tapping stops.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Eddie says.

He sounds a bit far away again, though Steve knows that’s just in his head; he can feel his eyelids drooping.

“You’ve got…” He sighs, voice trailing off as he finishes, “No idea…”

Eddie launches into a speech; Steve can follow it well enough for a little while, Eddie rambling about the kind of decisions he thinks his players will make in the game, but eventually the words become a blur, and he drifts off just like that, into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He wakes with the lightest of touches to his shoulder, a soft, “Steve?” that nevertheless makes him jolt to full alertness in a blink, reaching for a bat he doesn’t currently have.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, almost falling back against the table. “What the hell kinda military training d’you have, Harrington?”

“Just have good reflexes,” Steve says, hopes it sounds casual enough as he breathes through his suddenly racing heart.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it. Anyway, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to, like, startle you, but you slept right through the bell, man.”

Steve sits up; the library is empty apart from them, the librarian shooting them a not so subtle glare. And he realises that while everyone else was rushing out of school, eager for the holidays to start, Eddie must’ve stayed. Waited for him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, quickly puts on his coat.

“God, sorry, you didn’t have to—if I’ve made you late, I’m—”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” Eddie puts his backpack strap across one shoulder. “I wasn’t in a hurry. Um, are you… like, good to drive? I can give you a ride, if—”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, struck by the consideration behind the offer. He means what he says though; he feels pleasantly refreshed. He smiles self-effacingly. “Think I need one class where I can just sleep, and then I’ll get through the day.”

Eddie gives a playful scoff. “That’s already a thing, Harrington, it’s called first period.”

They walk out of the library together, and Steve finds that it’s kind of… nice, honestly. He keeps waiting for some awkwardness to creep in again, but it never does.

“Big holiday plans?” Eddie asks, smalltalk that should be stilted, but it just sounds like he’s sincerely interested in the answer.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. Oh, I’ve got—you know the Snow Ball thing tomorrow, at the middle school? There’s this kid I know, I’m gonna give him a ride there, but—”

Steve breaks off with a fond shake of the head, knowing that there’s this kid I know doesn’t really give it justice, doesn’t say the full truth: that Dustin Henderson has somehow wormed his way into Steve’s goddamn heart forever.

“His mom’s invited me over for dinner tonight,” he continues. “Think he wants, like, a dress-rehearsal of his outfit or something, which is probably the closest he’ll ever come to admitting he’s nervous. I kinda feel for him, honestly. God, do you remember being thirteen? Everything seemed to matter so much, and most of it was just… stupid shit.”

They’ve reached the parking lot, and Eddie gives Steve a sideways look with a bemused smile.

“Woah, Harrington, we’re still in school, remember? Don’t think we’re meant to sound so world-weary yet.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah.” He gestures at Eddie’s get-up. “Bet you’ve never once cared about the stupid shit, though.”

What people think.

Eddie’s smile turns more knowing. “Shockingly, Harrington,” he says, “I didn’t come out the womb like this.”

They both hesitate; they’re at Steve’s car now, Eddie’s van parked in a space that’s further away. There’s no reason, really, for the conversation to continue any longer.

But Eddie still lingers.

“Uh, enjoy your dinner, I guess. If the… dress-rehearsal goes shit, just tell the kid it’s good luck for the real night.”

Steve laughs. “He’s in the Drama Club, so that might work, actually. Thanks, Munson.” He opens the car door as Eddie nods, starts to head off to his van. Seized by a sudden impulse, Steve calls, “Happy holidays!”

“Yeah, you too.” Eddie turns, tapping at his temple exaggeratedly. “Won’t forget about the books, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not,” he says, tongue-in-cheek.

He starts the car and heads for Dustin’s house, honks the horn when he drives past Eddie’s van, catches Eddie waving.

Steve thinks he quite likes the idea (regardless of whether it’ll put his library account in jeopardy), of the books finding a permanent home at Eddie’s place. Briefly imagines Eddie writing with an ink-stained hand, curled up safely in a world of his own—where the only monsters are the ones that live in between the pages.

[ririblogsss]

Danny in central City pt2

part 1

Danny is chilling in the dorms rooftop again, when he feels a very powerful gust off wind. Looking to the side he finds impulse the local teen hero of Central City. Danny only nods his way and mutters that the stars look very pretty tonight. Impulse manages to hear him and looks up, but the night sky isn't visible because of all the light pollution. Super-eyesight he notes it down In his brain. Impulse asks for his name while he sits down besides him Danny responds meekly.

The silence is so loud even though there's cars and overall noise of the city. Their science is tense. Danny thinks that one wrong move and he'll get handed to the GIW for experimentation and extermination. Impulse is thinking of the best way to approach Danny without spooking him away.

In the end Danny decides to break the silence, as he's always hated awkward silences and feels the need to constantly talk in order to make it feel less tense."Did you know hot ice exists? yeah like about 33 light-years away is an exoplanet called Gliese 436 b. The planet is composed of different water elements, which form burning ice, so in essence there is a thing that is hot ice" Danny just continues to ramble all the facts he learn past midnight during high school. Hoping that impulse would just get tiered of him or get called back by whoever is behind the coms. But it doesn't happen Impulse lays next to him looking up at the sky listening to him ramble making humming noises and nods to show he is listening.

Danny doesn't know what to do he's running out of topics and facts fast and its not like he can just leave. So Danny does what anyone that's in the same type of situation does, he starts trauma dumping on accident. Well Dannys not sure its trauma dumping it has nothing to do with his half death or ghost or really anything after his 13 th birthday.

"You know my parents have a lab in our basement" Impulse chokes on air but Danny continues on "yeah its pretty cool when I was 4 I was allowed to go in and experiment with all the substances along as my older sister was there" Impulse face, or what Danny can see of it looks contorted in a grimace/sad look, so Danny immediately tries to back track."Wait wait that sounds like I was in danger, I wasn't I only made mustard gas twice before I learned all the components that made It and made sure to never mix them, and I only burned my hand 6 times with the surface mix lamp, and I got pretty good at using it. look see this" Danny holds out his wrist with an intricate bracelet made out of glass, it has green, blue and black accents on it swirling. "WAIT you made that, brUHHH that's amazing likeomgyoucouldsellthisiwouldbuythisitssocool......." Danny had to strain his ears in order to fully understand what impulse was saying as he went on a tangent about how cool the bracelet was.

"Here" Danny says holding out the bracelet, Impulse blanches and tries to refuse saying that he doesn't need it or whatever but Danny is stubborn he keeps holding out the bracelet unrelenting until impulse takes it and puts it on. "Consider it a gist from a fan and a thank you for sitting with me and listening to me ramble about space" Then Danny stands up stretching himself and starts heading towards the stair case. Leaving a dumbfounded impulse behind.

Danny hears a whisper of 'What the fuck' before he hears the distinct break of air that only comes from speedsters running off.

[weemssapphic]

hii, could i request a fic with reader and handsy drunk larissa?? they have a crush on each-other but they won’t admit it until one night where larissa calls reader in her office for a glass of wine and became too drunk, this leads them to a make-out session and sex with some after care. if you want can you add some comfort for larissa who has old wounds from old lovers that comes up at the end?

hey feel free to change what you want, it’s completely fine if you don’t want to do it or you are not comfortable with it!! i hope you have a wonderful day!! <3 (sorry for my english!!) i’m sorry i don’t know how to do a request 😭

:)

hi bestie!!! this fic has been a LONG time coming and i'm absolutely just as feral about it as i was the first time we talked about it. hope you enjoy, love 🥺

taking a chance

Larissa Weems x shapeshifter!reader

words: ~8.5k

content/warnings: smut (minors dni pls), g!p (reader is a shapeshifter), virgin!larissa, drunk sex, nipple play, cunnilingus

Platinum curls catch the sunlight that follows the curve of a high cheekbone and a defined jawline. The same golden rays glint in deep, sapphire eyes, making them shine clearer and brighter. Ruby red lips curl into a smile around brilliantly white teeth, parting as the principal addresses the crowd of students and teachers with passion and enthusiasm.

You can see her warm breath slightly against the chilly fall air, her cheeks and the tip of her nose turning ever so slightly rosy with the cold - it makes her even more beautiful, if that’s at all possible, and you’re certain that you’re gaping at her with a dreamy expression on your face but you’re helpless to stop yourself.

Sometimes, being in her presence causes you to hang onto her every word, memorizing every syllable and the way it tumbles from her painted lips. At other times, you’re lucky to even catch a gist of what she’s saying, far too busy admiring her beauty and daydreaming about a life where you might just have a chance with this stunning goddess. Today seems like the latter kind of day.

Principal Weems - Larissa - pauses her speech and scans the crowd. As her gaze lands on you, she offers you a closed-lip smile - almost shy in its nature. You accept the offering, you’d be stupid not to, beaming back with a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. She winks in your direction before turning her attention elsewhere and resuming her speech as if nothing had happened. How she can move on from that moment so easily, you can hardly fathom - you’re rooted to the spot, your heart beating against the constraints of your rib cage, your mind replaying the wink over and over again. 

After the speech is over and the students and faculty have begun to disperse, chatting amongst themselves in small groups or hurrying to get out of the quad and back into the warmth of Nevermore’s rooms, you expect Larissa to head back to her office. What you don’t expect is to feel a gloved hand on your shoulder, long fingers giving you a surprisingly gentle squeeze.

“Principal Weems,” you manage to say, your voice only slightly breathy as you turn your head and realize that her face is a lot closer than you were expecting.

“Darling,” she says with a chuckle. “You’ve been at Nevermore for almost a year now, you’ve more than earned the right to call me Larissa.” Her cheeks grow even rosier as she talks to you - from the cold, probably, you think.

“Larissa,” you concede with a soft smile, your blush matching her own - definitely due to the wind nipping at your own skin. “What can I do for you?”

“I was actually wondering if you’d like to join me in my office this evening for a glass of wine.”

Your heart skips a beat, your smile growing in spite of yourself. “What’s the occasion?”

“We haven’t had much opportunity to get to know each other one-on-one this year - I’d like to change that.” Larissa looks almost nervous as she explains herself, but you shake it off - she couldn’t possibly be nervous asking you to join her for a drink. If anything, it’s the other way around - not that you’d ever admit that out loud. You’re sure your boss wouldn’t appreciate you openly crushing on her, and you want to remain professional.

“I’d love to, Larissa.” The name feels foreign on your tongue, but you could definitely get used to it. “What time were you thinking?”

The principal’s returning smile is bright - it melts your heart with its sincerity. “Does 7 o’clock suit you?”

~~~

That’s how you find yourself pacing anxiously in front of the door to Larissa’s office at 3 minutes to 7, not wanting to appear too eager - the decision on whether or not to knock already, however, is taken from you when the door creaks open, startling you and causing you to freeze in place as Larissa pokes her head into the hall.

“Principal Weems.” You hope you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, and you slide your hands into your pockets to keep them from shaking.

“Larissa,” she scolds playfully, stepping aside to let you into her office and closing the door behind you.

“Sorry. Larissa.” You like how the name rolls off your tongue - it makes you smile, and it appears to have the same effect on the principal. “How did you know I was already here?”

Larissa smirks - you could swear she’s giving you a once-over, her gaze sweeping your form, but she’s so quick about it that you wonder whether or not your brain is playing tricks on you. “I heard you pacing.”

You flush instantly, dropping your eyes to the floorboards in embarrassment. “Keen hearing,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but it gets a laugh out of the blonde - you glance up to see her grinning at you, which only makes you blush harder. 

To your relief, she’s turned just as red as you have, a fact that she seems eager to distract you from. “Please, have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the sofa in front of the roaring fire as she walks in the opposite direction, fetching a bottle of red and glasses from a small cabinet in the corner of her office.

The room is cozy, you think, as you sit on one end of the sofa, basking in your surroundings. Of course you’ve been in here plenty of times before, but never in such an intimate context - it’s always been business, never pleasure, and there’s never been time to properly admire how very Larissa the office is. 

The sofa dips beside you, the woman in question placing two glasses on the decorative coffee table in front of you and filling each with a bit of wine. You thank her, gingerly taking the stem of the glass between your fingers and raising it - Larissa does the same, smiling warmly as she clinks her glass against yours then takes a sip.

“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable by inviting you here,” she says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes follow her leg as she moves it, trailing down her calf as the firelight flickers against her pale skin - it’s both fascinating and arousing to you just how long her legs are, you’d love to get the chance to run your hands along her toned calves, rest them on her knees…

Fuck, you’re staring. You quickly look up to meet Larissa’s gaze, the only indication that she’s caught you staring is a faint blush on the apples of her cheeks. “N-no, of course not.” Shit, you’ve been caught. 

“Are you sure?” Larissa raises a thin, perfectly plucked eyebrow, and your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Biting your lip, you take a sip of wine to calm your nerves. “I’m not uncomfortable at all, I promise. It’s just weird being so casual with you - I mean, you are my boss, you know.” You giggle nervously and Larissa takes a large swig of her wine, nearly draining the glass in one go.

“I hope it becomes less weird for you, otherwise you’re free to leave at any time.” There’s a hint of hardness in Larissa’s voice, and you frown. 

“I’m actually really glad you invited me,” you try to reassure her quickly. “I think it’d be nice to get to know you, I’m just a bit awkward. It has nothing to do with you.” You offer her a shy smile - she seems to recognize its earnestness, and she smiles back, nodding in acknowledgment. 

Larissa seems to relax quite a bit after that - once the tension has subsided, conversation begins to flow freely (as does the alcohol). One of the things that had drawn you to Larissa in the first place was that you’d never worked with another shapeshifter before - even meeting other shapeshifters is rare. Your shared ability is a natural icebreaker - as you begin to talk about school and students and classes, you manage to open up to each other a bit about the struggles you’ve faced with your abilities. The conversation doesn’t stop there, and you delve into topics like media and art, books you’ve enjoyed (and ones you’ve detested) and music you have on repeat. 

Getting to know the woman behind the title of ‘principal’ only intensifies your feelings for her - with every new topic, you feel as though you’re peeling back another layer to who she is, revealing a softer Larissa, just as passionate but also weird and quirky and wonderful - just as wonderful as you’d imagined her to be, possibly more so, and you’re starting to realize this is more than just a mere crush.

As the evening wears on, a different kind of tension fills the room. With every minute, the distance between the two of you seems to get smaller and smaller - with every new topic, every new layer discovered, Larissa gets closer, until her knee is only a hair’s breadth from your own. You’re not sure if the heat flooding your body is from the fire, the alcohol, your own arousal, or maybe even Larissa’s body heat as a result of her close proximity - perhaps it’s a mixture of all 4, you think. 

Though it seems thinking has become a bit of a problem for you - how many glasses of wine have you had, you wonder, as Larissa pours you another one, each somehow fuller than the last. Glancing at the table, you realize the second bottle is half empty - right. She’d gotten a second bottle about an hour ago. 

Larissa seems to be faring no better than you - she’s a lot more giggly than you’ve ever seen her and, honestly, a lot more flirtatious. You may be more than a little tipsy but you’re certainly not hammered, and you’ve noticed her eyes traveling the length of your body more than once throughout the evening, often lingering near your cleavage for just a moment too long.

You’re telling a story about an annoying coworker from your previous job when Larissa sets down her wine glass, resting her elbow on her knee and propping her chin up with her hand, getting even closer to you in the process. She watches you with great interest, hanging onto your every word with her lips pulled up into an amused smile.

“I really hope your colleagues here aren’t nearly as incompetent,” she says with a chuckle, placing a hand on your thigh - you feel as though she may as well be burning a hole straight through your trousers. 

You find yourself giggling as you subtly shift closer to her. “Don’t worry, Riss.” The nickname slips out before you can stop yourself, but from the way Larissa’s lips part and her thumb begins to gently rub your inner thigh just above your kneecap, you don’t think she minds. “I think you were a lot more thorough during the hiring process than my old boss.”

“I definitely was.” Her voice drops an octave - heat pools in your core, and you feel your mouth go dry as Larissa’s gaze pierces your own, her eyelids hooded. You lick your lips, which suddenly feel dry as the Sahara.

“Tell me darling,” she husks. “Do I make you nervous?”

The sudden question does make you a little nervous - at a loss for words, you nod your head, and Larissa smirks in response. 

“I don’t mean to,” she coos, her hand remaining on your thigh as her other hand cups your cheek. Suddenly she’s right there, it would be so easy to just lean in and…

Larissa catches you staring at her lips and she parts them as she cocks her head - they look so soft and full, so incredibly inviting… 

You’re not sure who’s closed the gap, all you know is that your eyes have fluttered shut and that her lips feel even softer than they look. They’re warm, and they taste like lipstick and wine, and before you know it, you feel her tongue soothe over the seam of your lips as her fingers curl behind your ear. 

The groan that you let out when you part your lips and feel Larissa’s tongue slip inside of your mouth is so loud that you feel yourself blush. The blonde doesn’t seem to mind, however - she licks into your mouth with an eagerness with which you’ve never been kissed before, flicking her tongue sensually against your own. You feel her smile into the kiss as she deepens it, her hand sliding to the back of your head and holding it in place.

Placing your hands on her waist, you slowly lean back and pull Larissa with you, until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you, her body weight pressing you down into the upholstery. It sends a prickling wave of heat throughout your entire being, every nerve-ending in your body seemingly alight as your head swims. 

Your hands slide lower until you’re palming her ass - Larissa moans into your mouth, and the sound jolts you back to reality for a moment. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you pant as you pull away to catch your breath, moving your hands back up to her waist, where they feel a bit safer. 

“I’m not.” Her boldness shocks you, and you meet her gaze only to see that her pupils are blown wide, filled with unfiltered desire. 

“You’re drunk…” You want it to sound firm yet gentle, and yet it comes out sounding more like a question.

“So are you,” she retorts, raising her eyebrow at you. Touché. “I want you.”

Any resolve you might’ve had had been torn down a few glasses of wine ago, and was now rapidly crumbling into dust. A whimper claws its way from your throat as Larissa’s hands find their way underneath your shirt, her palms warm and soft against your abdomen as she gently and ever so slowly pushes your shirt higher and higher, searching your face for consent. 

Fuck it. 

You help her make quick work of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. She fumbles a bit with the button of your trousers, her fingers moving clumsily - you giggle, attributing it to her inebriated state, and help her to remove them, sliding your underwear right down with them. 

You’re left only in your bra, something Larissa seems intent on changing as her fingers trace along the straps. You sit up a bit, allowing her to reach around your back and find the band with her hands.

“Fuck,” she mumbles as she struggles to unclasp your bra - you’ve never heard her curse before, and the word fills you with heat. 

“Let me help,” you whisper breathily, reaching behind yourself and swiftly undoing the clasp of your bra, allowing it to fall away from your body to reveal your bare chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath and Larissa’s eyes darken as they fall to your breasts. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her cheeks flushing to a beautiful, rosy hue. She leans down to kiss you and your hands find her waist again, holding her close. 

Larissa’s lips soon leave your own, only to trail sloppy, heated kisses along your jaw, down your neck, onto your sternum. She pauses there for a moment, her breath hot against your skin. She slowly pulls back, looking into your eyes with a hint of a question swimming in her pupils. “Is it okay if I…” Her demeanor is suddenly a bit shyer, more timid and hesitant as the forceful dominance from before slips away like sand.

“If you…?” you try to encourage her, but then you see her gaze lingering on your tits. You smirk, arching your back so that your chest is on full display for Larissa - she licks her lips involuntarily as her cheeks flush even further. “You can do whatever you want with me,” you husk, feeling your heart skip a beat when Larissa’s pupils dilate. 

She hesitates for only a moment longer, before leaning in again. Her breath ghosts over your nipple, goosebumps rising on the flesh around it as you feel yourself begin to tremble with anticipation. A soft whimper escapes your throat as Larissa’s lips close around the sensitive bud, her tongue flicking against it. 

A hum vibrates against your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine as Larissa begins to suck eagerly, her hands coming to rest on your hips to steady herself as she loses herself in you, making muffled noises of pleasure against your breast.

“Fuck, Larissa,” you groan, growing wetter by the second as you watch her get carried away, her eyes closed in bliss. At the sound of your voice, her eyes fly open - she looks up at you with doe eyes, her irises barely visible around her black pupils, yet so very bright and blue that you could drown in them. There’s something about her soft gaze, the gorgeous flush to her cheeks, the wispy blonde curl that’s come loose near her temple - she looks so eager and innocent, so submissive that it sends a flood of warmth to your cunt, and you can feel your arousal wet your thighs as you press them together.

You bring a hand to the back of her head, gently scratching her scalp in encouragement. “Good girl,” you whisper softly, watching for a reaction. And what a reaction you get - Larissa’s cheeks redden, her eyes falling shut as she moans against your breast. 

As she switches sides, you allow your head to fall back against the armrest of the sofa - you’re surprised to find your own reflection staring back at you in the mirrored ceiling, your cheeks flushed and your jaw slack. Your chest and the lower half of your face are littered in deep red lipstick marks, some shaped perfectly like Larissa’s lips, others smudged messily across your skin like strokes on a canvas. Larissa’s canvas. 

The back of her head bobbing against your chest in the mirror turns you on beyond belief, but it feels tragically unfair that her body remains hidden to you, her silhouette masked by her dress. You look down at her, her brow furrowed as her painted lips wrap around your nipple, leaving smudged red stains on your skin. Gently easing your fingers into her updo, you pull her back by the hair a little - only a slight tug, just enough to stop her ministrations and have her look up at you, her expression dazed. 

You smile softly, pushing yourself up a bit and reaching for the belt of Larissa’s dress. “May I?”

She nods and you raise your eyebrow. “Use your words.” 

“Y-you may.” The words come out breathy as warmth floods Larissa’s cheeks, and she sits back to allow you to peel her dress from her body. One by one you remove her clothing, until every inch of her skin is bare before you. 

“Jesus, Larissa, you look like you’ve been sculpted by the Gods…” You’re in awe of her body; the womanly curve of her hips, the tantalizing swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, those long, long legs. Her cheeks and chest turn red at your compliment and her smile is almost timid as she places one hand on her stomach, the other over her chest. 

You take her hands in your own, uncovering her body and interlacing your fingers with hers, stretching up to kiss her. She melts into the kiss, a soft moan escaping her lips, and you take the opportunity to place your hands on her waist, pushing yourself onto your knees and switching places with Larissa, guiding her onto her back.

She watches you intently, lips parted to let out shaky breaths. Her lipstick is smudged around her mouth and up to her nose - it’s adorable, and it makes you want to kiss her senseless to mess it up even more, so you do. Larissa begins to let out soft noises of pleasure into your mouth as your tongues meet, and she protests when you pull away - she’s so needy that it makes you melt. 

“Can you do something for me?”

Larissa’s brows furrow as her chest heaves, her breathing short and heavy. She nods.

“I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you.” A confused stare is all you receive in return and you chuckle. “Look up, Riss.”

Her eyes leave your own as she tilts her head back and glances at the ceiling - a soft “oh” escapes her lips, and you can see her chest redden. With a satisfied smirk, you begin to place soft kisses to her chest, trailing your lips down her stomach as your hands busy themselves fondling her breasts. She seems to be sensitive there if her stuttering breath is anything to go by, and you’re pleased to pull a gasp out of her as you roll her nipples between your fingers, working the little buds into hard peaks. 

Your lips travel over the little patch of curls at her mound, then even lower. The scent of her arousal fills your nostrils and your mouth begins to water - your hands leave Larissa’s breasts to hook her leg over your shoulder and spread her thighs wider. She squirms a bit as your warm breath ghosts over her sex - you glance up to see her looking obediently up at the ceiling, biting her lip, her hands resting on her belly. 

“You can tell me to stop any time,” you remind her gently. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispers after a moment’s silence - your heart flutters.

“Be a good girl and play with your tits for me,” you say, your tone commanding. Her breath hitches and she hesitates for a moment, before fondling her own breasts, a breathy whimper leaving her lips as she tugs at her nipples.

Flattening your tongue, you lick a path up her slit - the moment your tongue makes contact with her cunt, Larissa’s hips buck into your mouth, twitching of their own accord. You take your time exploring her folds, even using your fingers to part her labia so that your tongue can indulge itself in every inch of her pussy. You alternate between teasing her entrance with the tip of your tongue and sucking her labia, getting even more drunk off the way her thighs tremble against your head and the way she rolls her hips, letting out frustrated whines as her clit is neglected. 

Finally, you lick your way up to the little bundle of nerves, wrapping your lips around it - the second you do so, Larissa cries out in relief and pleasure, her hips twitching. She begins to grind desperately against your mouth, every gentle suck seeming to send her into orbit as she finally gets the stimulation she’s been craving.

You glance up, arousal pooling in your core as you see the way Larissa’s fondling her breasts, her back arching and her head tilted back as she rubs her nipples. You flick your tongue against her clit and her mouth drops open, a steady stream of “ah, ah, ah’s” spilling out of her as the grinding of her hips becomes more erratic.

Her moans are cut off for a moment as your finger teases her slit, finding her entrance and pushing in with ease due to just how wet she is. She’s tight and her walls clench around your finger - you moan against her clit, a shiver of lust going down your spine as you slowly curl your finger into her sweet spot. 

“Think you can take another?” you husk, waiting for Larissa’s breathy “mmpf… y-yes” before pushing a second finger inside of her to join the first and slowly pumping them in and out. “Good girl…” Your mouth returns to her clit, lapping up her juices and smearing them around the sensitive nub.

You’re completely lost in pleasure, drunk not only on wine but on the taste, the scent, the feeling of Larissa on your tongue, against your fingers, consuming your every sense. Your eyes are closed in bliss as you work her to the edge - so you can’t help but jump a bit in surprise as you feel a pressure on your scalp. 

Opening your eyes, you find that Larissa’s hands have left her breasts in favor of cupping your head, her fingers weaving themselves tightly into your tresses. She pushes on your head, using you as leverage as she rolls her hips against your face - she’s so lost in the moment that she doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it, and it drives you wild. 

A few more flicks of your tongue against her clit are all Larissa needs to come undone - her moans are like music to your ears as she finds her release, her fingers tugging at your hair with a white-knuckled grip as her thighs snap shut around your head. You fuck her through her orgasm, not relenting a bit - you’re rewarded when she cums a second time shortly after, and this time you slowly pull your fingers out of her to hungrily lap up the juices that are leaking out of her.

Gently pushing her leg off your shoulder, you crawl up her body, eager to have her taste herself on your tongue. As you’re hovering over her, you can’t help but blurt out “you’re gorgeous” - because she really is, lying there panting, her chest pink and heaving, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body and collecting at her brow. A breathy giggle escapes her lips at your words, and her eyes are glazed over as she meets your gaze. You lean down to capture her lips in a kiss - Larissa instantly opens her mouth and flicks her tongue against yours, a whimper clawing its way out of her throat at the taste of her own arousal.

“You taste so fucking good,” you mumble into the kiss - Larissa whimpers again and deepens the kiss further, placing a hand on the back of your head and weaving her fingers into your hair to hold you in place.

The gentle tug of your hair makes a fresh wave of arousal pool between your thighs, and you find yourself searching for friction against your aching clit. Pressing against Larissa’s thigh, you tilt your hips - the relief you feel as your clit makes contact with Larissa’s skin is overwhelming, as is the desire to rut against her and use her to reach your peak. So you do.

Your slick drips onto Larissa’s thigh as you grind against it, your eyes rolling back in your head and your kisses turning sloppy as you chase your high. With the taste of Larissa still fresh on your tongue, it takes you almost no time at all to cum - the principal swallows your cries as you tumble over the edge, then, as you allow yourself to sink into her, she wraps her arms around your body and holds you tightly against her.

You’re a little annoyed by the fact that your stamina seems to be impacted by the alcohol - a part of you is desperate to go another round, but you seem to have worn yourself out as exhaustion tugs at your limbs and a drunken, post-orgasmic haze clouds your mind.

Still, you’re desperate to take care of Larissa after she was so good for you. You lift your head and rest your chin on her chest, looking up at her with a soft, adoring smile. She looks down as you move your head and blushes as she sees you smiling up at her - her rosy cheeks are a sight to behold, and you suddenly find yourself getting a bit nervous again. 

“Is it alright if I clean you up a bit?” you whisper softly, your voice a little raspier than usual - you can’t tell if it’s that or your request that causes Larissa’s blush to grow.

“You would do that?” She sounds shy, and it makes you wonder if her past lovers had never afforded her with aftercare - assholes, you think.

“Of course I would.” You push yourself up off the sofa, a bit unsteady on your feet at first - you stumble a bit, then you giggle. “Shit. Where’s your bathroom?” 

Larissa giggles too and points to a door at the back of her office. “Straight down the hall.” 

You feel a bit like you’re floating - you’d like to attribute it to the way it felt to have Larissa look at you with such unadulterated desire in her eyes (you’ve never been looked at in quite that way, and certainly not by anyone as perfect as her) - but it’s probably more so a combination of the wine and the orgasm. Finding the bathroom with ease, you rummage around in search of washcloths, then proceed to wet them in the sink - you’re so focused on your task that you hardly notice Larissa come in, until her naked body is pressed against your back, nipples poking at your skin and sending a delicious shiver down your spine. You look up and meet her gaze in the mirror as her hands find a home on your hips - she smiles and blushes, ducking her head to press a tender kiss to the junction where your shoulder and your neck meet. 

It takes all your strength to keep yourself upright - your legs feel like jello and your knees threaten to give out. Focusing on the task at hand, you spin around in Larissa’s arms and maintain eye contact as you sink down in front of her, the scent of her arousal, her sweat, lingering notes of perfume all making you even dizzier than you already are as you gently clean up the insides of her thighs, her pussy. 

You stand, using another washcloth to quickly clean yourself up and discarding both on the counter, before pushing yourself onto your toes to give Larissa a kiss. 

“I should probably get going,” you murmur sheepishly against her lips - immediately feeling her pout. It makes you grin, and you pull back a bit. “If you want me to stay, you just have to say so, you know?”

Larissa’s cheeks are blazing red, and she stutters a bit - it makes your heart melt. “I-I certainly wouldn’t want to keep you here against your will…”

You laugh, reaching out for her hand and intertwining your fingers with her own. “I’d lead you to your bed now if I had any clue where it was.”

Shooting you a grateful smile, Larissa takes the lead. The moment you’ve climbed into bed, you feel an inescapable sleepiness settle into your bones. You dimly register the bed dip beside you as Larissa crawls in, and then she hastily pulls the pins from her hair and drops them on her nightstand. Her arm tugs at your waist, a sleepy hum vibrating from her chest. She must’ve used her other arm to flick off the lamp on the bedside table as the room is bathed in darkness - then you’re out.

~~~

You’re woken by a harsh light falling into your eyes - you groan and turn your face into the pillow to block it out, your head throbbing at the sudden movement. Shit, you really overdid it last night… 

As the memory of the previous evening hits you, your stomach fills with butterflies all over again - the way Larissa’s hand had felt on your thigh, the way her lips had felt against your nipples, the way she’d pulled you close as you’d fallen asleep… your heart drops and you lift your head, your eyes taking a minute to focus as they fall onto the woman sleeping next to you.

Her lips are parted to let out heavy breaths, her hair sticking to the side of her face as a puddle of drool forms on her pillow. Her eyelids move as she dreams but she looks content. In spite of the drool and the messiness of her curls, you’ve never seen someone look so beautiful sleeping - your heart skips a beat as you realize this isn’t a dream, you’re actually in Larissa’s bed.

The urge to sneak out and run overcomes you for a moment - you don’t know how Larissa will react upon seeing you, if last night would have taken the same course without the alcohol. But you’re no coward, and leaving her alone feels like a shitty move - best to face the consequences of your actions head-on.

Tentatively, you reach out and brush your fingers against her cheekbone, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear - her nose twitches and her eyelashes flutter a bit. The touch seems to rouse her - it takes a moment, but she eventually opens her eyes, looking a bit disoriented and squinting against the brightness of the room.

“Good morning,” you whisper softly, unable to disguise the nervous edge to your voice. 

You can tell Larissa is thinking - hard. Her brows furrow the slightest bit and her eyes dart between your own as she lifts her head off the pillow. She glances down the length of the bed - the two of you are close, the sheets a tangled mess, barely covering your still-naked bodies. She takes a long time to respond, so long that you’re beginning to worry, and you find yourself breaking the silence.

“Do you regret it?” you murmur - your stomach is in knots at the idea that Larissa only decided to seduce you because she was drunk, perhaps even too drunk to properly consent - you find yourself swallowing down a bit of bile at the mere thought. Time seems to slow as you watch her lips part, and you find yourself having to concentrate to catch her whispered response.

“No,” she confesses, her cheeks dusted pink as she glances away from you, unable to meet your gaze. “Do you?”

Your heart skips a beat and you can’t help the way your lips are pulling up into a smile. “No.”

Larissa’s gaze snaps to yours, as if your answer has caught her off-guard. Then she smiles shyly, taking a shaky breath. “Although I must apologize for drinking so much… it wasn’t my intention, nor was it my intention to seduce you when I invited you to share the evening with me.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “If I hadn’t been drunk I probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with it…”

“Nor would I…” A faint smirk crosses Larissa’s face. “Is this the right time to admit that I like you?”

You feel your face flush - you can hardly believe your ears. Larissa actually likes you? “I like you, too,” you whisper hoarsely. “I like you a lot.”

Larissa smiles, one of those smiles that make her nose scrunch and her eyes crinkle at the corners - then she hesitates for a moment, her expression falling. “Darling?”

The pet name hits different when you’re in bed with her, though her expression makes you pause. “Yeah?”

“That was the first time I’ve ever actually… had sex with someone.” Her gaze drops to the bed as she speaks. “I don’t think it’s fair for you not to know that.”

At first, her confession shocks you - she’s the most beautiful, sensual woman you’ve ever met, there’s no way she’s never had sex before. But, as you think over your interactions the previous evening, it starts to make sense. Her sudden shift in demeanor, her hesitance after initially seducing you. You cup her cheek, urging her to look at you - her sapphire eyes are swimming with worry.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper. “Can I, um, ask why? Were you saving yourself for marriage or something?”

Larissa snorts. “Nothing like that…” She takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment to think. “I didn’t accept that I liked women until much later in life, I didn’t realize why the thought of being with a man put me off so much. I didn’t want to realize it. And by then I had started my career and it became increasingly harder to find the time to date, and to open myself up to people.”

“You didn’t have trouble opening yourself up to me last night,” you point out with a smirk.

“I wanted to take a chance…” Her eyes dance between your own - her vulnerability is enough to make you melt.

“Did it pay off?”

“Yes.”

You pause for a moment. “Well… then I guess I’m sorry that your first time had to be when we were drunk,” you finally whisper shyly.

“I enjoyed myself either way,” she whispers back. “Perhaps we could try again sober?”

Her wry smile makes you laugh, and you lean in to kiss her. You can feel her arm wind its way around your waist and you eagerly scoot closer, threading your fingers through her soft curls as you deepen the kiss.

Larissa moans into your mouth, her hands sliding down to cup your ass - you can feel yourself grow wet as she palms and squeezes the soft flesh, and you tug gently at her hair, exposing her neck as you kiss your way along her jaw and towards her pulse point. You feel her pulse hammering away underneath your tongue as you suck a bruise into her pale skin, drawing a whimper from her throat. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper. Larissa nods eagerly, and you pull away. “Words, Larissa… you need to tell me what you want.”

Her eyes widen and her face flushes as she stutters out an apology and says “yes, it’s okay.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you mumble as your lips trail down her neck and find her collarbone - Larissa whimpers and tilts her head back, her lips parting to let out shallow breaths. You shift your leg against her, your thigh slipping between hers - her slick immediately coats your skin and draws a groan from your chest. “Fuck, you’re so wet…”

The breathy, strangled moan Larissa gives you in response has you wishing you could pound her into the mattress, and you’re not sure where the sudden courage has come from but you find yourself asking if she owns a strap. Her pupils dilate instantly but she bites her lip and shakes her head. You can’t help the way disappointment briefly swells in your chest - until an idea has you blushing profusely. 

“W-what’s wrong?” Larissa asks breathlessly, her brows knitting together in worry at the look on your face. 

“I, um… I just had a thought, but it’s silly…”

“What is it?”

With a deep breath, you steel yourself for rejection. “M-maybe, if you wanted, since we don’t have a strap, I could shift… you know, that part of myself?” The urge to bury your head in the crook of her neck is stronger than ever but you’re glad you don’t as Larissa’s expression ignites a fire in your core. Her cheeks flush and her mouth hangs open, and she subconsciously tugs you closer from where her hands are still resting on your ass.

“I think I’d like to try that,” she whispers.

You nod, feeling a bit dazed as you wonder if this is all some sort of fever dream. After a moment, your cock grows against Larissa’s thigh - you watch her face intently and see her swallow visibly, pale lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. 

“Say the word and I’ll stop or shift back, no questions asked,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Larissa nods, her arousal plain as day in her expression. “P-please…”

Cupping her cheek, you pull her in for a searing kiss, which she quickly deepens as she licks into your mouth and flicks her tongue against yours. Flipping her onto her back, you hover over her, your cock brushing against her folds and making you both moan at the same time.

You prop yourself up above her, breaking the kiss for a moment as you grasp your cock and guide it up her slit, watching Larissa’s face as her breathing stutters. Her hands fly to your waist as you tease her entrance with the tip, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

As you slowly begin to sink into her, you hear a sharp intake of breath. Your eyes snap to her face and you notice she’s holding her breath, so you pause to take her hands in your own and intertwine your fingers with hers. “Breathe... I won’t move again until you do.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Larissa takes a deep breath, then another - you continue to sink into her as slowly and carefully as you can, and she squeezes your hands as her brow furrows a bit. You stay perfectly still once you’re fully sheathed inside of her, giving her as much time as she needs to adjust before moving.

“Fuck, Larissa,” you breathe out with a chuckle. Her gaze is equal parts questioning and shy, and you smile down at her. “F-feels really good… just tell me when to move…”

Larissa nods, resting her hands on your hips and rubbing her thumbs over your hip bones as her gaze wanders down your body. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. 

“I am,” she whispers hoarsely. “Just feeling a bit out of my depth…”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I got you.”

A grateful smile tugs at the corners of Larissa’s lips and she wiggles her hips a bit - your eyes flutter shut as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your lips parting to let out a soft moan.

“Y-you can move,” Larissa encourages, pressing her hips up a bit. With her consent, you start to thrust, pulling out almost all the way before bottoming out, your pelvis resting against hers. Larissa’s mouth falls open as her eyes fall shut, her grip on your hips tightening. For a moment you’re worried that she’s in pain but then, with the next slow thrust, a loud moan tears from her throat and her lips curl into a blissful smile. 

“Is it okay like this?” you ask through gritted teeth, your body prickling with heat at the feeling of her walls squeezing your cock.

“Y-yes… you can go f-faster if you’d like…”

You increase the pace of your thrusts, Larissa’s hands helping to guide your hips as they roll against her. The perks of being a shapeshifter, you think as your mind grows slightly fuzzy - being able to feel Larissa squeeze your dick as you move inside of her feels like absolute heaven, a feeling you wouldn’t know with a strap alone. Your eyes can’t seem to decide what they want to focus on - Larissa’s face scrunching in pleasure, her tits bouncing with every movement, the sight of your cock disappearing inside of her.

Leaning down over her, you bury your hands in Larissa’s soft curls as your lips meet hers - her breath is hot and uneven against your mouth and she whimpers as your tongue dances with her own.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every thrust, Larissa’s body pressing against your own turns you on beyond belief, but you know she isn’t quite there yet. One of your hands leaves her hair and trails down her body to her clit. Larissa arches her back into your touch, her breath growing shallower and her kiss turning sloppy as you begin to rub her clit, smearing her arousal over the sensitive bud.

“Mmh… ssso good,” Larissa whimpers as her hands fly to your hair and push your head down - getting the hint, you trail kisses down the valley between her breasts, before taking her right nipple between your lips and sucking eagerly. The combination of stimuli have Larissa’s orgasm rapidly approaching, her walls fluttering around your cock as her thighs begin to tremble.

“Bend - mmh, fuck - bend your legs m-more,” you mumble - as Larissa follows your instructions and draws her knees closer to her chest, her eyes roll back in her head and she lets out a broken moan as you’re able to thrust even deeper inside of her. Every thrust jolts her entire body and tears deep, broken moans from her chest. 

“Good girl,” you purr as you latch onto her left nipple, recalling the way she’d reacted to your praise the previous night - it seems to send her over the edge this time as she cums around your cock, her moans dying in her throat as her face contorts in pleasure.

Her orgasm causes your own to crash over you like a wave - you cum deep inside of her, your hips stuttering and your fingers breaking their steady rhythm on her clit. As Larissa’s orgasm begins to fade, her hands gently tug at your hair and pull you up for a heated kiss. Her lips feel like heaven, the euphoria from your orgasm makes you feel like you’re floating as you slow your thrusts.

“S-sensitive,” Larissa murmurs as her hands drift from your head to your hips, gripping tightly to still your movements - you stop thrusting and pull back slightly to meet her gaze. Her face is flushed and her pupils still blown wide, though her brows are slightly furrowed.

You reach up to cup her cheek, gently stroking your thumb across her cheekbone - she smiles softly, nuzzling her cheek against your hand. “Is it okay if I pull out and shift back?”

At Larissa’s nod, you move your hips - a soft groan tumbles from her lips as your cock slips out of her. Within seconds you’ve shifted back, lowering yourself carefully onto Larissa and pressing a kiss to her lips. You feel her smirk into the kiss - it makes every nerve-ending in your body tingle.

She rolls you onto your side without breaking the kiss, then pushes you onto your back and leans over you, her nipples pressing against your own. The friction makes you gasp and you feel yourself grow wet as a rush of arousal pools in your core.

Larissa’s lips leave your own to travel along your jaw and down the center of your throat. You arch your back into the touch as each press of soft, plush lips leaves your skin burning. As she settles between your legs, her lips alternate between each thigh, getting closer and closer to where you need them with every kiss. “Is this okay?” she asks hesitantly, her warmth breath ghosting over your clit and pulling a whimper from your throat.

Looking between your thighs, you’re met with wide blue eyes gazing questioningly up at you, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed. You nod frantically, only to see her lips curl up into a smirk.

“I need words, darling,” Larissa purrs, using your own words against you - you can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, allowing your head to fall back against the pillows for a moment. 

“Sorry,” you giggle, peering down at her with a sheepish smile. “Y-yeah, it’s okay.”

A faint blush adorns Larissa’s cheeks as she places her hands on your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart and spreading you open in the process. She sucks in a breath as her eyes drop to your glistening cunt - after a moment’s hesitation, she leans in and runs her tongue up your slit, her accompanying moan vibrating against your pussy and sending a wave of pleasure through your entire body. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your eyes glued to her as her head bobs between your legs, her eyes shut as her tongue explores every inch of your cunt, running through your folds and teasing your entrance. Every little hum and whimper of pleasure that escapes her lips makes you wetter, and you find yourself spreading your legs as wide as you can and rolling your hips against her face, desperate for attention to your aching clit.

She seems to enjoy teasing you - you can almost feel her smile against your pussy as she eats you out, her tongue getting close to your clit but never fully touching it. It takes a whimpered “please, Larissa” for her to finally circle the throbbing bud with her tongue - the feeling makes your toes curl and you fall back against the pillows, a deep moan drawn from your chest. 

Larissa’s lips close around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder as you buck your hips against her. She gets bolder as time goes on, curling her arms around your thighs and tugging you even closer as she slowly builds you to an orgasm. The little noises she’s making combined with the obscenely wet sound of your slick mixed with Larissa’s saliva only serve to turn you on further - a few licks later you’re tumbling over the edge, your eyes rolling back in your head and your back arching off the bed as your hips stutter against her face and your clit pulses against her tongue.

As you slowly come back down to earth, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, Larissa crawls up your body, planting soft, wet kisses up your stomach and chest before hovering over you and capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You eagerly suck your juices off her tongue, humming in delight even as your cheeks turn pink.

Larissa’s blush matches your own as she pulls back, her eyes sparkling as they dart between your own. “Was that okay?” 

“That was perfect.” Your grin is practically giddy as you cup her cheek, your fingers curling behind her ear as you draw her in for another, longer kiss. Your hands come to rest on her waist, gently urging her onto her side as you kiss until both of you have run out of air. When you pull back and open your eyes, her warm breath hits your face and she’s smiling peacefully. A lock of platinum blonde hair is stuck to her temple and you reach up to brush your hand through her hair, pushing it back - her smile grows and she lets out a contented hum.

“To think yesterday you couldn’t even call me by my first name,” Larissa whispers playfully - her voice still has a bit of a husky quality to it that makes your stomach flip. As her words sink in you find yourself blushing like mad - you wish the statement weren’t as true as it is, but somehow in the span of one night everything has changed, and you can’t say you’re complaining.

“I can still call you Principal Weems in bed if you want,” you joke, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Oh? Is that what you’re into?” Larissa teases with a laugh, though her own cheeks are growing warmer by the second.

“I’ll try anything once.”

Larissa’s laugh catches in her throat and her pupils dilate - you take the opportunity to steal a kiss, one which catches her off guard at first but is quickly and happily returned.

“So you’d want to continue this?” she asks breathlessly against your lips.

You nod, swallowing nervously. “I’ve wanted you in this way and every other way for so long, Larissa. I’d love nothing more, if that’s something you’d also like.” Your eyes search hers for a hint of uncertainty, apprehension, disappointment - instead, you’re met with softness and affection as Larissa’s lips curl up at the corners.

“Then it appears we’re on the same page.” 

“It appears we are…”

x

taglist: @alexusonfire @brienneswife @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @thesamesweetie @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @catechristiesstuff @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @sapphos-ode @mrs.prentiss @ilovetlcc @toutoubum @lesbiahonest24 @wastdstime @gwens0girl @larissa-weems-chokehold @ladylarissaweems @makemyworldworthliving @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @nightingalespen

[milf-murdock]

Nightmares

(Simon “Ghost” Riley x 141!Reader)

Summary: You’d always avoided spending the night with Simon, quick to make excuses and get out of there soon after your passionate and enthusiastic bouts of mind-blowing-sex.

One night, you accidentally fell asleep. And Simon finds out what you’ve been hiding.

Warnings: Soft Ghost™ should be his own warning ☠️ nightmares, comfort

It was practically routine at this point, you showing up at Ghost’s room, sneaking across base under the cloak of night. There was always a false pretense ready to go—oh, just a quick form for the Lieutenant to sign. Just need to go over one last detail of the mission—though you seldom ran into anyone asking too many questions.

Ghost was always waiting for you.

What started out as a single night of poor judgement, nothing more than blowing off steam with a squad-mate, quickly delved into something much much more. It happened as gradually as walking from the shallow end of a pool into the deep end: slowly, and then all at once, Ghost’s feet were out from underneath him and he was treading water. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he craved your company. And clearly, you felt the same way, if the way you tapped on his door night after night was any indication.

Seated on the edge of his cot, Simon took another sip of his bourbon, a rare treat he stashed away in his quarters for nights such as this, trying (and failing) not to look at his watch.

21:05. You were late.

Simon wouldn’t say he was waiting for you, per se. But he wasn’t not waiting for you. His thumb traced a drop of condensation running down the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap. There it was: the signature three knocks.

It wasn’t intended as a code of any sort, but it had become a sort of running secret language system between you two.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m here again.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Let me in again, Ghost.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Come see me, Simon.

Ghost took a final sip of his bourbon before placing the chilled glass on the coffee table in front of him and pulling down his balaclava.

As he opened the door and your frame came into view, Ghost tried to pretend he didn’t notice how his heart racing as he took in your subtle beauty. His eyes raked over you from head to toe, drinking you in, committing your face to memory as if he hadn’t just seen you the previous night. Maybe he was going mad, but Simon could have sworn that the hours between each visit felt like they were getting longer and longer, despite you showing up at his doorstep at promptly the same time every day.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, and for the first time Simon noticed the signs of exhaustion tugging at the edges of your eyes. You must not have been sleeping well, he thought to himself.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, lost track of time trying to wrap up this last report,” you continued, stepping over the doorstep.

“S’fine,” Simon assured as he helped you out of your coat. “Glad you made it.”

It was routine: taking your spot on Simon’s bed, your lips finding his as the small talk dwindled down. The unending waves of pleasure as Simon devoured you, thrusting into you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The two of you collapsing into a sweaty, tangled mess, panting for air in the aftermath.

Simon tugged you into his side, letting your head rest on his chest as he cupped the back of your head, keeping you firmly in place.

“Fucks sake, love,” he panted out. “That was incredible.” Still deep in that post-orgasm haze, a small nod and hum of agreement was all you could manage as you tried to coax feeling back into your shaking legs. Lost in a moment of pure tenderness, Simon tentatively pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He was so so tempted to ask you to stay the night, just as he had been for the last several nights. And though the excuse differed from night to night, the gist was always the same. “Sorry, Si. I can’t.”

Just as he was finding the wordsto convince you to stay, Simon noticed the soft snores coming from you and the steady rise and fall of your chest.

This was new. You fell asleep.

Perhaps it was the lingering exhaustion from your last mission, or the intensity of the two back-to-back orgasms Simon coaxed from your body, or the soothing sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear as you laid on his chest, but for the first time, you fell asleep in Simon’s bed.

Simon smiled to himself in the dark and pressed you in a little closer, his hand trailing up and down your back. He hated to admit how nice this felt. How right it felt to hold you in his arms. And in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what on earth had stopped you from doing this before?

It didn’t take long for Simon to fall asleep with you in his arms. Your steady breathing and comforting weight on his chest were quick to lull him to sleep, tonight already proving to be one of the best nights sleep Simon ever had.

There was a whimper in the dark.

Simon’s eyes fluttered open. Another sound, and his exhaustion-riddled brain was still trying to fit the pieces together when he felt the twitch of your body on top of him.

You were having a nightmare.

The realization dawned on Simon as another soft cry escaped your lips and you subconsciously pressed your face into Simon’s chest. He carefully brought up a hand to your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake. “Love?” He whispered into the dark. “Wake up, it’s just a dream.” His voice wasn’t used to taking on such a gentle tone. You let out another whimper, and Simon felt his heart cleave in two. He gave another firm shake of your shoulder, his voice growing louder. “Sweetheart, wake up.” You gave a final cry as your body twitched and you pulled your head up. Your breathing came in ragged gasps.

“Easy,” Simon coached. “Take it easy.”

You moved to sit up, Simon following suit, his hands resting on your shoulder in an attempt to ground you.

“Fuck,” you rasped out. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—“ you were cut off by another gasp, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes as the panic from your dream escalated into panic in the present, mixing with the embarrassment at the display unfolding in front of Ghost. “I didn’t mean for you to see that, to see me—“

“No.” Simon cut you off, his hands wrapping around your wrists and gently pulling them from your face. “No, love, don’t say that. Just breathe for me, yeah?” He released his grip on your wrist as he sat back, surveying your trembling form. You inhaled sharply, trying your best to do as he asked.

“Atta girl,” his low voice filled the space, calming you down even further. “Gimme another.”

You took another breath, finally feeling your heart rate start to slow down.

“Simon, I—“ you were cut off again, this time by Simon’s lips pressed gently against your own, just a quick peck, a motion meant to soothe, not to interrupt your stabilizing breaths.

“S’alright, love.” He murmured. “I get ‘em too.”

You nodded your head in understanding. You should have guessed. After all, you both had your fair share of traumatic, nightmare-inducing missions together. That’s to say nothing about the more personal hardships you had each endured outside of your time in the 141.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding staying the night?” Simon took a shot in the dark, his voice was reserved, trying not to pry too hard for fear of you becoming even more of a flight risk. He couldn’t explain it, but he had this deep seated feeling that if he let you leave just then, you might never come back.

You gave a solemn nod, the thought occurring to you too late that he might not even be able to see the gesture in the dark.

“Thought so.” Simon sighed, raising a tentative hand to brush against your shoulder. This kind of touch was new to him. And to you. You bristled for a second at the sensitive touch, before caving in. Later on, you’d blame it on the midnight haze, still half drunk on sleep, the adrenaline from the too-real nightmare, the safety of the dark room. But you felt yourself slip into Simon’s grasp, strong arms folding you into his body.

You were unsure at first, stiff in his arms, before finally succumbing to the motion and leaning into his form. Simon gently lowered the two of you back down on the bed, making sure you were back in your original spot against his chest. “C’mere,” he muttered, a hand pressing into your back to pull you even closer. “I've got ya.”

It was an unspoken agreement in that moment, a truce of sorts. A line of vulnerability had been crossed and the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. There was no going back. Not for you. Not for Ghost.

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

[bleedingoptimism]

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚

part 1

“You look pale,” Jeff comments making Eddie snort loudly.

Of course he looks pale, he’s got vampirism, doesn't he? But then again, so does Jeff and he looks great.

“When was the last time you fed?” He asks.

Eddie sighs heavily trying to reign in his bad mood. He knows Jeff’s just worried and wants to help, and he’s grateful to have run into an old friend from high school as soon as he moved into the big city. 

Because he’d be utterly lost without him.

He doesn't know where anything is, he gets lost in the subway, and he has no idea when he’s being charged too much for a muffin or suspiciously too little for a hotdog, or where all the blood markets are.

“Like, two weeks ago,” Eddie finally answers.

Jeff looks surprised but it’s not actually that bad, people with vampirism can go up to 4 to 5 weeks without blood. 

It’s not the same as those vampires from movies and books, they still eat food and they can stand in the sun with just minor cases of sunburn. There’s also the light sensitivity, making them all look like assholes wearing sunglasses everywhere.

Also, they are not allergic to garlic. Which, thank the heavens because Eddie loves garlic, a lot.

There’re a couple of side effects that do come in handy sometimes, like augmented hearing and smell. And the healing spit is super weird but nifty. No super strength regrettably, that would’ve been awesome.

Anyways, it’s like they have super anemia or something.

“I went to a blood bar, hooked up with some dude but. I didn't have a good time, at all. I kind of don't want to go back to bars for a while,” He elaborates and when Jeff frowns worried, he shakes his head,

“No, not like that. It’s just… the dude was like way too into it, you know? It kinda freaked me out.”

“What do you mean? Don't you find it hot? When you feed?” Jeff asks him, curious. 

Eddie nods quickly, “Yes, of course I do! It can be really sexy with the right person, but this guy, he was like- like way too loud and like, he was faking it? I don’t for who, though. And halfway through it, I started getting worried I’d accidentally hired someone instead of just hooked up and I didn’t have any money, and then I started thinking about money and my dick-”

“Ok! Ok, I get it.” Jeff thankfully interrupts him. “Dude, why didn’t you say something, I know of a place. I didn’t mention it before because it’s kind of boujee and handles itself a little differently.” 

“Oh? Do tell” Eddie tells him excitedly, he loves going to new places, especially if they are weird.

“Well, it’s real private, like ‘can’t get in unless you are on the list’ private. And it’s run by this girl. Blonde little thing, super cute. Scary as fuck. Everyone calls her ‘The Boss’” he says doing air quotes.

“Dramatic, I like it.” Eddie smiles.

Jeff chuckles, “So the gist of it it’s you go there and just hang out normally, like any other kind of bar. The place is beautiful, the music is good, and the drinks are delicious. But what's interesting about this place is the hostesses,” he says and even does a little pause for effect before continuing, “Similar to a blood bar there’re people there willing to be fed on but what’s cool about it is they get to choose.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That sounds kind of fun, actually.”

“Right? And it feels, safer somehow? For them?” Jeff agrees and Eddie nods and smiles at him, waiting for him to keep going.

“Anyway, the hostesses choose and then you get to go upstairs and talk through what you want to happen, just feeding, sex, talking, anything they agree to, it's on the table. I once ended up just playing a game of Uno with the girl I fed on and two other hostesses that hadn't picked anyone that night.” he finishes and Eddie laughs delightedly.

“Ok, this place sounds amazing, what’s the catch?” 

“Well, you have to pay an entry fee, the drinks are expensive and there’s always the possibility you’ll leave empty-handed. The first time is free though,” Jeff says.

“Like drugs,” Eddie replies and Jeff nods solemnly, 

“You know the hostesses can be kind of addicting.” 

…

That night, on the way there, Jeff tells him they have to sign a guest list at the entrance,

“No one uses their real name, not because the place is shady or anything! But because they want to leave that choice to us and the hostesses if you ever get too close with one. It's not like, frowned upon.”

Eddie nods listening intently, he feels kind of nervous in a way he hasn't in a while, but he’s not sure why.

“Also, secret nicknames are fun! I’m known as Jay there. So please don’t dox me. Or yourself.” Jeff tells him.

After careful consideration, Eddie smiles and says, “I’ll be… Strider”

“Nerd”

“Shut up, you are just jealous you didn't come up with it yourself”

Jeff laughs, “You got me there,” he says, and then, “We are here” and he opens a big glass windowed door and vows to Eddie, inviting him in.

Eddie chuckles and enters and immediately almost runs into someone—a tall, massive guy with short curly hair and the shadow of a beard.

“Hey freak,” Jeff greets calmly, “He’s with me,”

Eddie cringes at the nickname, bad memories from high school bullying. But the dude just nods and gives Jeff the tiniest of smiles, so he figures it’s the nickname the bouncer chose for himself.

They enter and sign their name in the guest book, a girl about their age with dirty blond hair and hundreds of freckles on her nose and cheeks is there and she asks Eddie a couple of questions. Not in a weird way, but in a ‘you are new and I’m curious’ kind of way.

Eddie feels comfortable and excited as they go in.

Jeff was right, the place is beautiful. The lobby leads to a big room with high ceilings and fake candle-lit lamps. The chairs and tables are antiques and all different but roughly the same time period so they look good together. There’re old signs and posters from all kinds of drinks and different products adorning the walls. And the music is instrumental and oldie too, sounds like probably 40s or 50s.

It is incredibly boujee. But in a fun way, cozy and warm.

They get a seat at a small round table in a corner and Jeff lets Eddie look around for a while before asking,

“So? Weird right? It’s like stepping into another time,”

Eddie snorts, “Yeah, one that has no idea which time period it wants to repre- who is that?”

Jeff looks at where Eddie is looking and sighs, “Of course you noticed Sunshine,”

“Sunshine?” Eddie sighs.

“That’s what they call him. Because apparently he smells like flowers and summer and tastes like orgasms or something,” Jeff says amused rolling his eyes.

The guy, Sunshine, is probably the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his life, definitely the most beautiful man in this room. His face is a contradiction of sharp and round angles that is just absolutely perfect, and he’s wearing a black suit that clings to his body like a second skin, showing off his big shoulders and his tiny waist. He’s looking around the room with big, brown eyes that look bored as he leans against a wall like he’s above it all, he’s a fucking dream.

Eddie swallows audibly and looks smirking at Jeff for a second before his eyes drift back to the man, “Tastes like what, you said” he teases and Jeff snorts.

“Not that anyone would know, as far as I know, he’s never taken anyone upstairs,” he tells Eddie in a conspiratory tone.

That makes him incredibly curious, “Really? Why is he still here then?”

“I don’t know for sure, mostly rumors but he’s the boss’s favorite, that’s for sure. Oh!” Jeff exclaims and then nods his head to a girl sitting on the other side of the room, in a big fancy-looking chair that looks more like a throne than a simple piece of furniture.

She’s got blonde hair up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a flowery dress but there's something about the way she looks around the room, something about the way people walk around her and look at her, with respect or fear, or maybe both. She’s fucking intimidating.

While Eddie’s looking, the girl from the front desk, with the freckles, comes to sit on a small stool beside the “throne”, there’s another one on the other side that’s empty. The blonde girl moves her hand towards freckles and she kisses it and then her shoulder and smiles as she leans in closer and starts whispering to her.

It’s kind of surreal. 

“That’s The Boss, and the girl from the entrance, that’s Sparrow. She’s her girl.” Jeff explains.

“Respect for looking scary in a sundress,” Eddie comments.

And Jeff nods, “Anyways my theory is, Sunshine is actually just a bodyguard and not a hostess but the people that come here like to think they actually have a chance with him, so no one says anything to the contrary.”

Eddie snorts and nods, it makes sense. It's actually very good marketing, just like the ‘the first one is free’ thing. That boss girl is really smart with her business.

Jeff and he get a few drinks and they chat calmly, Jeff isn't looking to go upstairs tonight, he only came by to accompany Eddie and Eddie knows he should be looking around, trying to make eye contact with someone, but he can stop staring at Sunshine.

He even looked at their table at one point, and Eddie thought he was going to faint. He was scanning the room as he apparently does every couple of minutes when he caught Jeff’s eye and Jeff lifted his hand in greeting.

And Sunshine’s face completely transformed, his bored calculating expression changed into a beautiful smile that made his eyes shine. He wiggled his fingers at Jeff cutely before going back to looking like fucking Droopy Dog. If Droopy was the sexiest motherfucker alive. It was amazing to see.

Eddie’s jaw almost hit the table and he turned to look at Jeff stunned and he just shrugged,

“Sunshine was one of the hostesses I ended up playing Uno with. He’s fucking vicious,” he says smiling at the memory.

Eddie chuckles as his eyes follow Sunshine moving across the room, he just can't. Stop. Looking.

But the thing is, Sunshine is looking back now. Keeping eye contact with him obviously and unashamed. It’s thrilling and it makes shivers run down his spine.

He watches as Sunshine sits on the stool on the other side of The Boss’s throne and grabs her hand and holds it, intertwining their fingers. 

The Boss and her girl turn and look at him and the three of them start whispering, looking at him.

“Dude,” he says and turns to Jeff to see if he’s seeing what he’s seeing.

Jeff looks from him to the whispering party, “Un fucking believable, first time here and tonight is the night Sunshine is taking someone upstairs” he says looking fed up, but clearly in a joking manner.

“Is that what you think it’s happening? No way,” Eddie shakes his head as Sparrow says something that makes The Boss chuckle but Sunshine speaks up and she sobers up immediately. Curious.

“He’s looking right at you, he probably went to ask Sparrow about you,” Jeff insists.

“Maybe he’s looking at you”

“He’s seen me before,” Jeff scoffs.

He’s about to reply but their conversation gets interrupted by someone shily clearing their throat. A girl, a hostess, is looking at him with curious eyes, and shit… she’s cute and looks like a nice person but, Eddie can’t- he needs to know what those looks from Sunshine meant.

He needs him.

He looks back at the group quickly to see Sunshine and The Boss in deep conversation and Sparrow… is she glaring at him?

He rejects the girl, as nicely as possible and Jeff scoffs and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ under his breath again as Eddie turns to look back at Sunshine.

Who is walking toward them, holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Jeff says and then moves to stand. Eddie grabs his wrist and tries to pull him back.

“Wait what are you doing, dont-” But Jeff frees himself and starts walking away,

“Good luck!” He sings songs and then leaves him alone.

part 1: you are here

part 2: 👄

part 3: 🩸

bonus content: ☀️

ao3: 🌙

art: 🦇

coffee?☕🥐💕

[sttoru]

ooo what abt gojo and reader are at some formal event and reader has a toy plugged inside her and gojo just turns it on at the most randomest times

POKER FACE !

ෆ sypnosis. you accompany satoru to a formal event, which you instantly regret the moment he starts controlling the toy he plugged inside of you beforehand.

ෆ note. literally drooled at this when it popped up in my inbox :3 thank u 4 this & hope you enjoy — this post contains smut, proceed at own risk !

ෆ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. public, dirty talk, use of adult toy (vibrator), edging, implied cunnilingus & blow job, uhh u suck on his finger, size difference, satoru’s a big tease.

your fingers were tightly curled around your wine glass to the point that it threatened to shatter, your gaze flickered all around the hall and your body was trying its best not to show the pleasure its receiving in secrecy.

it’s all because of your lover; gojo satoru. the man introduced a new idea to you before you attended the formal event. he said that ‘it’d be fun’ and then ordered you to plug a small vibrator inside of you—one he recently bought just for the sake of using it on your body.

you really should’ve known that satoru was going to tease you to death before you agreed to his proposal. the moment you stepped foot into the main hall was also the same moment the ‘fun’ started.

satoru walked ahead with confidence, flashing that charming smile of his to the waitress who offered you your wine glasses. his right hand held onto his drink whilst his left hand was buried deep in his front pocket. to many, that may seem like a casual gesture, but to satoru and you it was more than what it seemed.

the item hidden in that covered area was a small remote which controlled the vibrator you had put in your pussy. the vibrator was designed to give both internal and external stimulation—the external part was pressed against your clit and continuously made you shiver from pleasure.

“my baby’s looking so pretty.” satoru hums, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head like he wasn’t sexually tormenting you in the midst of a crowded place. he put his glass down on a nearby counter so he could wrap an arm around your waist.

“you doing okay?” he adds once he gets the gist of your subtle struggles. you were holding yourself pretty well according to satoru, thus he decides that you could probably take more.

the fingers in his pocket press twice onto the small ‘up’ button, increasing the frequency of the vibrations. you tense up almost immediately, one hand clamping around your glass while the other gripped onto satoru’s hand on your side.

“s-satoru, stop it—“ you whisper under your breath while trying your best to smile to any other guests who greeted you two. the escalating and pleasurable sensations made your legs start to shake. it was just a matter of time before you begin to make noise.

“don’t worry, sweets. i got you.” satoru chuckles and shakes his head, decreasing the regularity of the vibrations for a split second, “hmm.. or do i?”

there he goes again; playing with your emotions. just when you thought he decided to have mercy on you, he did the exact opposite and turned the vibrator up to its maximum setting. you bit your lower lip so hard that it begun to sting, “p-please, can’t no more, ‘toru.”

satoru nuzzles his face onto the top of your head, his nostrils filled with the recognisable scent of your shampoo. you could’ve sworn that you felt him smiling against your scalp after he left a kiss on it;

“shh, shh, t’s okay.” your lover purrs, feeling your body convulsing every now and then due to the intensity of the plugged in toy. he enjoys seeing you struggle to keep your composure in public, especially in risky situations like these. if anyone knew what was happening underneath those layers of clothes you had on, your reputation would plummet. satoru’s as well.

in an attempt to hide your erratic breathing and flustered demeanour, you pull satoru in a hug, face buried in his chest while both your hands were now clutching onto his suit jacket. hugging wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for couples, so that’s the least you could do to cover up your pleasure filled expression.

“aww, is my baby not feeling well?” satoru muses, but still tightens his grip on your waist, pressing your body against him and turning you sideways so that most attendees would only be able to see his backside, not you. at least he decided to spare you by hiding you in his embrace the best he could.

though, that didn’t mean he’d spare you from his antics just yet. the vibrator was still at its max setting after all.

the faint buzzing noise sounded ten times louder in your ears since that was all you could focus on. your clit was being overstimulated to the point that you just couldn’t hold back a couple desperate whines—the noises muffled by satoru’s dress shirt.

“hnnn— ‘toru, c-can’t, ‘m gonna..” you bit onto the fabric of his clothes as you subconsciously move your hips forward, grinding against satoru’s crotch. the pressure earns a quick hiss from your lover;

“don’t think so, pretty.” he sighs softly and his fingers move to hold in the ‘off’ button on the remote control. the toy immediately stops and you breathe out shakily— you lift your head upwards to meet satoru’s gaze. your lips were forming a small pout as if you were upset by his actions.

“what’s wrong?” satoru coos, knowing damn well that you were close to your climax, which he ruined by just one click of a button, “you couldn’t take it anymore, right?”

two of his long fingers sneaked across your waist and onto your jawline, fingertips stopping under your chin to let his thumb rub across your bottom lip, “i just did you wanted, baby.”

his voice was low and sultry, almost unable to be heard above all to the music and chatter. his index and middle finger gently tugged your chin downwards to open your mouth. his thumb smoothly slid between your lips and instantly pressed down onto the surface of your tongue—wordlessly encouraging you to suck on it.

your lips closed around his thumb without an ounce of hesitation. you were lucky that satoru was tall enough to hide you behind his figure. your vision was being blocked by his broad shoulders and it was like the entire hall disappeared from your point of view.

“mhh, such a warm mouth.” satoru murmurs as his thumb moved around, grazing against your gums while you continued to suck on his finger, “can’t wait to have my dick in here and have you choke on it.”

you are sure that if satoru continues to talk dirty like that in your ear, you’d be able to cum untouched without even the slightest help from the vibrator. the best thing about satoru’s dirty talk is that he actually means what he says and will make those words a reality one way or another.

“or i’ll just go ahead and instantly put my cock in your tight pussy once i get us outta here, yeah? i bet i’ll be able to slide right in, considering you’re probably fuckin’ dripping right now.” a shiver of excitement runs down your spine, plugged hole clenching onto the vibrator, which you wished was his cock stretching you out.

satoru smirks before gliding his thumb out of your mouth. he couldn’t wait to pull you into a private room and eat you out, tasting you on his tongue before fucking you so good you’ll forget all about his unbearable teasing.

it’s then that his senses pick up on a sorcerer who was starting to walk towards the two of you, probably to greet him. satoru bends his head down to whisper in your ear, “but before that, i’ll need to prep you more thoroughly. hang in there f’me, pretty.”

with one last peck to your forehead, satoru turns around and easily spots the guest walking towards him in the far distance. while your lover awaits them to arrive, the hand in his pocket moves and turns the toy on again. it was still set to its maximum and you needed to clamp a hand over your mouth to prevent from letting out a squeal of surprise.

satoru grinned as he spotted that reaction from out of his peripheral vision.

having this much control over you was fun, but seeing you slowly fall apart due to him and no one else was more enjoyable.

[churipu]

( OO4 ) ★ bloody mess , nanami kento

featuring. nanami kento x reader

warnings. mentions of blood, mentions of a lot of different pet names (sweetheart, love, etc.), hospital raahhh, anesthesia.

note. WHO'S BACK DOING THE 1K EVENT LAJSOS IM SO SORRY :< THIS ONE IS A BIT SHORT???

ENTRY ( OO4 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" "a lot." "oh, well — that's not good."

tags: @sad-darksoul @sweeneyblue1 @idkuluka @colorful-happy-shit @tomie-it-girl

the room reeked of blood. if you get a gist of it — you'd likely think of death.

you held your phone in between your shoulder and your ear, slightly trembling as your muscle stretched. chewing your lip in frustration, the device ringing.

once.

twice.

thri—

"hi, sweetheart."

you sighed out in relief, "hi kento, i have a really quick question because i'm trying not to freak out—"

nanami immediately cuts you off, "is something wrong? what happened y/n?"

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" you asked him, eyeing the trail of crimson streaming down your ring and pinky finger — blowing on it softly, foot drumming impatiently. what a bloody mess.

nanami was silent for a few seconds, but you could make out a brief, "a lot."

that's when you finally let out a panicked but calm, "oh, well — that's not good."

the male on the other line shuffled a bit, and you made out a few static noises, "what happened, sweetheart? did you hurt yourself?" he softly asks you.

"um . . . i cut myself cutting fruits. it's stupid but — i was trying to imitate fruit ninja . . ." you explained, full of shame. yet again, from the other line, nanami shuffled; creating out static noises, "i should probably head to the hospital, right?"

"apply pressure on the wound, i'm already around the corner, love. keep on talking with me." he replies back calmly.

you did what he told you to do without ending the call, wincing every once in a while from the jolt of pain.

soon enough, nanami burst from the front door — his eyes finding your sitting form, a cotton pad wrapped around your bloodied fingers. with rushed steps, he approaches you, softly grabbing your hand, inspecting the wound.

"come here pretty," he softly mumbles, tugging you gently, "we're going to the hospital."

two stitches.

because you decided to imitate fruit ninja — in your defense, it seemed really cool in the games.

with an IV attached to your other hand, you laid on the bed, half droopy as the anesthesia had already spread through your veins. limp and tired, a hard cast covering your wounded hand to press on the stitches.

"please keep watch of their hands, and try not to move it a lot during the healing process — come back in approximately two weeks time for cast and stitches disposal." you could definitely hear a doctor say — clueless to you or to nanami.

but you answered them nonetheless, slurring out incoherent words, "oh . . . doctor, yeah! okay, mhm, i got you, doc, i'll be back soon."

a few chuckling erupted and you shut your eyes, feeling fatigue take over, "how are you feeling, darling?"

fluttering your eyes open, you nod, "good. how about you, ken?"

nanami brushed your cheek gently, staring at your droopy state affectionately, his elbow prepped up on the hospital bed, "i'm good as well. are you still in pain?"

you shook your head with a stupid smile, "nope, just peachy," you smiled, "i have a dress on my finger—" proudly raising your index finger up, where the pulse oximeter was.

"it looks wonderful, sweetheart," nanami softly threaded his calloused fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles.

the wound was worse than he thought. at first, nanami didn't know whether to be worried about your poor choice of action or your wound in all honesty, but at this point — he's doing both at the same time.

the male was in the middle of a meeting with the gojo satoru when you called.

"right? and — i think they stole my fingers," you whispered, eyes darting around here and there before eventually trying to raise up your wounded hand. to which nanami prevented by carefully putting it down to your side, on the bed.

"i promise your fingers are there, darling." nanami chuckled at your behavior under the anesthesia.

"no, no. i swear, i can't feel them — the people stole my fingers while you were not here," you refer to the doctor and the couple of nurses who tended to you earlier, "go check them, i swear, ken. my fingers are gone."

cute. you were very cute. nanami knew he shouldn't be laughing at all, but the way you acted right now was . . . very out of character. the passion swirling in your eyes as you try to convince him that your fingers were stolen.

"angel, i promise. they're there, attached." he moved a few strands of your hair away from your face, "you can be angry at me if they aren't there."

bad choices of words. because the very next second, you were trying to pry open your cast to take a quick look at your fingers.

"no, no. darling, you shouldn't touch that," nanami stood up, carefully holding your unharmed hand. preventing it from gnawing at your harmed hand.

"'m trying to prove something here, ken . . ." you rolled your eyes, leaning back onto the bed, "let me go," your whines made him smile.

"darling, 'ts not good to touch it now. we'll get it taken off in a while," you softly whine at his words.

"'ts too long. my fingers . . ."

nanami cupped your face and pressed a chaste kiss onto your lips, "they're there darling, i promise." he held out his pinky.

you childishly nodded, intertwining your pinky with his, "okay. promise."

"are they there?" nanami asks, holding your unharmed hand as he used his other hand to steer the steering wheel of his car.

it had been at least a couple of hours, and the anesthesia was slowly leaving your system — enough for you to be dismissed from the hospital. here you were, sitting in his passenger's seat, "are what there?" you questioned back, still feeling a bit droopy.

"your fingers."

in confusion you stare at him, "of course they are, in here." you mumbled, raising up your casted hand.

nanami chuckled, this was only something he and you (under the influence) knew.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist/diver!ghost x selkie!soap au Thoughts

marine biologist ghost who, whenever he has spare time, will go diving with some colleagues to collect trash from the ocean—because maybe it doesn’t make a huge, immediate impact, but it still means something is being done.

then one day while diving, ghost is accompanied by a seal. at first it only observes, and ghost is plenty happy to admire from afar, but then the seal is cozying up to him. it latches onto his leg, nudges him with its snout—even directs ghost and his group to trash that’s otherwise pretty well hidden, wedged beneath coral and rocks and sand.

it saddens ghost, just a little, when the sky starts getting dark and they have to head back. he doesn’t want to abandon his new friend—it’s rare they have wildlife hang around for this long—but unfortunately it’s not safe to wait any longer before going home.

but then the next time they’re able to go diving, the seal is there again. it plays at the same routine, helping out and goofing around, sticking dutifully by ghost’s side even when there’s others along with him. and time after time, it’s the same thing. no matter where the group is, the seal somehow always finds him. they end up lending it the nickname soap, after the odd amount of empty bottles of cleaning products the seal seems to locate for them.

it’s maybe a few months later that soap doesn’t show up, and it’s an instant cause for concern; there’s no reason soap should be missing. they’re in a similar area that the seal likely frequents, there’s no reason for soap to have moved or be huddled away with other seals to have pups.

the group worries, but there’s nothing they can do but theorize and assume as they carry out their regular chore. it’s only a once-off, by this point. maybe soap just didn’t feel like coming out to play just this one time.

but it happens again and again. soap doesn’t appear once, and it has the group of scientists worried sick. but without a tracker, or even a real idea of where soap might frequent when he’s not helping the group, there’s nothing they can do.

they return to shore later than usual one night. it’s completely dark by the time they dock, and ghost waves everyone ahead to go home because they’re all tired, he can manage clean-up by himself.

ghost is just about finished packing up when he sees the figure at the end of the dock. the marina is like a ghost town otherwise, nothing but the sound of turning waves and boats gentle bumping up against the port. ghost approaches slowly, not knowing what other business one could possibly have at the water this late.

“you lost, mate?” ghost wonders cautiously.

the figure steps closer, silver moonlight revealing some of his features. the man looks about ghost’s age, maybe younger—only it’s hard to tell with the haggard look on his face, as he nervously wrings his fingers and avoids ghost’s gaze.

“i’m… sorry i haven’t been around,” he apologizes, and ghost frowns. “someone… someone took my coat.”

ghost’s brow furrows. “i don’t… your coat? i’m not sure i underst—“

“my coat,” the man affirms. “i need it to swim. which is why i haven’t been able to help lately.”

not certain how it’s possible, ghost grows even more confused. he doesn’t get it—a coat to swim? being able to help? nothing makes sense.

“you’ve lost me,” ghost says, shaking his head. “wish i could help, but—“

as ghost tries to push past, the man seizes his arm. he peers up at ghost pleadingly, and while ghost had wanted to conclude the man was drunk or high or something—he hesitates, seeing that look.

“have you ever heard of selkies?” the man asks, an edge of desperation in his voice.

ghost shrugs. “sure i have.” he’s hardly well-versed in mythical creatures, but he knows the gist.

the man doesn’t say anything—just continues to look at ghost with those sad eyes, a plea for understanding like an explanation couldn’t be spoken aloud. so ghost thinks on it a moment.

the coat, the inability to swim without it. not helping out and not being there starting to sound like a reference to soap. to the seal.

ghost’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline in disbelief.

“you’re not really saying you’re soap, are you?”

maybe-soap frowns. “who’s that?”

right. “i mean the seal that’s been following our diving trips,” ghost clarifies. “and you’re saying… because your coat is gone—“

“taken,” soap corrects, “i couldn’t go. i wanted to find you, but i didn’t know how, and… and…”

soap looks frazzled, like his brain has disconnected from his mouth and hands in empty gestures in words trying to convey what he’s thinking.

ghost tentatively sets his crate of gear on the wooden planks of the dock before placing his hands on either one of soap’s shoulders. maybe the story isn’t all there, and maybe there’s still doubt in ghost’s head about any of it being the truth—but ultimately, ghost believes the man. believes it’s soap.

slowly, ghost says, “calm down, and tell me how i can help. we’ll get your coat back, yeah?”

soap offers him a shy, watery smile—but a smile nonetheless. he nods and begins to tell ghost everything.

it doesn’t take long before they’re hatching a plan to win back soap’s freedom.

[topguncortez]

Maybe blurb from crying prompt idk if this would be a hide or hold maybe both? But the reader holds her emotions in during a family thing because she's the oldest sibling and she feels like she has to be strong because that's how her family was raised and then she gets a moment and they tell her to stop being strong and that it's okay to let it out. I'm thinking either Bradley or Jake?

Hold My Hand - J. Seresin x Reader

synopsis: you get a phone call that no child ever wants to get, and as the "rock" of the family, you aren't allowed to break.

warnings: parental death, trauma, parental abandonment, incorrect medical jargon, mental abuse, grief, depression

note: I know this was supposed to only be a blurb, but I started writing and I couldn't stop. These past 16 days have been hell and there was something about writing this that just felt so freeing, like the cloud hanging over me has finally been lifted.

it had felt like a lifetime had passed, but in reality, it had only been 10 days.

10 days since that frightening phone call on that cold January day.

10 days since your mother called you, sound incoherent on the phone but you managed to gather the gist of it.

10 days since you had rushed out of your house, your hair half done, your husband chasing after you like you had lost your mind.

10 days since your father so bravely rushed into a burning building, saving other children and leaving you, your siblings and your mother behind.

You were angry, at first. Angry at the world for allowing this to happen. Angry at your father for playing superman when he was just a regular man. Angry at the other people standing around who didn’t have the same courage to run into the fire instead of standing by and yelling at your father to turn back. Angry that this was going to be the end; that your mother would be a widow at a young age, your youngest sisters wouldn’t have their father to walk them down the aisle, your children wouldn’t ever have another “grandpa day”, that you’d never get another hug and an “i love you” from your father again.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to shut out the world, force the cameras away, force the sorrowful looks from others away, force the heavy weight of your heart onto someone else.

But you couldn't. You had to be the strong one. For your mother. For your siblings. For your own children.

Jake had been watching you like a hawk since you had gotten that phone call. The morning started out like any other morning, with the two of you waking up before the sun was in the sky, making sure you had enough time to do a quick at-home workout and a run. You had been working on packing the kids' lunches when you got that call. He had to pry the keys out of your hands, telling you that your mother didn't need you and your father in the hospital.

Jake had eyed you the whole drive, noticing the redness and the unshed tears in your eyes. The way that you clutched the dainty silver cross around your neck between your fingers. The way that you sniffled every so often, trying to hold back the tears. But the second you stepped into the hospital, seeing the distressing look on your mother's face and the waiting room full of fellow firemen, you rolled your shoulders back and pushed back your own sadness and grief.

Those 10 days had been the best and worst of your life. You hardly left the hospital, unless Jake was physically forcing you to leave. You hardly ate, hardly slept, hardly took care of yourself. Your mind was so worried about everyone else except yourself. For 9 days, you had believed that maybe, just maybe, your father would pull through. But that all came crashing down on day 10, when your father's brain had swelled and his doctor's pronounced him brain dead.

"Y/N," Your mother had spoke, looking over at you as the doctor stood in front of your family. Jake shifted in his seat, putting his hand on your thigh, "You need to do it."

"What?"

"No," You and Jake spoke at the same time.

Your mother shook her head, "I can't be the one. . .," Tears clogged her throat, "I can't be the one who takes him-"

Jake scoffed, sitting up straight in his chair, his grip tightening on your thigh, "And you want your daughter to-"

"Jake," You sighed. There was no use in fighting. After all, you were the eldest. You knew eventually you would be the one who gets stuck making the medical choices for your parents. You just assumed you'd have more time to prepare. You rolled your shoulders back and looked at the doctor, "What do I need to sign?"

"It was such a lovely service," Your aunt Marjorie said, patting Jake's hand as he spoke to him. It was true, you had done a fantastic job planning a funeral for your father, all by yourself. Jake had helped you the best that he could, going with you to pick out a casket and a grave plot and music and flowers, "That Y/N was always Lee's favorite."

"I know," Jake gave Aunt Marjorie his best gentleman smile, the one that made his dimple pop out, "She's a special girl."

"Oh and how brave she was standing in front of everyone and speaking?" Aunt Marjorie placed her hand on her heart. Jake nodded his head, wishing that he could be anywhere else than in a conversation with Aunt Marjorie, "And that Miranda," Aunt Marjorie scoffed, looking over at where your mother sat stoic on the couch, "Looks like she's going to be the next to go."

Jake clenched his jaw, pulling his eyes away from your mother. He had his own thoughts and feelings about her, ones that he had shared with you one night during a heated fight.

"She has abandoned you!" Jake yelled, as you angrily pulled the blankets back on the bed. You were exhausted and just wanted to sleep in your bed for one night. You had managed to get your mother to stay with your father for the night, which was like pulling teeth, "You need her to be the parent and she's not."

"She is grieving too, Jake," You sighed.

"And you're not!?"

"I am," You ran a hand down your face, "I just handle it differently. I've always been the strong rock. The one who doesn't cry. The one who holds others when they cry," You sat down on the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion.

"And I know that, baby," Jake rounded the bed, and sat down beside you. He grabbed your hand, holding it in his own, "You are strong. You are incredibly fucking strong. . . but you shouldn't have to be the strong one right now. You shouldn't be the one pulling all nighters by your dad's side. You shouldn't be the one making medical decisions on your father's behalf. Even though you are an adult. . . Y/N, baby, you're still his child. Your mother should-"

"I don't want to have this conversation anymore," You pulled your hand away from Jake, "My mom isn't well, and she needs me to help her-"

"Bullshit," Jake scoffed, "She is abandoning you and you know it."

You clenched your jaw, holding back the anger radiating in your body. Jake held a tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe you'd lash out at him. That you'd show some type of emotion after being a near zombie these past 8 days. But instead, you stood up quietly and left the room, choosing to go sleep in your son's room instead.

Jake had drown out Aunt Marjorie's talking, his eyes landing on you across the room. You had opened up your home to your family, your father's fire crew, Jake's squad and friends for a meal and drinks following the funeral. You had done a great job at not falling apart during the service or the burial, but Jake could tell that the rope was starting to fray. And right now, it was about to snap as you were talking animatedly with your sister across the room in a small alcove.

"Hey, Aunt Marjorie," Jake turned back to look at the 80 year old woman, "It was lovely catching up with you, but I need to go help Y/N with something. We should do coffee some time."

"Oh yes, that'd be-"

"Great, see you later," Jake quickly made his way over to you, not bothering to hear the rest of Aunt Marjorie's response.

The last thing you wanted to do in a houseful of guests from your father's funeral, was get into an argument with your sister, but here you were. Claire was the baby of the family, the one who got away with the most. Your relationship with Claire was rocky, as the line between sister and mother-figure had gotten crossed while you were growing up. You wanted what was best for Claire, and sometimes that required extra tough love and parenting.

"You are high!" You exclaimed.

"I am not," Claire's voice was slightly slurred. Jake's nose scrunched up as he walked into the room, smelling the distinct scent of marijuana.

"My whole damn shed smells like marijuana, Claire," You crossed your arms over your chest, "This isn't like you. What is going on? Talk to me."

"Oh god," Claire rolled her eyes, "Here she goes again. Acting like my mother!"

"Well!" You scoffed, throwing your arms in the air. Jake stood behind you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. In the past couple days, you had shrugged off any sort of comfort that Jake offered you, but now, you welcomed it, "You smoked a joint before you walked into dad's funeral! Smoked another one in my shed, where your niece and nephew play. And don't even get me started on how you reeked like vod-"

"Y/N," Your mother's voice filled the air, making all three of you look towards her, "Let's not do this now."

"No," You shook your head, "Let's do this now. Your daughter is high. She smoked up in my garage and then walked into my house smelling like a dispensary."

Your mom looked over at your sister and then back at you. You felt a pang in your chest as you watched her silently side with your sister. The familiar burning sensation of tears prickled at your eyes and nose.

"She's grieving," Your mother simply answered.

You scoffed, "And who isn't?"

"Y/N,"

"Forget it," You shook your head, "It's nothing, it's fine. It's always fucking fine."

For the rest of the afternoon, you made yourself busy, staying far away from your mother and sister. Jake remained within arms reach of you, his presence comforting and not overbearing. You had finally sat down, and managed to get something in your stomach. It must've been evident on your face, but the guests had only said a couple words to you before going on their way. It took nearly four hours, but all the guests had left, filling your house with a silence you hadn't heard in nearly 10 days.

Jake had taken the burden of cleaning everything up, while you sat on the back porch, watching the sunset with a glass of wine in your hand. The cool San Diego winter breeze felt nice against your heated skin.

"The house is finally, back to normal," Jake announced as he walked out onto the back porch. Natasha had gratefully volunteered to take your children for the night, so you and Jake could decompress.

"Thank you, daddy," You smiled sweetly at him, as he sat down next to you on the porch swing.

"Of course, baby," He said, and held out a white gift box, "Someone left this for you."

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking the box from him and lifting the lid. Your breath caught in your throat as you lifted the small, gold pocket watch from the box.

"Y/N," Jake said softly.

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, "I always wanted this," You ran your hand over the engraved hummingbird on the gold casing, "It was from my grandfather's jewelry store and it quit working. My dad said he was going to get it fixed and give it to me as a wedding gift, but he lost it. . . I-I don't know-"

"Well, does it work?" Jake asked.

You swallowed, opening the face of the watch open. To your surprise, it did work. The second hand ticked around in perfect time as the watch seemed to already be set to the correct time. The beautiful watch had a colorful humming bird painted onto the face in the middle of the black Roman numeral numbers, and gold watch hands.

"It's perf- oh, c'mon," You cursed, as the watch stopped ticking. You tapped the glass face a couple of times, trying to maybe, just maybe get it up and ticking, "C'mon! You just. . . worked! C'mon!"

"Baby," Jake spoke, gently placing his hand on your wrist.

"No! It has to work! It has to!"

"Baby, it's okay," Jake assured you, "It's o-"

"Nothing is okay!" You snapped, looking up at him as the tears had finally escaped your eyes, "Nothing about any of this is okay!" You pushed yourself up from the porch swing, rushing to the edge of the patio and throwing the watching across the yard with a scream. Jake closed his eyes as loud sobs escaped from your lugs, as the grief had finally seemed to rush to you.

He stood up from the porch swing and enveloped you in his arms. You sagged against him, feeling his arms tighten around you to be able to hold you up. Jake hushed you, placing a hand on the back of your head, and his chin on the top.

"Let it out, baby," Jake encouraged you, running a hand over your hair, "Let it all out, baby."

You weren't sure how long you stood there in Jake's arms and cried, but he eventually picked you up, after feeling your legs grow weak. He carried you through the house, to your shared bedroom, sitting you down gently on the bed. You didn't even need to tell him what to do as he moved through the bedroom with familiarity, grabbing you nightgown, taking you out of your dress, washing the make-up from your face and applying your moisturizer.

"What do you need from me, baby?" Jake asked, as he kneeled in front of you, sliding your socks on your feet.

"I don't know," Your voice was raspy as you looked at him confused, "I've never. . . I've never felt-"

"I know," Jake nodded his head, "I know you haven't, and it can be scary the first time you just. . . lose it all." Jake could remember the first time he had ever broken down like you had. It was terrifying as he cried and destroyed the things around him. It felt like it was never going to end as one thing after another had set him off, until he was on the ground in the fetal position, withering, "But it will all be okay. I'm here to help you. Let me help you."

You nodded your head, tears springing to your eyes again. Jake cooed, and pulled you into his arms again as the tears fell down your cheeks.

taglist: @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27 @sio-ina-bottle @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @frazie99 @t0kyoreveng3rs @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @badasspizzalover @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592 @yujibubs @noonenuts @marvellouscroissant

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[puck-luck]

moving along | john marino

warnings: established relationship, general complaints about Jersey, minor brat!reader but it’s not part of the sex, untraditional sex in the sense that they do not have furniture, unprotected p in v, sex as means of resolving an argument i guess?, fingering (fem!receiving) (sometimes i wonder if i need to clarify that because i personally am not into fingering my man’s ass and i doubt it’ll ever make its way into my writing), reference to oral (m!receiving), eating come (so true) pairing: John Marino x fem!reader request: “Could I request John Marino smut where after he’s traded to the Devils from Pittsburgh his girl is upset about the move but when they get to New Jersey he decides the best way to handle the move is for them to christen the new apartment to make it feel like home?  Like literally no furniture has arrived yet and they’re already going at it.” wc: 2570

Pitt had been your home since John first signed his contract with the Penguins in the summer of 2019. You’d moved there with him because he asked, you two had curated a shared apartment space that you loved and considered your first real home as an adult. You were happy in Pittsburgh and John was happy with the Penguins. You hadn’t really known about the trade until it came, just ten days shy of the three year anniversary of Pitt becoming your home base, your foundation.

You knew that the NHL was a fickle business when John first joined. Injuries were abundant, trades happened more often than you thought they would, and at weird times. Hell, people lost their teeth all the time in hockey. It was a weird sport, but for three years you and John had made a place for yourself in Pitt. 

John had just signed a six year contract extension with the Penguins a year and a half ago– so, yeah, you were still in denial about leaving Pittsburgh. It just didn’t make sense and you couldn’t wrap your brain around it.

You had packed up in what seemed like lightning speed, ditched the town that you knew, and now you’re arriving in Jersey. You don’t know anyone or any places except your new apartment complex, your new home. 

You’re cranky because you’ve been in the car for six hours. Not because you hate New Jersey and everyone there for uprooting your life in a mere instant.

Obviously.

John has been a saint about the move and the trade. It’s not his first– since he was originally drafted with the Oilers, he’s been through this process before. The difference, as you’ve reminded him multiple times now, is that he never played with the Oilers. He was picked, but he went to college. Then, he went to Pitt. And Pitt, John, was home. Not New Jersey.

That’s the gist of the same argument you’ve been having with your boyfriend over the past week or so. It’s never escalated because John is patient with you and so great, but you’ve noticed the tick in his jaw when you huff and puff and tense up in his arms. You don’t want to be angry at him, of course you don’t, because you know that it’s not his fault he was traded. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles. However, his presence has been a reminder of the fact that you were so happy in Pennsylvania and you’ve been nothing but bitter about New Jersey.

And now, standing in your empty apartment with a frown on your face, John has reached his limit.

He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck and one of your hands finds its way to his curls. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” John murmurs into your ear, another kiss adorning your neck.

You scrunch up your nose and side eye him. “Duh,” you reply. John knows that you two have been together long enough that you’d damn near follow him to the ends of the Earth, even if the end of the Earth is in New Jersey. 

Your response causes him to chuckle, kissing you again. He turns you in his arms and smiles down at you. 

You glare, pouting, but John can tell that you’re more upset than angry. It’s been a lot of change over the past few days, and even though you’ve been a little bit of a brat, your behavior has been justified. John’s heart clenches a bit when you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

It’s quite the sight– a sweet, long embrace between partners in their newest home.

At least, it’s sweet until John ruins it.

“I have an idea about how we can make this place feel a little more… homey,” John says. You know the lilt in his voice by heart, having been with him for years. 

Pulling away, you roll your eyes and making sure John sees, knowing exactly where this is headed. You play along anyway. “What’s your idea?”

John grins and whispers conspiratorially, “We need to christen the apartment. It’s not a home until it’s been christened.”

You hold back a laugh, but a smile slips through. “We don’t have a bed yet.”

“We don’t need a bed,” John says. He slides his hands down to your hips and walks forward, only stopping when your back hits the wall and he’s crowded into your space. His head dips down and he mouths over your jawline. “I can fuck you right here, against this wall.”

“Mmm, dreamy,” you quip, your hands smoothing over John’s shoulders. You tilt your head back so he has more access to your neck and he rewards you by sucking a hickey near your pulse point. “You really know how to woo a girl, Johnny.”

John’s hips press against yours and you can already feel him stirring in his pants, growing harder as he continues to suck bruises along your skin. His hands have found your waist and hold onto you desperately. His lips make their way to yours and you share a brief kiss before he pulls away. “Just want to make my girl feel better,” he says, blinking innocently at you with his beautiful brown eyes.

Oh, how you fall for those eyes over and over again.

You draw out a sigh, looking around the apartment. One of your hands returns to John’s curls and pets through them, making him wait for your response. John, patient as always, waits for your response with an attentive smile and a tiny tilt of his head. His eyes rake over your face, taking in all of the details. His thumb comes up to your chin, tilting your head up. He leans in for a kiss.

You offer your lips up willingly, letting him control the pace. When he pulls away, you relent. “I guess we can christen the apartment,” you faux-complain, like it’s a job to keep up with John and his libido. 

John growls, teeth finding your bottom lip. “Let’s see if I can convince you to be a little more enthusiastic,” he teases, sneaking his hands up your shirt and lifting it over your head. He tosses the fabric behind him. Out of sight, out of mind. 

You hadn’t worn a bra today, since all you had done was sit in the car all day, and John reaps the benefits of that fact almost immediately.

He latches onto your chest, licking over one of your nipples and pinching the other. You pull on his hair, arching your back away from the wall. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as you puff out your chest, chasing the sensation of his tongue swirling against the peak of your nipple. He switches sides, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

“Johnny,” you say, and he smiles against your skin. You bring him back up to your lips, groaning when his tongue finds its way into your mouth and makes contact with your own. 

He runs his fingers all over your body, cupping your breasts and tracing your sides. He takes a handful of your ass and squeezes, making you jump against him. His length is fully hard now, still pressing into your hips, and he breathes out a moan when you roll your hips, grinding against him. 

You tug at his t-shirt, a wrinkly old stained thing from college, and he pulls away from you just long enough to get the offending clothing over his head before reconnecting your lips.

Now, your hands are the ones roaming his body, mapping his details through feel alone. He’s always been lean, but his skin is warm against yours and he’s defined in all the right places. He’s also soft and solid and he moves with your hands, making sure you’re always touching him in some way. You place the flat of your palm against his stomach, and the other against his chest, and you can feel John’s heart beating underneath your touch.

John sinks to one knee, pulling your shorts down and kissing over your stomach as he does. He removes your shorts and your panties, leaving you bare against the wall. He holds you steady, completely unnecessarily but sweet nonetheless, helping you step out of the clothing. He kisses his way back up your body.

Pecking your lips, he runs a finger through your folds. “So wet,” he mumbles into your mouth, pride filling his tone. He brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean, then traces his tongue over yours. You can just barely taste yourself and it makes your knees a little weak. 

You lean into him, pulling him close. John works his finger back into you, pumping it slowly into and out of your entrance. It’s barely enough contact, barely fulfillment, and it isn’t long until you beg John to add another finger.

You’re scrambling, holding his bicep with a vice grip as he hikes your leg up onto his hip to give himself more access. You’re fucking against his hand, chasing the feeling of the orgasm that’s just out of reach, and it makes your eyelids flutter shut.

You moan aloud when John crooks his fingers and traces the spongy spot inside of you, teasing it. When you open your eyes, you find his trained on your face, lips parted and eyes wide. He never gets tired of seeing you like this, seeing you come apart on his hand.

“Please,” you breath out, voice cracking. You know you can come anytime, whenever you’re ready, that you don’t need permission, but you need John to give you just a little more.

“Touch your clit for me, baby,” John replies, kissing just under your earlobe.

You reach around and pet over your bundle of nerves, the contact making you clench down on his fingers. John groans at the feeling, sagging against you. You’re trapped between the wall and his warm, solid, strong body. 

“Make yourself come,” John encourages, voice soft. “Wanna see you.”

A wanton whine rips from your throat as your climax overtakes you. You arch into John as much as you can and he brings his mouth to your nipple once again, sucking harshly as the waves of your orgasm overtake you. It elongates it, makes your mind reel with pleasure, and you’re shaking in John’s arms by the time you come down.

He kisses you until you’re on solid ground again, the hand that’s not covered in your come crading your face. The other hand pushes at his shorts until they’re low enough that he can kick them away, then he does the same with his boxers. John grinds against you, his cock twitching against your oversensitive folds, but not breaching your entrance just yet.

He rubs himself against you until you pull away from his kiss and blink up at him, eyes hazy. Both of your hands find his cheeks and you smile at him, a little dopey. He returns the smile, goofy and oh, so pretty before dropping a kiss on your forehead.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, rolling his hips forward again with a bite to his bottom lip.

You nod, a quiet “please” falling from your lips. Your arms loops around his neck again and John brings his hands to your thighs, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist.

“I’m gonna fuck you in every room of this apartment,” John promises, lining himself up with your entrance. You sink down on him as much as you can, as soon as his tip pushes into you. “Make you come over and over again, until you love our new home–” He thrusts his hips forward. “Just as much as you love me.”

“Impossible,” you reply. “Love you too much.”

John grins, a hand on your hip and the other bracing himself against the wall. “We’ll see.”

He drills into you, the sound of his hips slapping against yours filling the empty apartment. It seems to echo off the walls, surrounding you. John’s grunts and moans fill your ears, and your whimpers fill his. He bites your neck, then soothes the skin with a pass of his tongue, letting his saliva cool over your throat. It’s almost as satisfying as the weight of his hand would be.

He fills you so well, and he’s pent up, having been waiting to fuck you for hours. His favorite way to satisfy you, to make you content, is to fuck all of the negativity away and make it so your head is full of thoughts about him and the pleasure he’s giving you, nothing more and nothing less. The move was the perfect excuse to fuck you hard and fast and dirty, the way John knows you love.

As evidenced by your walls clenching down around him, the wet slick dripping from your cunt and gathering at the base of his cock. God, if he can get you to come before he does, he’ll have you lick it all off until his come paints the back of your throat.

Just the thought has him fucking you harder, faster. You’re barely able to make any noise because it’s just so good, and John relishes in the feeling of your fingernails digging into his back. Back in its favorite place, one of your hands pulls on his curls, grip so tight that his head has to follow. 

John brings both hands to the globes of your ass, leaning into you so that your back against the wall supports you both. He presses into you, fucking so deep that he swears he can feel the tip of his cock against your cervix with each thrust. 

You cry out, tensing against him as he fucks you through a second orgasm, your legs shaking around him. You’re breathless and despite the overstimulation, you’re still fucking down onto him, rolling your hips to meet every thrust. 

John ditches his other plan on a whim, burying his face in your neck and allowing his hips to stutter, his warm seed shooting off inside of you. You moan aloud at the feeling and John almost buckles, and would have if the wall behind you hadn’t been holding the both of you up. He catches his breath, his thrusts slowing as he continues to fuck his come deep inside of you, feeling the way your walls drag against his shaft. 

“So good,” you sigh as John lowers you to the floor.

He slips out of your warmth with a wince, his cock softening. His mouth waters as he watches the come slide down the inside of your thighs, a milky mixture of both of your releases.

You laugh a little at the feeling, dragging your hand over the skin to stop the flow and licking the liquid off your palm to clean yourself up. 

John groans at the sight. “Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” he complains. “I can’t go again yet.”

“Mmm,” you hum around your fingers, drawing them out of your mouth with a pop that has John wilting. You smile, sickly sweet and teasing. “Just like at home. Nice to see that a change of location doesn’t affect your refractory period.”

[mystiffox]

— the apple's falling from the tree

from Cross: The Star Sans by @overflowofcrows

star!cross makes me incredibly ill with the tragic found family vibes ... (lays on the floor)

also have some doodles too (slight spoilers on the fic's lore below! to explain some of my thoughts on clothes n stuff)

does Cross have a star necklace in the fic? no, probably not. did i show off about my thoughts on a star necklace to Simple anyway? yes, yes i did. anyway idc where u think the necklace is from (whether its a gift from dream or a remold of his broken heart necklace, who knows atp) now ONTO THE GANG (+ Error and Fresh)

to preface this: im mostly assuming for most of the lore beyond the crumbs given to me. so, i'd imagine that when the fight ended with the gang losing, Dream and Ink immediately jailed them up. they both seem keen on keeping the gang alive, so they probably would've tried to help them with anything to make sure of it- that is, if any of the gang would even accept it in the first place.

i'm making a small guess that if there were any wounds, they used what they had to take care of it, aka ripping out parts of their own clothing to use as makeshift bandages. dream might've gave them some supplies (out of pity.. or something) but whether that was not enough or not used, i won't know

even if it was enough, there's still the factor of inevitable outburst/breakdowns from any of the prisoners. i'd imagine it'd be so hard to calm any of them down because the gang were too used to being close together that using touch became the usual grounding method— so putting a barrier between them makes it infintely harder for everyone.

i think Nightmare doesn't use his jacket anymore. it probably feels like shit/too itchy and ragged to wear and reminds him of a past he wishes he could forget. (he must feel so helpless seeing all his boys suffer after taking care of them for so long... like a lost father trying his best and seeing how much he's failing at the same time.. man.)

Dust is almost always wrapped in a blanket, the hoodie completely zipped up as if he was trying to hide in it, keeping himself as small as possible (knowing his own breakdowns are the biggest And loudest)

Horror is probably yanked back to the memories of when he was back in his home au, quietly starving and losing all the progress he had with the gang.. trying to press himself against the barriers in hopes that maybe he can feel the others on the other side of it.. (one of his outbursts would be why he ripped off the sleeves of his jacket id assume)

Killer too.. unable to get to anyone and just. with his soul going haywire sometimes, having no available output that he's forced to ride it out on his own And in front of everyone.. yeah, you get the gist for those three

Error's a mess of threads- picks at his clothes and sews em back up, just to have a reason to move his hands. he's not too worried i'd say- it's a little reminiscent of the antivoid, and he's experienced insanity already (not to say it doesn't tug at his own soul-strings to see it happen to everyone else)

Fresh might be the "cleanest" out of everyone, with barely any visible tears, but i have a good feeling his body language is different. maybe the cap is now worn correctly. maybe he took off his jacket. he's tense. his guard is up. because a parasite would never want to be locked up in one place, right?

god.

God.

they make me so sick (message is mine btw)

[hg-aneh]

Hi! I absolutely love all of your art and I’ve been fallowing you for awhile! There’s been some rumors that you ship Muriel x crowley?? Which I guess is an odd paring but nothing terrible wrong with, I was just curious if you do ship them.

Thank you for all your wonderful art <3

okay, i want to preface this by saying that I've already been harassed over this to the point of being called a lowkey pedophile and having every little move of mine scrutinized and misconstrued to sickening extents (this harassment spilled over to my partner too, and it was horrible)

so all anyone would do by doing this again would be repeating history, among other things that have to do with fucking up my already frail mental state

now.

onto the meat

yes, I ship it

no, I do not see Muriel as a child, kid, teenager, or anything of the sort and I find it personally distasteful to think of doing so because infantilizing autistic traits rubs me the wrong way (p e r s o n a l l y)

you can do it if you want to, I have worse things to worry about than a random person on the internet thinking something of a fictional character, just don't try to push your headcanon onto me just because you perceive it that way or because it's a popular dynamic that you find fun

adding onto this, i want to add that i will never and i mean fucking NEVER post anything related to that ship outside of the very specific private Xitter account i created for it

(and my personal facebook, on a friends only setting)

any Muriel & Crowley content outside of that account is all platonic and bla bla you get the gist. I can separate things, what a talent.

Now, I'm being overly paranoid and explaining myself to exhaustion over this for a very good reason and it's because last time someone found out about it ((yes we're going full circle to the beginning of this little bible)) they treated it as some sort of GOTCHA moment about me being a pedo ((and if you didn't know this already: I fucking despise children with my whole being, I'd rather be forcefed alligator shit for my whole life than be with one of those creatures for a single day))

It got to the point of that person making extremely hurtful videos about me and their little friend group comprised of goober eating toddlers joining in on the "Hater" train or whatever the hell that new cultural trend is called, as well

It was hell, that whole experience fucked me up BAD and i feel silly for saying this but it was genuinely traumatic! So- I apologize if I'm sounding confrontational here, anon, but like, this is the type of thing you have to do to keep yourself safe now, it's gone to that point and I'm in hysterics now because what the fuck

Lastly, I'd like to say this one other thing

Muriel is played by an adult actress, they are canonically the same age as Aziraphale and Crowley and are also an eldritch creature just like them

The fact that they're nice and bubbly and happen to have autistic traits doesn't suddenly make them a fetus. I have friends with the same personality type as them and I feel like it'd be dumb to treat them like zygotes knowing they're adults with body hair and debt

Again, if you see them as one, I'm literally no one to judge, I'm 1.49, you're better off taking judgement from a stupid lone penguin in the saharan desert.

But don't fuck with others for thinking otherwise, it's not a moral issue to disagree with a headcanon, please. 🥲

[jymwahuwu]

I know omegaverse is not your thing, but I feel this urge to share this with you because the yandere plot material.

If you haven't known already, there's this thing called "bitching" in omegaverse, where an alpha can turn other alpha or beta into omega through the insemination of their semen. Because of this I've always been thinking of fem!reader who are alpha or beta, living their best life since they are not in the bottom of the food chain (lmao), then suddenly the universe decided to put her and Jing Yuan/Blade (or other characters, you name it) on the same plate together.

If it's Jing Yuan, it can be that the reader got chosen as his assistant, since you're an alpha/beta, and you won't get horny because of JY's alpha's pheromones.

But Jing Yuan being Jing Yuan, he takes interest in you. It's rare for a woman to become an alpha, and as an alpha himself, he can't help but feel intrigued. It's like God just sent him a challenge to conquer, and who is he to deny such an interesting thing being offered to him?.

He starts slow, gaining your trust. Then he asked you if he can fuck you since he's been curious to fuck an alpha woman. You are hesitant at first, but thinking it's just one time sex, you agreed.

Oh but oh, Jing Yuan knows. He's willing to take the long route to make you completely fall into his hands, to finally rip you off of what is your pride, your alpha status. Aside from that, he also has been very curious about the process of turning alpha/beta into omega--and you just happen to be the perfect fit for him.

He only asks for a sex once every few months, so you will be brushed off of your worries about turning into an omega, it's just... Jing Yuan had a trick up his sleeve for this. Every time it's about time he fucks you, he will drink a potion/medicine to make his seed even more potent.

So, even though the frequency of sex is only once in a few months, the potency of his seed is also 10x times stronger so it'll most likely turn you into omega. At this point, Jing Yuan is so ready to make you his little housewife, and after maybe a few months or even years, he asked, yes, asked, not propose bcs this is JY--to make you his wifey. At first you are happy, because holy shit both of you are going to be an alpha couple who reign Luofu! (In your dreams).

But after marriage, Jing Yuan forced you to stop working. He wants you to stay at home and be a good lil' housewife, much to your disappointment. He also now likes to whisper nasty things to your ears, like how much he can't wait to breed you, to fill your womb with his baby seeds and make you pregnant. You only giggle and smack him playfully whenever he does that, but you can't help but shake the hint of worry that you have when you see his serious smile.

Then after maybe a few weeks, you started feeling strange, it's as if your body was undergoing some changes and you are not sure why. You tried to ask Jing Yuan, but he only smiled and said it's just your hormones acting up. Maybe you feel a bit uneasy because it's almost mating time for alphas. You should not be worried, he'll help you when he gets back from work.

That's what you hope, at least. But suddenly your body went into heat during the evening, and you can feel your whole body burning. It's uncomfortable, and when you suddenly ravage through Jing Yuan's dirty clothes, your brain somehow gets the gist of what happened.

When Jing Yuan's back, you attacked him, both physically and with questions. Yet before you can mutter a single word your nose inhales his scent and your brain goes into overdrive. You tremble on his hold, trying to suppress a moan from escaping from your mouth. You can feel your legs tremble, did you just cum from the mere scent of him alone?.

Through haze and your hair falling out on your face, you can make out a sickening smile on his handsome face.

Jing Yuan will make sure you can't escape him, no matter what you do. Every night, when you are asleep he will whisper into your ears, saying how sweet you are as his wife and how you should just stay with him forever...and to never run away from him. He diligently does it every night without fail, to make sure it was being planted into your subconsciousness.

Oh and how happy he was when he finally got to mark your neck, claiming you as his mate. And to finally knot your pussy, making sure you are pregnant with his babies.

Jing Yuan always wanted to have a sweet and submissive wife, yet also not so dumb it's making him mald. But in this kind of world, it's hard to look for such criteria, having most women being an omega, most of them that he saw are either made ready to be a wife with no other skill, or very aggressive, and Jing Yuan doesn't want an aggressive wifey :((

So when you finally appear in his life, it's like he almost hit a jackpot. He mourns the fact that you are an alpha, it's only when he remembers the method of bitching Jing Yuan decided to roll his luck again.

For an alpha to be turned into an Omega, the recipient alpha needs to be willing to be filled with the other alpha. So Jing Yuan needs to make sure you are willing to accept him.

So when you finally turned into an omega, Jing Yuan couldn't help his excitement. He lets out all of the nasty words he could think of, telling you that you become omega because you are extremely willing to receive his seed (totally not also because he drinks those potent medicine to help), and that you want this, you wanted to be his housewife.

"see darling?, You don't even fight back against me. Your body wants it, no matter how hard your brain thinks otherwise. Don't worry, I'll take care of you...forever".

Sorry if this is very messy lol. It's 4 am and I just realized I write this for like an hour?? Wtf I should get some sleep instead of writing horny ass fanfiction on someone's askbox.

CW: yandere, ABO, alpha! reader forced to change to omega, gaslight, non-con

I couldn't help but giggle while reading 🤭💕 receiving these ABO stories that aren't cliche…thank you for sharing this!! even though I'm not really interested in ABO I don't mind if you put such hot fic in my askbox lol

The proud reader being disempowered is one of my favorite tropes. My submissive heart is trembling🥴 Okay, let me add a little drama.

This space society is just unfair. You heard a Beta say this once. As one of the top people in this society, you don't know what this sentence means, or you know it, but you just don't have the opportunity to understand it personally. Omegas can't even do much work because it's like carrying their scent with them like entering a pack of wolves. Betas can't resist orders, and people often think of them as "imperfect choices." As an Alpha, you are charming, confident, powerful and often successful. Just like this time, you can get Jing Yuan's assistant position without much effort.

Um, people in the Seat of Divine Foresight love to flirt and chat with you. They quietly put small gifts on your desk to express their adoration and admiration, hoping to win the favor of a successful person like you. Even after you agreed to have sex with the General every few months, you didn't stop them. You just don't have the consciousness to be his future wife, right? Those people realized that your current "mate" was General Jing Yuan, and gave up the idea of ​​being with you. And you are wondering why the Beta/Omega you dated last time is avoiding your eyes now.

For the potion part 😚🤭👉👈 Jing Yuan consulted experts who prepared the medicine and asked them to increase the effect to 10 times and minimize unnecessary side effects. This means that one time has the effect of ten times. Those first few times, you acted just as dominant as he did, even asking to penetrate him instead of him penetrating you. He won't allow this. As a small concession, he allows you to command him, a few times. This medicine is really effective. At a later stage, you don't even realize that you don't want to order him anymore, you just spread your legs and enjoy being pushed and picked up, moaning in pleasure. Even your inner being is prepared for this change.

After you fell into a deep sleep, Jing Yuan spread your thighs to check your progress. Your private parts swelled up, and the part representing Alpha became miniscule. And eventually, this should disappear. He wants to know if you notice this when you look in the mirror, or if you feel too ashamed to tell anyone. With a mysterious smile, Jing Yuan used his index finger to push the leaked seed in again. This is preparation for you to be a submissive and pregnant wife.

After agreeing to get married, you still dreamed of managing Luofu with Jing Yuan. A couple of Alphas >-<! You know that you gradually fell in love with the general while getting along. Is there any ideal life than ruling and managing this Xianzhou ship with the one you love? This is what people expect from you. Rule and manage, give orders. Although you felt weird inside, like you no longer wanted this… However, after the wedding, Jing Yuan immediately relieved you of all your duties and told you to stay at home and be a housewife. You're disappointed, but there's nothing you can do.

You were so desperate on the day of your complete transformation - desperately looking for traces of Jing Yuan and caressing yourself, digging out his clothes and grabbing them to calm your mind a little. You whimpered like a sweet puppy clinging to your husband's clothes, tying all the weird clues together and realizing what he had been planning all along.

The sweet pheromones flowed out without opening the door. Jing Yuan shuddered when he smelled this, and then he smiled so much that his eyes narrowed. It worked. As soon as the door opened, you rushed over to scratch his chest, but as weakly as a kitten. You wanted to accuse and question him, but instead you snuggled against his chest. An orgasm, an unexpected and violent release. Your eyes held shock and confusion, and tears fell.

Jing Yuan has been looking forward to mating with the Omega version of you, but wanted to tease you. He took away all your clothes, folded them, stored them deep in the closet, and locked them. Place you on a blanket with his pheromones. He had heard that such preparation could give Omegas a sense of security like a nest and increase their chances of conception. He asked you to wrap yourself in a blanket and wait, and he had to leave for a while to review documents/take a shower.

You rub the blanket and caress yourself uncontrollably, squirting more than once, and at the same time you feel a sense of relief… being pregnant and taking care of a baby…? After that, Jing Yuan takes you to the bed to mate and fill you with his seed. Your butt is pressed on the bed and shaken. The thick penis is heated and buried deep inside you, stimulating your sweet spot. That creamy pump is full inside you and knotting.

And gaslight💀💔🤚Yes, Jing Yuan has been adding subconscious hints to your heart - that is, you want to be an Omega, get pregnant and be his wife. How could your body change like this if you didn't want it to? Orgasm and moan like this? The only obviously reasonable explanation is that you want this.

Are those memories of you leading and commanding, being loved and adored still fresh in your mind?

Looking in the mirror now, you are moaning, orgasming and brainless, ready to conceive. It's just a reminder that you didn't know who you really were in the past.

[jo-harrington]

Become What You Were Meant To Be (Eddie Munson)

Word Count: 2.4k

Themes/Warnings: Modern!Eddie, Older!Eddie, set in the mid-2010s, fandom lingo, nerd lingo, Star Wars, typical childhood bullying, angst, minor FOI reference, some canon divergence, coming of age themes, probably poorly written and not edited at all

Note: Happy Birthday to one of the backbones of this fandom, who supports and encourages so many of us, whose endless friendship I am so grateful for. Someone who has absolute endless creativity but doesn't give herself enough credit and grace, who is secretly sitting in the background pulling the strings on some of the best stories I've read and I've written. My muse, my life, my world, my cheeseburger. @fracturedarkness

Thanks to @dr-aculaaa for the beta.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie Munson was a nerd.

Point blank, end of story.

It was one of those badges he wore along with Freak and loser and...well, you get the gist of it. But it was a badge worn with pride. He owned his identity. Wasn't afraid to show everyone he came across who he was.

It hadn't always been that way.

There used to be a time when it felt like the worst thing in the world to be a nerd like that. The kids bullied him because he got overly excited talking about his favorite characters and favorite books that they found boring. They all teased him when he wrote stories about exciting heroes from fantastical worlds in English class, even though the teacher told him that his stories were ambitious and imaginative. And when he spent lunch doodling in his notebook instead of playing kickball or foursquare? Well, you get the point.

"You're so weird." They mocked him. "You're a freak. Draw normal things. Like normal things. Why can't you just be normal?"

It was cruel, in the way that children naively become perpetrators of cruelness. And it made Eddie sad.

Because what did that mean? He couldn't draw normal things, or like normal things, or do normal things. Then he wouldn't be himself anymore.

And that was the point where he decided normal was overrated. Why would he want to be normal when he could be...anything else.

He could pretend he was one of the Pevensies upon a throne at Cair Paravel. Or one of the Ghostbusters. Or a Jedi...

Of course, he couldn't actually be anything else; he was stuck being boring, old, nerdy Eddie Munson.

It wasn't until middle school--you know, middle school, when everyone decides to embrace who they are and become an individual--that he decided being Eddie Munson wasn't all that bad after all.

This epiphany definitely didn't happen after a Hot Topic opened up at StarCourt Mall. No sir. Not when one of the older kids that worked there, sporting armfuls of tattoos and a lip ring, told him the pen drawings on the toe caps of his sneakers were cool. Of course not. And not after he used the last bit of his birthday money to buy a cool band t-shirt and colored hair gel. Pssshhh...

So on the first day of 8th grade, he showed up rocking his dad's old leather jacket--the one that practically swallowed him--jeans that he ripped himself and a poor excuse for a mohawk, ready to accept the Freak label proudly.

He also accepted detention for breaking the dress code.

And a grounding from Wayne for cutting up a nice pair of jeans.

And a buzzcut because he'd done that poor of a job of cutting his hair for that mohawk.

But he'd gained a friend.

Several friends actually.

Ronnie Ecker and Doug Teague. They were both in the same grade as him, and shared many classes. And it might have been a little embarrassing, but a sixth grader named Jeff who told Eddie that he was his hero. That made Eddie feel like he was on top of the world!

They were friends that stayed with him all through high school, and when he repeated his senior year twice, even more joined the mix along the way.

Band kids and science fair nerds and...and...and...

He called them his sheepies, and he their shepherd clad in black band tees and ripped jeans.

And Eddie?

Eddie just got nerdier.

Got weirder.

Dug himself deeper into the pit of stark individualism that the close-minded town of Hawkins didn't know how to react to.

It was glorious.

He listened to music that made other kids cringe and turn away and neighbors complain about the noise; he liked it so much that he made his friends start a band with him. They played at every single school talent show until they graduated; they never won and sometimes people tried to plug their ears, but to Eddie and his friend, their sound and that stage was exactly what their hearts yearned for. To them, the auditorium might as well have been Madison Square Garden.

He started playing Dungeons and Dragons--started a club of his own design, Hellfire--when he found the guidebooks on a dusty shelf at the library. They were seemingly untouched since their initial publication in the 70s, but they were like a key that unlocked something inside of Eddie. Something that he seemed to have forgotten along the way of reclaiming the name "Freak."

Through DnD, the imaginary worlds that he left behind early in his adolescence opened their doors to him once again.

And his friends, his players, never made fun of him for knowing the ins and outs of the worlds of their fantasies. Worlds like Greyhawk and Faerûn.

Worlds like a certain galaxy far...far away...

---

Eddie's re-entrance into the world of Star Wars had been...an interesting one to say the least.

To Eddie, Star Wars meant the original trilogy. Cut, print, sign the check.

When he thought of Jedi, he thought of Luke Skywalker and Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan and a puppet Yoda. And of course he thought of the dreaded Darth Vader.

Yeah he had his books from the library, a whole extended universe with Mara Jade and Jacen and Jaina. But he'd missed out on the prequels growing up; from being a little too young to see them in theaters, to the whole fiasco of his mother's passing right before Revenge of the Sith had premiered.

As he got older, the need to see them just wasn't there, and hearing from friends and enemies alike that it wasn't anything to write home about was the nail in the coffin.

Until he met one Dustin Henderson.

It was the Jar Jar Binks t-shirt he wore on the first day of his freshman year that got Eddie's attention.

"What is that?" he flicked a finger against the graphic as he ran into Dustin and his friends in the lunch line. "Something from that new Star Trek movie?"

Cue a whole rant about the Gungans and the Separatists and an inter-galactic conflict that made Eddie happily fold Dustin and his band of nerds into the protection of the Hellfire Club.

Eddie still refused to watch the prequels, no matter how much Dustin begged.

"I like it when you guys talk about them," Eddie shrugged off the pleas. "Even better when you guys act out the whole fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan. I'd sell my left nut to relive seeing you and Lucas do that in Wheelers basement; it was the best day of my life Henderson, I swear to god. There's no way the movies could actually beat that."

He hasn’t expected that those little idiots would trick him into a movie marathon for Lucas's birthday.

Even Gareth was in on the whole plan. Traitor.

But it was the beginning of the end.

From the movies to the books to the cartoons, Eddie's love of Star Wars was rekindled. He even spent a short stint as a gamer playing The Old Republic on the old PC that was tucked into the corner of the trailer.

And when a new movie was announced, Eddie happily took his nerd-dom to the next level.

Yes, he was the one to suggest they all dress up for the midnight showing of The Force Awakens, but if anyone asked it was Mike.

He spent hours on a stupid Boba Fett costume. It was a different set of skills to the mini-figures he was used to crafting for DnD. He had to think on a different scale. Hot glue and spray paint and too much cardboard. Only to find real cosplayers used foam, not cardboard. His paychecks from Thatcher Tires went straight to the project, until he had something halfway decent for the premiere.

"What?" he laughed along with his friends when they joked about the hot glue spiderwebs that he'd been too lazy to clean up. "It's not like I'll have to do this again; we're not dressing up next time."

Or so he thought...

There was something so magical about sitting in a movie theater, in the middle of December, at midnight, surrounded by other people who decided to dress up for the occasion, and a few dozen plastic lightsabers all lit up.

To listen to the theme, to read the crawl on a big screen, to see the camera pan down into the vastness of stars...

This was what it was to be a nerd.

There was something extra special about finding a new favorite character. Something that touched something deep down inside of you when you saw something of yourself in them.

And Eddie had always been drawn to the villains. Whether in the media he consumed or the characters he created for DnD. He knew why; he wasn't totally oblivious. To be the hero of his own story, he often had to become a villain to someone else.

Besides, villains always had a little bit more fun.

So when Kylo Ren first made his way on screen, Eddie knew that he was done for.

The mask, the lightsaber, the Dark Side of the Force, the anger...how many times had he almost given in to the anger he felt at being mocked and teased. He'd overcome that time and again; what if he'd just given in?

There was also something about being Al Munson Han Solo's son.

Yeah. He could understand the anger there.

But then he was also Elizabeth Leia's son...the conflict.

It took Eddie a few days to get over the initial flurry of thoughts after seeing Force Awakens for the first time. That was when he realized he needed to see it again. And again. A matinee showing on Christmas Eve with Wayne, who he also treated to lunch. The last showing on a Thursday in January. Another outing with the guys, refusing to admit that he'd already seen it a few times between opening night and then.

Thankfully, this time, Mike was the mastermind behind their plans for the next movie as they waited for the previews to finish.

"So," Mike sat up straight. "I think I wanna get an early dibs on dressing up like Poe when Episode 8 comes out."

"I think I wanna try my hand at making an Admiral Ackbar costume," Dustin said with utter confidence, and then turned to Eddie. "What about you?"

It caught Eddie off-guard for a second; should he just say Kylo? Did they expect him to want to dress up as anyone else? Maybe they thought that he would want to be Poe, leader of their misfit group as he was.

"Eddie's obviously Kylo," Jeff piped up. Eddie's head immediately turned to him. "What? Don't think we didn't watch you drool over that lightsaber last time."

"And his ship?" Gareth cackled one seat over. "Fuck the Falcon. I swear, if you could turn the van into something that looked like that ship..."

"Oh my god, you're right!" Lucas cackled.

"Hey I think I could figure out a pretty convincing Snoke," Eddie argued, trying to deflect their teasing, but secretly pleased that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

And that his friends knew him so well.

---

For two years, Eddie worked on his costume.

Two. Years.

He was practically a different person by the time of the Last Jedi's opening night.

And yeah his motivation faltered, but he never quit.

It was strange, the need to perfect the costume. He’d almost given up many times. When there was a certain skill he wasn't good at or when he'd felt like it would never be finished. Every time, he felt like that silly kid who everyone just told to be normal. To like normal things.

He was growing up. He was a grown up! Shouldn’t he be passed all of this…silliness? Everyone else in the world seemed to think so, as they put away all the frivolities of childhood. Were they working round the clock and pricking their fingers on needles and burning themselves with hot glue?

Probably not.

Eddie found himself still stuck there, watching a world lose its joy and think that it was normal, and he always wondered if he should try to be normal too. For once in his life. The first time in his life.

But every time he thought about letting it all go, about putting his dream aside...something would come and drive him to keep going.

New promotional images, a new trailer. Especially the ones focused on Kylo himself.

"Let the past die," Kylo Ren grumbled in the voice over. "Kill it if you have to."

That became Eddie's driving force.

He owed it to himself to finish. He owed it to his younger self...not to let his dream die...to keep being weird and nerdy and happy.

"Let the past die," Eddie told himself as he stitched the hem of the tunic the week before opening night.

"Kill it if you have to," he said as he distressed the plastic helmet that he'd ordered, giving it the right amount of realism so it didn't just look like something so fake and commercial.

"Let the past die," his child self muttered, front teeth missing from the day Johnny B pushed him over on the playground because he was playing superheroes wrong. Eddie put a hand on his head and then stepped into his boots.

"Kill it if you have to," his preteen self urged him, self-assured, mohawk looking stupider than he realized way back when. Eddie flicked his ear good-naturedly before adjusting the cape on his shoulders.

There he stood--Eddie Munson, the young man, the freak, the nerd--in his bedroom before the mirror. He was adorned in pieces of foam and layers of fabric from the craft store, helmet tucked under his arm.

But in the mirror itself? There was Kylo Ren...there he was as Kylo Ren. In the hallway of a Star Destroyer, layered in armor and the shadows of the Dark Side itself, like he was ready for a battle with the Resistance.

Ready for the battle within himself.

But there was no battle, and the armor was actually Eddie's skin. This was his real self, his true self. All of his work came to fruition, all of the time and effort that he put into the craft. Not just two years working on a costume, but an entire lifetime poured into becoming an Eddie Munson who proudly wore the title nerd and freak and loser.

The destroyer melted away, and he was back in his bedroom once again. Surrounded by posters and books and drawings, by all of his crafts and his guitars and his endless clutter.

He smiled at himself, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Eddie Munson was a nerd, and as he lit the lightsaber and he was washed in a glow of crackling red light, he knew that this was who he was always meant to be.