#summer pockets steam

[cordeliawhohung]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem) taglist

[4] spice

On Monday, Amelia arrives with a bouquet of flowers. 

Gentle steam wafts from your tea — which you had accidentally overheated in the teachers lounge — biting back the oddly cool summer day as rain taps against the windows. Your hands warm around the ceramic cup, making sure to keep an eye on your students as they roam in the play area before the day begins, sheltered from the unforgiving weather. 

When Amelia walks through the door, she brings an accord of something pale, sweet, and earthy with her. When you look up from your cup, you realize she’s holding roses. There’s a dozen of them in her arms at least. Bright, beautiful red petals in full bloom glisten with fresh rain water as tiny hands wrap around their stems. They’re held together by a fat, gold ribbon tied into a pristine bow.  

It isn’t until her blue eyes peek around the florist’s paper that you’re able to recognize the walking floral mess as John’s daughter. Her giggles cut through the chatter of the other students as she trots around your desk, mary jane shoes tapping on the tile floor. 

“Good morning, Miss Lolly,” she says, the grin evident in her voice, yet you have to peer over the bouquet in order to see it yourself. 

Forgetting your tea, you swivel in your chair to face her fully with an awkward smile. “You look like you got your hands full there,” you note. 

Nodding, Amelia carefully maneuvers the flowers so that they’re laying horizontally in her hands. She holds them out for you as if she’s bestowing some great duty upon you; the duty of accepting a gift that’s surely too luxurious for you. 

“They’re for you!” she announces proudly. 

She all but shoves the flowers into your hands where their redolent aroma washes over your nose. You hold them with care, as if they’ll disintegrate in your hands at any moment. Careful fingers brush over the full heads of the flowers. They’re still cold. Fresh out of refrigeration and perfectly crafted. Speechless, you look back at her just as she starts to slide her backpack off her shoulders. 

“Amelia, that’s so —”

“Hold on! I almost forgot!”

Dinosaur fabric morphs as her hand rummages through zippers and pockets. Eventually, she retrieves a cream colored envelope that has the name Miss Lolly written in sloppy, well meaning handwriting. She presents it with both hands, cheeks flushing a bright pink as she wiggles it around. 

“Is this all for me?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

Again, she nods. “It was daddy’s idea. We wanted to say thank you!” 

Resting the bouquet in your lap, you take the envelope from Amelia and quickly open it. It’s unsealed — excited to be read. It’s a decorative card with bright, 70’s flower themed drawings on the front with the words Thank You! written in fat, bubbly, groovy letters. On the inside, you see where an attempt was made at writing your real title, only to be crossed out and quickly replaced with Dear Miss Lolly in neat print handwriting. 

Dear Miss Lolly,

Amelia and I would like to express our gratitude for your work and care. Each day she comes home and tells me what a wonderful time she has in your class. She says she enjoys your pretty dresses and the silly voices you use during reading time. However, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my little girl after her tumble on Friday. Please accept this as a token of our appreciation. 

Sincerely,

John and Amelia

John’s signature is strong. Demanding. Dark. It looks out of place next to Amelia’s attempt at cursive — which you haven’t quite gone to that section in English yet — but it makes you smile all the same. As you set both the flowers and the card aside, a hint of something catches your nose. A gentle sillage. It’s warm and spiced, but you quickly push it out of your mind as you give your full attention to Amelia. 

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you so, so much Amelia,” you say softly. 

“Do you like them?” she asks, eyes wide and glistening with joy as she attempts to fight back a grin. 

“I love them.” 

It’s not a lie. You do. They’re beautiful, picked with care; not a single bruise or thorn to be seen, but every time you see them, you think of him. How a blessing and a curse can co-exist in the same object baffles you. Lush red catches your attention as you lecture and play games with your students, and you’re reminded of Amelia’s grin and giggles. At the same time, it makes you think of her father: it makes you think of John. 

He’s all you’ve been able to think about since Friday. The image of him sitting on that couch, legs spread wide and powerful as he sips on whiskey like it’s water burns into your mind. Butterflies harass your stomach as you think of that night, curled against his side, losing yourself to the scent of him as you chatted away, just how he told you to. That night, he tipped you enough to cover most of your rent, and a shameful fire burns your heart every time you think about it. 

John’s too kind, and so… lonely. 

You can’t help but feel as if you had taken advantage of him that night. A hidden identity. A fake name. A different mask. Would he have done all those things had he known who you truly were? Would he feel disgusted if he ever found out? You, his precious daughter’s teacher, rubbing up against strange men in your free time? 

That feeling of discomfort only gets worse at the end of the school day when he comes to pick Amelia up. 

A sleek black coat protects him from the incessant rain that’s plagued the city the entire day, but it does nothing to shield his hair. Ebony locks clump together with the troublesome precipitation, weighing them down along his forehead. It irritates him even as he enters your classroom, thick fingers attempting to get the strands to cooperate. Your pulse pounds erratically in your throat, throbbing and unforgiving, dancing just under your skin where it’s ready to burst. 

Swallowing, you look away from him as you continue to sort through papers and hope that he didn’t see you staring. Maybe if you look busy waiting around for parents to grab their children he’ll leave without talking to you. So you crunch. Eyes hyperfocusing on the work in front of you as if it’ll make everything else around you irrelevant. Grading young primary students' projects is always easy. Highly assisted, simple tasks means you’re putting stickers in the corner along with a kind note scrawled in red ink. 

You always save the dinosaur stickers for Amelia. 

“Miss Lolly?” 

Your eyes flutter shut as cologne wafts towards you, and for a moment you’re somewhere else. Bare skin against leather. Against cloth. Pressed against a chest. Arm wrapped around you. That reality doesn’t exist — shouldn’t exist — and it’s fleeting. The moment you open your eyes, it dissolves and morphs into the man in front of you. John Price, with a smile on his face, and his daughter’s hand in his. 

“I see you got our gift,” he notes, nodding to the flowers on your right. 

Trying to keep your eyes off of him as much as possible, you turn to look at the roses. Beautiful haematic flowers sit proudly in a spare vase you were able to scrounge up from the art teacher. It’s handmade — expertly blown glass that casts a blue shadow on the top of your desk as if the room had been submerged in an oceanic wonderland. 

“Amelia was very ecstatic to deliver them this morning,” you chuckle. Your pen clicks in even, consecutive strikes — like heels on marble flooring. 

“I helped pick them out! Oh, and the card, too,” she quickly announces before sheepishly sticking herself to her father’s side. 

“They’re beautiful,” you reiterate to her before anxiously looking up at John. “And… thank you. They do liven up the room a bit.” 

John waves his hand almost dismissively. “It’s nothing. Only fitting considering you took care of my girl.” 

Your legs press together as he speaks, baritone washing over you just like it did on Friday. It’s not as strong. Weaker. Not nearly as vibrant as it was when you were enveloped by him. Shame and desire fight tooth and nail inside of you, wreaking havoc on your gut, splitting apart offals as they fight for dominance. Despite the battle, you smile through it all — pretty and perfect, just the way Miss Lolly should be. 

“Always happy to help,” you chirp. 

As John and Amelia say their farewells, fauve blue eyes inspect you meticulously. You smile through the scrutiny, wave at little Amelia, and share your excitement to see her tomorrow, but you’re wary of his gaze. Is there recognition? Fraying at the edges of your disguise? Or can he see the way his fingerprints still linger on your skin? Maybe your guilty conscience is just eating you alive.

John doesn’t seem to find whatever he was looking for — if anything at all — and both him and Amelia leave with waves and smiles as they venture out into the pouring rain. Their absence doesn’t do anything to ease the feeling in your gut. It’s trepidation on steroids — a raging alarum that sickens you. You’re nothing but a charlatan; a silly pretender who gets off on thoughts of her student’s father. 

Silence settles over the classroom as the last parent comes to retrieve their child, and just like everyone else you send them off with a smile. That facade breaks the moment the door closes behind them, and you’re left solitary in a colorful room with a bouquet of flowers. 

The thought of throwing them into the bin crosses your mind. You’ve become so obsessed with boundaries that you’re terrified of them blurring. A card becomes flowers, which become friendship, which becomes more. As if it already isn’t there. As if you didn’t spend the evening in his arms just to help make rent for the month. 

Shaking your head, you remind yourself that Miss Lolly has no recollection of Friday night. No, she was at home, doing things an upstanding citizen would do. So, you treat the flowers as such — just flowers. A simple token of appreciation you will adoringly keep on the corner of your desk until they wilt and die, lest little Amelia’s heart shatter. As for the card, you have a corkboard for a reason. Adorned with cute art projects, sweet notes, and other trinkets. You reach for it, fingers bracing as if you expect it to burn, and as it rises from the desk, you freeze. 

Gentle sillage. Warm and spiced. For a moment, you think you’ve gone insane. Smelling things that have long since vanished as if you’re chasing ghosts. Jittery eyes glance around your empty classroom as if someone’s waiting for you to slip up. Some judge and executioner hidden in the corner waiting to make you pay for your transgressions.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, you raise the card up until it’s just under your nose and you inhale slow and deep. Synapses fry, nerves and neurons sparking until the electricity melts your brain — you were right. It’s him. Molecules of cologne soaked into cardstock so faintly you almost didn’t notice it, but the card smells like him. Your mind spins as you push it away, but the scent is so intoxicating your body longs for it. 

John Price is going to be the death of you and he doesn’t even know it. 

It’s then that you decide that you can’t hang the card with the others. That aroma will haunt you if you do. Instead, you open some forgotten drawer in your desk, full of dust and old pencil shavings, and you lock it in the dark. Sealed tight where the scent has no chance of fighting to escape. Your mind wants to wander. Question if this was done on purpose, or if it was some lingering mistake the card gathered off the pocket of his coat. 

You refuse to entertain it. John has no reason to terrorize a simple school teacher.

Miss Lolly has had a very long Monday, and she plans on going home. Home, and well away from any place where John Price might be lurking in the corner, waiting to haunt her. If you’re lucky, the petrichor soaking the pavement outside will have you forget all about him and that stupid card.

[bloddysnow]

Bunny in heat

Synopsis: In recent days, Xavier’s affection has become especially noticeable. It can be called not just tenacity, but an almost tactible thread that binds you together. At dawn, when the first rays of the sun barely penetrate the curtains, you feel his presence. He's right here, ready to accompany you around the house. When you go to the kitchen for a cup of morning coffee, he follows you, step by step. If you sit down to work, he sits down comfortably next to you, putting his head on your knees. He smells you everywhere, asks for kisses and hugs with such persistence that sometimes it seems as if he is suffocating without your touch. It's like he is become a magnet that follows you everywhere.

warnings: nsfw minors dni. Sub! bunny hybrid Xavier, soft dom! reader. Gn reader (cock or strap), anal sex. in heat. breeding kink. lactation. praise kink. possessive behaviour, begging. anal plug.

Xavier blinked slowly, as if he was struggling to perceive the light penetrating through the high windows of the bedroom. Despite the scorching summer sun, which brought unbearable heat to the ground, his body is covered with chilling trembling.

He's unbearably cold, and he buried himself under a heavy blanket, trying to warm up. His face is distorted by a painful grimace, his fluffy ears are pressed against his head, his eyes are half closed with fatigue, his lips are compressed, and his forehead is covered with drops of sweat. From the pain in aching bones and trembling muscles, he moans quietly.

He's holding a cup of ginger tea that you made for him before going to work. Steam rises from a hot drink, warming his face when he takes a small sip. Xavier found out in the morning that he’s in heat, but he didn't tell you, because he didn't want you to think and worry about him during your mission.

Having fallen off the edge of the bed, he began to rise slowly, feeling every pain, but ignoring it. Gathering the remaining strength, he systematically moved towards the pillow cabinet.

Xavier carefully placed the pillows so that they form the walls of the future nest. He added soft blankets to create extra comfort and warmth. When the nest was almost ready, he went to dig through your clothes trying to accurately determine your strongest smell in them.

His hands tremble when he goes through your clothes, sticking his nose into the collar, deeply inhaling the smell that has always been associated with safety and comfort... whining left his lips, because the next moment the slick poured out of his hole, getting his pants. His eyes looked down, only choking from the sight of the bulge in the front of the pants and the shirt wet with two waterfalls from the lactation.

Having thrown off all his clothes, he climbed into the nest. His hand slowly descends to the wet hole so that his clumsy fingers can satisfy his itchy need. He feels a storm of emotions raging inside him. His breathing becomes more frequent and intermittent, his eyes are full of prayer and passion, he is waiting for your permission to touch himself to finally satisfy this irrepressible desire.

But you're not here. He gathered his will in his fist, trying to keep himself from temptation, but it hurts him so much. Xavier is your good boy and he won't touch himself without your permission. He whined with his face in the mattress, tears pouring from his eyes.

"P-please...hurry up."

You came to the door, a soft smile appears on your face when you think about how you will come in and hug your bunny. You mess around a little bit trying to find the keys in your pocket or bag and finally open the door. And from the very threshold you have a strange feeling. Usually Xavier is always waiting for you, meets you at the door with a bright smile. You take off your shoes and go further into the apartment, looking carefully.

You call him by name, but in response only a deaf silence. The thought flashes in your head that he may be sleeping.

You carefully approach the bedroom door quietly opening. Even in the dim light, your eyes easily distinguished his twisting figure. The naked plump thigh was raised up, twitching slightly in nervous anticipation. Between his perfectly round buttocks, there was a flashing hole from which a shiny stream of slick flowed out. It looked ready to fill and stretch, framed by red skin and pulsating muscles.

You couldn't take your eyes off his chest, which filled with milk and turned into perfect hills. They seemed so soft to the touch. The caramel-pink nipples were hard, and milk slowly flowing from them, streams down his skin. Every drop sliding down increased the feeling of unbearable tension. His breasts seemed to be begged to be free from this sweet burden, causing you to want to help.

The image of his blushing face, drenched in tears, was unbearably touching. He squeezed the sheets so hard that his knuckles became white. Tears flowed down his cheeks, leaving wet paths on his skin.

The hair stuck to his forehead, and you stretched out your hand and carefully removed the strands, your heart jumped when your fingers touched his burning skin. Your hand slides gently over his fluffy ears, and he began to tremble. He made a quiet moan. A puddle of glass eyes appeared behind the veil of trembling eyelashes and looked around in a stunned look before they focussed on you with round puppy eyes and trembling inflated lips,they were a temptation for you to kiss and suck until they swelled.

Xavier suddenly let out the needy howling, reaching for you. The discomfort of not touching his partner was depressed at the moment when he was in protective warm hands and pressed against your chest. Relief spread over his trembling body like a tsunami as soon as he touched the skin and he immediately hugged your neck, pressing against you. In his touch, there was a feeling of urgency, which was caused by his heat.

"[Name] P-please please…[N-name]. Take me! I need you inside m-me!- breed me! I w-won't spend a d-drop! Promise!…J-just please fuck me. Please!"

You focussed on calming him down, ignoring your erection, although he probably felt it touching him.

"Shh.. It's all right, baby." His body trembled in your arms as he inhaled deeply, as if your smell was his life. He pressed tightly against you.

"P-please don't leave me, please, I'll do anything, don't leave me!" He was soping, squeezing your shirt as if you were his only need in the world.

Xavier couldn't think clearly. His mind was shrouded in a fog of desire and passion. His teeth dug into your neck with such force, as if he was desperately trying to take possession of you in some way. You felt a hot wave run through your body, and at the same moment you reacted sharply. You turned him over, pressing him to the bed, being on top. Your lips persistently crashed into him, and he immediately answered the kiss, moaning. He pressed against you, spreading his hips, making sobs and whining, incoherently begging you to fuck him.

"Such a good little bunny for me," you mutter in a quiet, affectionate voice, making his hips spread even more. Your breath is hot on his skin.

You bring two fingers to his hole, slowly and carefully, so as not to scare away this moment. His body responds instantly, his muscles tense, and you see his hole shrink and relax, anticipating your touch. Precum slowly flows out of the tip of his dick, forming drops that erotically flow down, leaving a wet trail.

Xavier looks at you with a pleas in his eyes and, suffocating, begs: "Pleaseee!...Name, d-drink my milk. only f-for you-aaah. Please! It hurts!" His voice trembles, he feels despair. You feel his body tense, his dick pulsating from the accumulated tension. You lean towards his chest. Your lips wrap around his nipple, and you start sucking gently, feeling his body bend towards your lips. His breathing becomes heavy and intermittent when you start moving your fingers inside him, stretching and preparing him for more.

You feel the taste of his milk, diligently continuing drinking. His hands are trembling, clinging to your shoulders. The sweet taste of his milk stays on your tongue, and you bend over to kiss him. Your lips meet, and you share this taste with him. He answers greedily to a kiss, his tongue tastes its own taste.

You put your fingers away, watching his body respond to it. He looks at you greedily, his eyes are full of expectation and desire.

You slowly raise his hips, bringing yourself closer, feeling the warmth and tension coming from him. With one hand, you point your dick to his hole, and start slowly entering. You could feel his nails dig into your back, leaving hot, burning marks on your skin.

His body begins to tremble from the intensity of the feeling of fullness, and suddenly he cum. His orgasm overwhels him, his dick pulsates, throwing out hot streams of sperm. He moans, his body bends, and you feel his muscles shrink around you. A wet liquid flows out of its hole, adding to the overall picture of discharge and satisfaction. He chokes, clinging to you, and you see how waves of pleasure cover him.

He repeats your name, as if it was a prayer, as if you were his god. His voice trembles from every sensation, from every push of pleasure. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I’m yours..." he repeats, every time his body shudders with a wave of orgasm. You realize that at this moment he completely and undividedly belongs to you.

From the fact that he squeezes you so hard, you also reach the peak. You cum deep inside him, filling him with your sperm, and his body responds to it with a new surge of pleasure. His stomach swelled, a small hill appeared.

His body suddenly softened, and he lost consciousness, his head fell involuntarily on the pillow, his breathing slowed down. You gently pull out of him, feeling a part of your sperm begin to flow out of his hole. You took the plug out of the locker near the bed and carefully insert it to keep all the liquid inside him.

You know that he always does that: Every time you fill him up, he inserts a plug and doesn't pull out it all day.

"I will keep them warm," Xavier usually says, gently stroking his swollen stomach. His fingers gently touch the skin, as if he took care of your seeds, like something precious. He likes to feel your sperm inside him, to keep it in himself as something expensive and valuable.

Even when you're not around, Xavier continues this ritual, smiling and taking care of his stomach. His fingers gently massage his skin, and he whispers to himself words of love and devotion. You know that this is his way to keep a part of you with him, to feel your closeness and care even in your absence.

You look at his serene face and swollen stomach, wondering if he can really get pregnant from it. You gently cover him with a blanket and sit next to him, knowing that when he wakes up, he will ask you for it again.

[bunny-1111]

Beg for it part 2 - Theodore Nott

Description: Returning to Hogwarts after ignoring Theodore all summer long, was so much worse than you imagine; Theodore was starving you of what you so desperately needed.

Word count: 0.9k

part 1 - here

...

Knocking on the door, you gently opened it, "Hey, we're out now if you guys want to go back. Sorry." You quickly apologised to the people Theodore had rudely kicked out all but ten minutes prior.

Walking back to join the others, your mind still racing, you needed to pull yourself together, but how? How long would you have to go before he put an end to this torture?

Finding your seat next to Theo, distracted by new thoughts. For the remainder of the trip, he kept his promise, he didn't even lay a head on your shoulder. As you finally arrive at Hogwarts, your friends are quick to depart, leaving you and Theodore alone again.

He let out a huff, placing a very heavy hand on your thigh, shaking it with his tight grip quickly before standing up and saying, "Come on". Leave it there a little longer, you thought.

He knew what he was doing, and he definitely knew what it was doing to you, as he smiled with contempt leading the way off the train.

This went on for three excruciatingly long weeks; teasing would be an understatement.

In class, he would pull up your skirt under the table ever so slowly, only to let go.

In the great hall, as Pansy sat between you both, he would reach over, place a hand behind your neck, and squeeze; when Pansy, oblivious to Theodore's actions, noticed a change in your expression, she asked, "Are you okay?"

"'m-fine" is all you could muster out, as he realised his lingering hands

When he caught you alone, studying in the library, he watched you from afar, waiting. When you went over to the shelves to retrieve a book, perfect, he thought as he came behind you and pressed his body behind you, his head in your neck, his hands digging into your hips, his scent so strong, you could almost taste it.

You let out a dry cry, "Stop, Teddy, you're killing me," as you leaned your head back onto his shoulder

"Mhmm, he growled as he pulled your sweater off your shoulder. Access granted, he starts to kiss your now exposed skin painfully slowly.

"Please, I've learnt my lesson, I'm sorry, stop torturing me" you pleaded giving into him

His lips left your shoulder, rising higher until he reached your ear, whispering, "Two months, I didn't hear from you. I won't let you forget."

As you turn around to face him, he turns around to leave. Watching him walk out of the library doors, carrying all your sanity in his pocket, you lean back into the shelves, letting out a frustrated groan.

This is war; you were losing.

You sat in bed when you heard a knock, Theodore letting himself in.

"Hi", you pouted, mood not improved

"I need to use your shower," he says, opening your bathroom door, he doesn't close the door behind him, instead he turns the shower on, steam filling the room, he begins to undress

"No! Use your own damn shower. You're not doing this to me today I've had enough" you almost yell, watching him from your bed

"You don't have to watch me. You need to watch that attitude of yours," he replies

You can't help but blush, so flustered, throwing your body around your bed, such a fucking mess only he could fix this for you.

Approaching the bathroom, you hum, sitting on your counter, an almost bare Theodore standing so near, you open your arms out, "At least a hug?" you beg, he gives in slightly, filling your arms with his topless body.

he hugs you tight, running his hands under your shirt, pacing his hands over your skin, "I can feel your heart pounding"

"yeah, at least something is getting pounded" you hiss

"Hey! I told you to watch that attitude of yours," he says, stepping back, letting go

You drop off your seat on the counter, let out a quiet scream, and stamp your foot on the floor.

"That bad?" he says head lowering, eyes darkening.

With a very heavy, deep breath, you reply, "Yes," eyebrows unintentionally furrowed. He was depriving you of oxygen, stripping you of the ability to live to any good capacity.

He stalks closer. Good, you think, come close.

He begins to strip your clothes off; you rush to aid him; you wanted them off, now. He slaps your eager hands. "Don't move", he warns

"yes sir", you roll your eyes

"you wanna keep being a fucking smart ass?!" he says, voice rising

you nod quickly.

He kisses your body as he takes off your clothes. You didn't know if it was the steam escaping the shower or the body heat, but you thought you might pass out.

Both undressed, you look up at him, "What now?" You barely manage to get out. If this was another teasing game, you weren't going to make it out alive. If he was done playing, you didn't know if you would make it out in one piece either.

"Get in the shower," he says, eyebrows raised

"Really?' you smile

He doesn't reply; instead, picking you up, your bare legs wrapping around him, so desperate, so starved, his hand in your hair, his tongue down your throat, his strong arm holding your body up, stumbling your intertwined bodies into the piping hot water.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @slyttherwn @hoeforvinniehackerrr

bro need him so bad.

Part 3?....

Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated my loves <3

[a-roguish-gambit]

I made a turn of the century x men evolution au

Hey everyone so a big special interest of mine is the period from 1900 to about 1928 so I decided what if I took the kids from the X-Men evolution cartoon from their point at the turn of the 21st century and put them at the turn of the 20th century instead...and also added a few characters. I hope you enjoy this. I have a lot for this au, and I'm gonna put it all under the read more.

So Au thoughts

 The year is 1912. Xavier has started his institute a few years prior with scott summers and jean grey as students. Scott was adopted by Xavier after his parents died in a train crash and jean comes from a family of doctors and scientists Xavier is friends with. 

Because no computers yet, as the microprocessor  has yet to be invented, Forge didn't get stuck in a pocket dimention and got to grow up he works for xavier. He helps design and build a modified danger room that's more steam punk/dieselpunk. Lots of things are gear powered and Holograms are projections onto steam curtians. Because no computers, no cerebro. But jean and Xavier have trained themselves to be able to sense those with mutant powers around them and have been working with a network of underground individuals, some cases literally like the morlocks, to find out about new strange individuals popping up in the states. The morlocks are much more involved in this. they are good friends with Xavier and frequently helps young morlocks train their powers. 

One of those individuals is Gambit. Gambit is 17 in this and does various jobs for xavier. One is listening through the grape vine for odd individuals popping up. The other is essentially working the danger room with forge. As The danger room  is more steampunk/dieselpunk in this, with storm's help as well it can simulate weather events, earth quakes, fires, unstable ground, flooding, (bb gun based) old west shootouts, explosions (thanks to Gambit), search and rescue, avalanche / rock fall settings, and much more. 

Gambit helps set up the room and make the mechanisms work.  it functions well with automatons, steam engines, pistons, and a lot of theater special effect tricks. Gambit helps forge scrap hunt for machinery to repurpose for it. He has befriended the local street children and finds out from them wherever a factory tosses out a machine. 

Speaking of theater though, we have morph as well as a staff member. Kevin is well known fairy(period equivalent  to someone who does not fit into either gender) and drag expert from New York where they worked on broadway and a very close friend of Logan. So close they share a bedroom....;)

Morph is there to help with tailoring as well as helping kids who need disguises to pass in public cause of their time in broadway and avoid harassment, like Kurt. 

They also help simulate battles in the danger room with foes they have faced off against before.

Kurt doesn't have an image modifier in this obviously. No computers, no digital holograms. But with forge and morph they are able to help him pass. Morph designs pants for him that have a  special pocket for his tail to tuck away, as well as boots with  special braces that help disguise his digitigrade feet. Morph also helps him with makeup and hair in the morning to hide his blue face and pointed ears. 

For his hands forge has built some prothstetic fingers that are controlled by the other fingers in his hand like a puppet, so it appears he has five fingers on each hand covered by riding gloves, as well as colored contact lenses for his eyes to disguise them as brown. 

Kurt's parents came to America from Germany with him as a toddler. People found out about their adopted son and they had to flee. They settled in a small German speaking community in the middle of nowhere Iowa where they could be safe. They would have a priest visit Kurt to give him mass in private for his own safety and had a nun come to tutor him. Xavier found out about Kurt through gambits grapevine. 

Ororo came from Africa as a citizen of  British colony egypt to Jamaica where she met Charles she has family living in the states via her sister who do  are wealthy merchants.  they were british colony  expats that moved to the states to control British imports to the states easier. Thus how we get Evan. Skateboard hasn't been invented yet so he is big into the turn of the century cycling craze as well as roller skates. 

 Rogue is still a goth. A very very classic goth. Victorian goth. She still dresses like it's the 1800s to in part keep others from touching her skin but also she is just a great appreciator of Poe and Shelly and stoker. 

One thing that is different for Scott is that on top of the train crash his brother havoc is still with him at this time. His parents are very, very dead tho. No alien rescues. (Forgot to draw Alex tho but he's there as are the minor character students)

Beast is also there more from the begining as a teacher he helps take care of the kids medical needs. He got kicked out of his scientific circle, not cause of his mutant ness that came later, but because he insisted doctors must wash their hands before interacting with patients. 

Jean grey is a highly educated absolute Gibson girl. She and Kitty sneak out to do suffragette stuff regularly.  Speaking of, kitty is definitely a girl of the new century. Wants to go to college one day with Jean. Insists on wearing riding/sports pants wherever she goes. She is girly in certain ways, but defs is a very modern young woman. She likes helping Forge out with his projects. 

Magneto's hatred for humanity in this case comes from his survival of the pogroms of eastern Europe only to see there is still antisemitism once escaping them. And mystique has a boarding house where the brotherhood kids live, but she wasn't principal of the bayview school. 

Wolverine is a cowboy in this au yes. He has a horse, but he's also toying with some of the very few motorcycles. They are more of dirt bikes at this point tho, so his horse his still his go too. It's a deep black mare named Blackbird. He does not have an adimantium skeleton but his claws have been capped with silver to help protect them. 

No x jet but they do have a few biplanes they are training with. Forge is modifying them to be able to cary more people. So far he's made one that can vary five. 

 Gambit introduces everyone to jazz cause it hasn't left Louisiana yet. He brought his Grammaphone and all hell broke loose from there. 

Also rogue having a bit more of a high society upbringing thanks to irene. Gambit hasn't had a day of real school as public school wants universally established until the 1910s. He knows his reading, writing, and arithmetic from Sunday school and such and whatever jean luc  had him taught, but he's excited to learn about what the kids are learning about in their normal school. 

Rogue brings him her study material and teaches it to him and in return he teaches her the various crafts and skills he learned in the bayou and as a member of the theives guild. 

Hope you guys enjoy all this!!! Please feel free to share your thoughts!

Tried to keep things period accurate outfits wise.

[thecapricunt1616]

Peach (c.b. one-shot)

Blurb (More BTC!) : You could tell Carmy had a bad day from the sound of the door slamming, and then a called “sorry! Didn’t mean it babe” and by the looks of his cheeks that were a flushed red that matched his chest when he’d taken his hoodie off, he’d had a really long run. It felt a bit wrong, but sexy that it felt so, as you watched him tug off his shorts, then his boxers, revealing his soft cock, and his adorable really even though he got all blushy and shy when you pointed it out bare lily white ass.

♡ One Shot Inspo: Based on ♡this♡ ask from a sweet anon, thank you for your request! Peaches symbolize many things, including longevity, love, and immortality. Peach blossoms are also said to put men into a trance of love. Before the 17th century, peaches were considered a subgenus of the apple, so European cultural representations of apples, such as in paintings and poems, were sometimes transferred onto peaches. This included connotations of fertility and immortality. ♡ Summary: Carmy has a bad day at work, and comes home with an attitude that needs a little assistance adjusting. ♡ W/C: 1.7k ♡ A/N: EEEEEE I can't believe season 3 comes out today yall!!! I am shakin in my boots and so freaking excited!!! I'm going to be binging the whole series likely tonight!!! OMG our boy is finally gonna get out of the freezer! I hope you like this one shot, I may be able to get another out today before the new season but its already 3 and it comes out at 9 so maybe but anywho, I hope you all like!! The drought is almost overrr!!! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Smut!! Fem!Reader, No use of Y/N, swearing, Black!Fem!Reader friendly

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡ ➵ My 300 Follower Celebration Bingo!

It was a sticky, hot, balmy Chicago summer day. To top it off, it had been raining all day long which meant people had been ducking into The Beef in refuge of somewhere dry and cool, so Carmy had been absolutely slammed with orders all day long. He was feeling antsy, too full of energy. 

So it was only normal for him to go on a run straight after work. He put on his black shorts, and white hoodie after changing out of his work clothes and drove to his favorite park. He wouldn’t have known how many miles he’d ran since the parks trail was just one big loop unless he had his phone in his pocket, which it told him 5. 

The only other way he’d known he would have ran that much was his hoodie was drenched in sweat, and so was his hair. Like, dripping. Each lap around the trail he had chugged a few large sips from his gallon full of water that was now warm from sitting on the bench on the side of the trail. He had only stopped because he was genuinely exhausted and his water was pretty much gone. But thankfully, his mind had been mostly cleared. 

He had to do this before he came home to you. Carmy knew he had…issues, managing his anger. The only way he knew he wouldn’t explode from overstimulation by giving the physical affection he knew you deserved after he was away from you all day long. So if he blew off all of his steam, he could give you what was left of him which was the exhausted, run down version that didn’t have the emotional wearwithall to shut you out or snap at you. 

When he came through the door, he came to the bedroom to see you curled up in bed. He sighed softly in relief both at the feeling of the air conditioner and at the realization his day was finally over, and he could relax. “Hey baby” he mumbled, tugging his hoodie off and pushing his sweat slick hair off of his forehead as to not drip on you before leaning over and kissing your forehead. “Gonna shower n’ I’ll make dinner sorry m’late went running. Bad day” he said as he headed off to the bathroom, the door slightly ajar just enough you could see him in the large bathroom mirror. 

You could tell he had a bad day from the sound of the door slamming, and then a called “sorry! Didn’t mean it babe” and by the looks of his cheeks that were a flushed red that matched his chest when he’d taken his hoodie off, he’d had a really long run. It felt a bit wrong, but sexy that it felt so, as you watched him tug off his shorts, then his boxers, revealing his soft cock, and his adorable really even though he got all blushy and shy when you pointed it out bare lily white ass. 

He ran shirtless most of the time, and his Italian really came through in the summer - because his skin absorbed so much sun in just the time he went on his runs, turning it more freckled and golden bronzed tan of what his winter color was. His hair demonstrated it too, the ends that was and the parts that peek out of his hat. He had tiny noticeable bleach blonde streaks from the sun in some of his curls, Natalie teased that was his color when he was a baby and he should let it come out more. 

His stark tan line across his ass cutting just before the dimples on his spine made you smile to yourself, which turned to a pout as he stepped in the shower and you could no longer see him. You sigh softly to yourself at your now lack of eye candy and turned your attention back to the tv when you hear a little groan. “Fuckin Jesus it’s hot out today” he muttered to himself that you could barely hear over the water. But it piqued your interest. 

You got up, padding over to the wall next to the bathroom door and listened. Nothing. Damn, you had a sexy little fantasy going on in your head of catching him jacking off or something and offering to join him all sexy, but it sounds like he’s just…showering. You can smell the faint scent of his herby body wash mixed with dove soap, the faint splashing of water every so often as he cleans himself. Found yourself asking if you should just leave him alone, but then again this is something you hadn’t tried together before. 

Carefully you nudge open the door and Carmy looks over “oh- hey babe I’m almost done did you need the- woah, okay- hi- gettin in? All dressed?” He teased, a bit confused and surprised when you had just slid open the shower door casually. He looked adorable, hair full of soap, cheeks slightly less pink due to the cool water, it felt a bit like corruption to offer getting him off. 

“No uh…” you swallow thickly, eyes flickering to his soapy chest and…yeah, you remembered why you wanted in here in the first place. “Can I…help you- like, relax?” You question and his brows raise in surprise, mouth dropping for a moment before closing again, as if he was trying to find what to say. 

This proved true a few moments later when he just said “s-sure- yeah how do you wanna help me?” The heat in his cheeks was coming back. 

“C’mere” you wrap your manicured hand around the back of his neck, gently angling him down to kiss you and he gratefully accepts. He nervously keeps his hands behind his back since he didn’t wanna get you wet, allowing you to touch and kiss him however you wanted. “Carmy” you mumble between kisses and he responds with a ‘mmm’ of acknowledgment “why” kiss “aren’t you” kiss “touching me?” 

You pulled away a bit so he could answer and he wiped soap off his forehead before it dribbled in his eyes “uh I don’t wanna get you wet, I guess?” He said and you shrug 

“Don’t care, you can touch me” you continued ravishing him in kisses and he wraps his arms around you, wet hands finding your back and roaming over the soft skin. It went on like this for a few minutes, biting and kissing and sucking on eachothers lips- when you grabbed his half hard cock at the base and gently stroked it, all the way up to the tip- brushing your thumb over it and going back down, he gasped, forehead falling to your shoulder. 

“Fuckin hell” he breathed, his cock getting fully erect after just a few gentle strokes of your soft, pretty hand. He kept his arms wrapped around you, one hand on each hip, squeezing to ground himself as you found a rhythm pumping him with your hand. His moans went all whiny the way they did when he needed more, and you tighten your grip earning a hot,breathy “yes, thank you baby” out of him that made you smirk proudly and turn your face just barely in order to kiss his temple. 

“Of course Bear, m’sorry you had such a bad day lovey. But I’m here for you, I’m so happy you let me take care of you. I love making you feel good, do you feel good, Carmy?” You ask in a sultry tone in the shell of his ear. His cock stiffened in your hand, along with a pretty ruined whimper letting you know he was close “can you lean on the wall for me pretty boy?” His stomach clenched as he tried holding himself back, his breath coming more ragged like pants 

“So close” he warned “so so close” he repeats. 

“I know baby can you sit up” you giggle “I promise you’ll like it” you said and he huffs, leaning against the wall and looking at you with the cat-like ‘I was comfortable and you made me move’ look, until you got on your knees right in front of where he was now leaned against the shower wall near the door, and continued to stroke him with your tongue stuck out down your chin while you watch him with big doe eyes. 

His attention returns, mouth dropping hotly and pants resuming as you sped up your hand, using your other to massage his balls. The action had his eyes nearly rolling back and head falling against the wall but he remained all of his focus on you, his girl - his beautiful, amazing girl, on her knees, jerking his cock and eagerly waiting for him to shoot a load down your throat so you can swallow it gratefully, and even lick the tip clean after. God he loved when you did that. 

The reminder of your affinity for the taste of his cum had him grunting to cover up his long drawn out moan that tore from deep in his chest as he came harder then he thought he would, needing to lean his shoulder on the wall further as his knees actually shook while he shot rope after rope of white cream into your eagerly awaiting pretty pink mouth. You hum, satisfied at the taste as you continued quickly jerking his cock to milk out every last drop. After you did so, you made sure to allow him to tilt your face up, and admire the cum covering your lips, tongue, and chin, as well as dripping down the back of your throat. 

You shut your eyes, swallowing the mouthful with a satisfied grin licking your lips and wiping the remaining cum off your chin and neck with your finger, and then sucking that while you looked him in the eyes. He stared down at you in awe, cock twitching at your movements. Poor thing couldn’t even get soft with the sight of you around. You furthered that torture by gently grabbing the base of his cock and giving the sensitive tip kitten licks to clean off any missed dribbles. 

“You are gonna be the fucking death of me” he told you as you got up, and go to the sink to brush your teeth 

“Feel better?” You asked and he looked at you in the reflection of the mirror like a confused puppy for a moment before he realized oh, right. He came home in a shit mood after a shit day, and you essentially sucked the attitude out of him. 

“Mmhmm” he mumbled and shut the shower door. 

You sucked the attitude out of him, not the ego after all.

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 12!!

July 12th <3

Gate - @jegulus-microfic words: 854

First part Previous part

Regulus finally let himself relax, he sat outside the cabin scanning his eyes over the soft still water, the sunrise reflecting and bouncing from the water and shining onto his face. His legs were tucked into his chest, his half steaming hot coffee on the floor at his side, he picked the cup up and cradled it in his hands, blowing on it gently and watching the steam dissolve into the crisp morning air.

He inhaled once, feeling the fresh air kissing his lungs before exhaling. It was early, unusually early for Regulus to be awake actually. He picked his phone out from his pocket, checking the time, smiling at the photo of him and Pandora on his lock screen.

5:05AM... he normally doesn't get up this early, but his head was running around and around and spiralling him into circles, so he thought he'd try and wind down outside. 

After a few moments, he felt his phone buzzing in his hands. Odd, anyone who would phone him would certainly not be up right now, if they were, he should probably send help. Especially Barty, he's an actual demon before 9AM. Regulus can't say much, if anyone were to wake him up this early he'd probably insult them, hit them, and go back to sleep.

It was a random number, one he did not in fact recognise. He pressed answer reluctantly, maybe someone had changed their number, and he also was not awake enough right now to think about who it could be.

"Hello?" He chewed on his lip and let out the mumbled word into his phone.

"Reg!" The relieved and excitable voice of James rang into his ear.

"When the fuck did I give you my number?" Regulus sighed out.

He heard a hearty laugh. "I nagged Sirius to give it to me in case I couldn't find you."

James couldn't see him right now, but yet he still rolled his eyes and felt a twitch of his lips at the care the older boy gave to him, it was nice. It felt sweet, promising, it also made his heart do that fluttery thing and his hands fiddle nervously on the hem of his baggy sleeping shirt.

"On that note." James added. "Where are you? You weren't here when I woke up."

"Outside the cabin, you idiot."

Laughing, he swore he heard James release a loud breath that sounded like he'd been holding it in all morning, before the sound of the cabin door opening then the fence gate swinging open and shut sounded in his ears.

Now is when he actually became very aware that he was wearing a massive t-shirt that dropped off one shoulder and long black boxers, his hair was an absolute mess and his cheeks most definitely bitten by the cold air and flushed pink. He promptly shifted on the bench and gave a wary look to his side when he felt the warmth of a figure slump next to him with the huff of a breath.

"Hi." The brunette gave a toothy smile. "I-" He cut himself off and his eyes seemed to widen to the size of tennis balls. Regulus felt a strange wave of nerves wash over him as James just stared at him, his gaze flicking up, down, left, right, and back to Regulus eyes, his smile wobbling and his eyes glowing with something unplaceable to the raven haired boy.

"What?" He felt tiny under James' eyeline, shrinking down further into his loose shirt.

"Nothing." James shook his head, but it clearly wasn't nothing, the way his face morphed into different emotions and how his eyes grew wide and lustful, that wasn't nothing.

He gave a hard blink of his eyes, swallowing his doubts and looking back up to see James smiling at him yet again, but a concerned glint passed though his eyes. 

"You look freezing." He tutted. 

Regulus immediately went to protest, but he in fact was getting quite cold and the hot coffee he was holding moments ago only did so much to warm him up. 

Swiftly, James took his dark jacket off, revealing a maroon jumper underneath, and he draped it over Regulus' bare pale shoulders. "There, can't have you being cold."

He should've taken it right off, shoved it in James' face, and waltzed back into the actual heat of their cabin, to preserve his feelings from being shredded to pieces when he realised James was just trying to be nice. But the coat smelt like James, pine wood and strong cologne, the warming smell of fruit tea and the soft collar that brushed against his neck. It made him feel safe, like he was in James' arms, this is the closest he would ever get to that anyway. 

He purposely ignored the adoring looks he was getting from the boy next to him, even though he could feel it shooting right to his stomach and fluttering like a hundred butterflies nipping at his insides.

So who was Regulus to deny the swallowing warmth and safety of James Potters jacket, the smell and the way he drowned in it in the best way possible.

Next part

[writing-mlm]

hii saw you also do marvel fics :) a scott summers x male reader would be so awesome i can never find any good mlm stories for him. bonus points if it’s like an opposites attract dynamic where the reader is more irritable and rash whereas scott is more level headed and critical. thank you, no rush!!!

Irritations and Delight

Summary: Your temper is well known amongst the others but they have a trick up their sleeves that works every single time. Pairing: Scott Summers x Male Reader WC: 4.7k a/n: genuinely foaming at the mouth for Scott I forgot how little screen time he gets LMFAOOOO

Scott sighs as he gets called down to the War Room just before midnight. It’s the third time that week he’s been called to stop a fight and considering that it’s only Monday he knows it’s going to be a very long week. Despite the urgency of Jean’s request, he takes his sweet time going down the stairs rather than taking the elevator as he should have and through the halls before he sees the door. It’s closed, so he presses his hand to it, rubbing the sleep from his face while it scans him.

“I’m not taking shit from someone I need to look down at!” He hears you scoff as the doors open. He knows you’re arguing with Logan, because of course you are, it’s more often than not him. “Keep your Canadian ass away from my fucking snacks!” You warn, nostrils flaring. Jean looks at Scott with a pleading look and he just leans against the door frame, debating if this is even worth intervening— spoiler; it’s not. He’ll let you go for a little longer, get most of the steam out of your system. 

“You can make more,” Logan shrugs. “Isn’t that your whole thing? Creating,” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so broke you gotta steal like an alley rat,” Taking the jab as well as you expected, Logan flares— damn near growls, too— and clenches his fist. You grin, staring at his claws, and tilt your head, threatening him even to try and hit you. But he’s stopped by Scott calling for you. Your last name cutting through the air like a whistle during gym class.

Scott’s voice is half a warning, half a tired plea when he calls you. Regrettably, his presence makes Logan smirk and you scowl before it drops from your face and you glare over at him. “C'mon now,” He beckons with his index and middle finger before turning and walking away. You suck your teeth and drop the topic for now. 

“Run along,” Logan taunts as you walk past him. “Daddy’s calling.” You stop and look at the door before at Logan; it’s not really a split-second decision but you walk back around and punch him in the jaw before leaving. He doesn’t fight back, not when Jean is attending to his ‘wound’ and Scott yells for you. He should be thanking you, really. She hasn’t willingly been that close to him in months. With one last shared look, you head out of the War Room and into the bright hallway. 

“Don’t say it,” You grit, rubbing your knuckles as you walk in stride with him. It doesn’t hurt, you’ve punched harder things, but you’re making sure that you didn’t break anything seeing as your hand is technically still healing from your last mission. 

“Say what?” Scott pauses, standing with his arms crossed. “That you’re being childish or that you shouldn’t hit your teammates?” Sucking your teeth, you drop your hands into your pockets and kick the imaginary rock on the floor. 

“He called you my daddy,” You grumble. “I’m older than you, by the way.” It’s like four months, but that’s still older than him. 

“Really?” He grins, his arms still crossed but now he flexes his biceps. It gets your attention more than his words do and he knows that. Asshole. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“Shut up, Summers.” 

He just tosses an arm over your shoulder and drags you over to the elevator. You bite the corner of your mouth, stopping the smile on your face until you’re alone in the elevator. 

“What even started that?” He asks, his knuckle stroking your cheek. It doesn’t take an empath to know the action alone makes you weak in the knees; metaphorically speaking, of course. The man knows how to make you unfold in seconds, which is why he’s the only one dispatched to handle you. 

“I was making cookies in secret,” You start, pursing your lips. “It’s stupid but I was proud of them and-and they were mine. But Logan’s stupid fucking nose sniffed them out while we were out getting groceries and he ate every single one of them.” He frowns, just a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s pitying you but he knows how much it hurts you. 

Baking wasn’t exactly a hobby of yours, truth be told you were a disaster in the kitchen, but he knew well enough that you could make some mean cookies. Everyone knew that and snatched them up whenever you made any, leaving nothing left for you. And yes, your mutation allowed you to recreate those same exact cookies as much as you wanted but you never did. 

“I just wanted something for myself— and you, of course. Just this once. And that bitch starts going on about how I should’ve hidden them better or put a note on them if I didn’t want anyone else eating them. But they were! They were in our room, in my dresser, inside of my tupperware!” Now you’re shouting and Scott takes a step back, his chest rising as you enunciate each pronoun. 

“I’ll speak with him,” He promises and your head whips around to face him. The elevator gets to your stop and you face forward, marching out and towards the staircase. 

“Oh, because then he’ll talk about how my ‘daddy’ came to my rescue again!” You shout while using air quotes. “No— it’s fine. Next time I’ll just make him a batch and load them with laxatives and chocolates, have that dog dying with shit pouring out his ass.” 

“(L/n),” He scolds, following you as you climb the stairs two at a time. “You agreed to stop calling Logan a dog.” He catches you by the elbow, spinning you around so you’re facing him. 

“No, I said I'll stop calling him a mutt.” You correct, waving your finger in front of his face. “It felt like a slur, so I stopped. But technically wolverines aren’t dogs, they’re weasels. So, dog doesn’t work either.” Slow blinking, Scott drops your arm and follows you into your shared room. By that point, you’ve gone quiet and it’s not because it’s after hours and you, as the responsible adult and teacher, would hate to wake the children up. 

He sees a mess, the things in your dresser are tossed about and the tubberware is broken into several pieces. You don’t apologize, you don’t feel a need to, instead you huff and start cleaning while he sits on the edge of your bed. Knowing that you hate it when he helps with your messes, he waits until everything is neatly folded or tossed into the trash can before he pulls you over. 

“Would you like it if I talked to the Professor about getting a toaster oven for our room?” He asks while guiding you to your side of the bed. You shrug as a response, staring at the wall. “Hey,” Grabbing your face with a ghostly grip, he makes you stare at him. “You can’t just shut down, come on.”

“I guess,” You huff, moving his hand from your face. “It’s ridiculous that we’d need to do that, though. It’s a communal space but no one respects it. I’m tired of treating people older than me like toddlers just because I have something they want!” Tenderly, he kisses the top of your head and lays properly next to you. 

“I understand, we can have a conversation with the Professor in the morning. For now, rest,” While he puts his night mask on, you reach over and turn the lamp off before holding him close. He insists on laying this way, with your head tucked into his back or neck and his grip tight on your hands. You like it, too. Scooping his legs on top of your own, you sigh into a yawn and try to fall asleep. 

—

“Hey, pretty boy!” You call as you enter the garage where Scott is working on his motorcycle. Classes had since finished up and with no other work to do, it was officially time to do whatever the fuck you wanted. And what you wanted was to bother your oh-so-loving boyfriend. 

“Yes, hun?” He calls from under that damn bike. Only able to see his legs, you lay your head against the door frame and look around. 

“Would you mind if I sit and watch you?” You ask, checking out an empty spot. Maybe you should get a motorcycle— but then he couldn’t drive you around anymore. But you could ride with him. But you wouldn’t have an excuse to not go places alone anymore. No motorcycle. 

“Course not.” He responds, sliding out from under the bike and beckons you over. Taking long strides over to him, you settle next to him and he explains what he’s doing. Fixing an exhaust pipe and something on the bottom of it had been dragging during the last ride so he was checking on that. You used to offer to fix it, your dad is a mechanic and your powers could fix it in seconds but he said he liked getting his hands dirty. 

You just know he doesn’t like anyone to handle his bike. 

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until he finishes, you’d given up watching him tinker because you wanted him to actually do his task and knew you couldn’t stop yourself from pestering. Instead, you grabbed a useless tool in the box and changed it into various objects, eventually changing it back and reaching for an instruction manual that was hidden under wrenches. 

It wasn’t riveting or even particularly useful, an instruction manual for a toolbox wasn’t the best literature. But it passed the time until Scott let out the huff that signaled he was done and would admire his work for ten minutes. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask while he washed his hands in the large basin in the corner of the garage. 

“Not since lunch,” Lunch, if you could call it that, was a single slice of toast with a layer of jam so thin you couldn’t believe he wasted a knife for that. 

“Perfect, let’s go get some dinner.” Dinner with the rest of the school was hectic; it was dinner with a bunch of superpowered teenagers after all. So whenever you can, you opt to eat away from them and luckily tonight is one of those nights. 

Charles had ordered enough pizza to fill a god and you snagged a box before anyone noticed. It was yours and Scott’s favorite, too, so you think the Professor knew your plan from the start. But who knows? You still head outside with the box in hand and head to your secret spot on the property. 

Since the mansion overlooks acres of land there were plenty of secret spots but you like to believe yours was actually a secret. When you first got there you’d create a tree house, back then it was just large enough for you and your items but nowadays you hang with him whenever you can. 

The great weeping willow was the perfect tree to hide the house in, too. The large dangling leaves provided more than enough coverage— even for the spiral staircase you climb to reach the top. 

“How romantic,” Scott teases when you appear with a pizza box, soda, and two cups. You’d forgone getting plates because eating from the box is just as acceptable. You thank him and slide the box onto the table. He stops it from sliding off, watching as you grab a vinyl from the display case and set it on the player. It’s a newer one, one you’d stolen on accident. You swear it was an accident and Scott is inclined to believe that for his peace of mind. 

“Dinner and music,” He meets you halfway and runs his hands along your arms. “You really know how to treat a guy.” He muses. 

“Not just any guy,” Your lips curl into a smile as you stare at him. “My guy.”

“Your guy?” He echos and you nod, your eyes darting to his lips. 

“My favorite guy, my dream man, my boyfriend. My heart— I can continue if you’d like.” 

“Message received.” He shakes his head and presses a slow kiss to your lips. When his lips leave yours, you slowly open your eyes and then nudge his shoulder, telling him it’s time to eat. 

When you spend nearly all day with your significant other, sharing memories and gazes throughout the day, one might think there’s not much to talk about at the end of the day. But you begin to word vomit the second your butt hits the chair. Scott listens and gives his own input whenever he wants and the conversation eventually evolves into very juicy gossip about your students. 

Not very mature, sure. But come on! It’s like your own reality TV show. It would be better if one of you were telepathic but oh well, word of mouth and visual cues are just as fine. 

You think Tamara, a girl who’s technically a senior in high school with the powers to walk through walls is the one who’s been helping the younger kids during their nightmares before the others could get to them. Scott disagrees, he thinks it's Kevin, a kid who can enter people’s dreams.

“But Kevin can’t control whose dream he enters,” You point out, stopping yourself before you tell him about the time Kevin went into your dream where you were inside of the White House trying to get the President— who’d been Bob Marley— to come to your birthday party. 

“He’s getting better,” Scott draws his hand to his hair, slicking it back. “Because he’s been helping the others. You haven’t seen the way the kids look at him?”

“Have you seen how they look at Tamara? She’s like a big sister to them.” Tossing the crust of your slice into the box, you grab another. Honestly, his point does make sense. How else is a kid with dream powers supposed to get better? By entering dreams. “Maybe it’s both of them.” You settle on. 

“What? Kevin deals with the dream and Tamara helps them if they wake up?”

“I mean…” You trail. “Their rooms are right next to each other, it’s not hard to believe.”

“I think we cracked the code,” Scott grins and you nod as pizza cheese slides off of your lip. 

“Man, sign us the fuck up for mystery solving.”

—

Physically imposing wasn’t typically a word people would use to describe you. You don’t have a body type close to Logan or even Scott. You work out just enough, truly you don’t care too much about lifting cars or being able to punch through walls.

It’s useless in your opinion when you could very easily just turn the wall into sand or make the car paper. 

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. 

You’re plenty strong, you work out every morning with Scott. You often use the students as weights just for the hell of it. While you don’t keep track you think your current limit is two seventy-five on each side of the dumbbell. 

So when you punched a protester it caught him off guard. Which wasn’t hard considering he was busy shouting nonsense at your students. But, hey, he was being really annoying. No one around you said he didn’t deserve it, no one gave you a look of shame or disgust. 

But he didn’t hit the ground, time seemed to freeze and you sighed through your nose, fist still clenched as you listened to Charles making his way over. Scott wasn’t far behind, grabbing you by the elbow just before Charles spoke up. 

“Now, was that necessary?” He asks, his stupid holier than-thou voice doing nothing to make you ashamed of hitting the man. 

“When you talk shit about my kids, absolutely,” You tell him. “How about next time you agree to take at-risk children on a field trip, you use your shitty powers to make sure someone isn’t going to hurl cruel words at them.” 

“How’d he even know?” Scott asks, staring at the man’s clearly unhinged jaw. 

“Someone scared Man-man on accident and his face went all… froggy,” You explain, looking at Man-man with an apologetic look. He looks down, rubbing his arm. “And of course, the man saw.” 

“You should’ve come to me.”

“You should’ve known.” You correct him, staring down at him. “Isn’t that your whole thing? Mind reading, and understanding people’s characters? You’re supposed to look out for them and my method is much more effective than walking away and calling for you.” Scott whispers your name, his voice was soft, and begging you to stop arguing. 

You falter, not wanting to ruin the trip anymore, and run your face.

“Can’t you just wipe his memory? Only we saw.”

“And can we go somewhere cooler?” Claire asks, leaning against her boyfriend Todd. Her long blonde hair running down the length of her face before she shifts it behind her ear. “We’ve been to this evolution museum three times. I heard there’s a movie theater down the street.” 

“The movies sounds good,” Ororo agrees, ever the helper for Charles. “I’ve been wanting to see the new one, what’s the name?” She turns to Jean who whispers the name and she nods. 

“I suppose some quiet time in the cinema couldn’t hurt.” Charles reluctantly agrees and the kids cheer. 

“We could totally—“ 

“No.” Scott shoots the idea down and you sigh, crossing your arms while getting the kids to line up. He pinches your side as he gets his kids to line up next to yours and you pinch him back. 

“It would be for like twenty—“

“No,” He drags out, not even looking at you. 

“You don’t even know what I’m asking!” Giving you a look, you chuckle and nod. “I totally was asking for that.” 

—

“It’s nine,” Scott drawls from above you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on the headboard. “You’ve slept in plenty today.” You groan and roll over, pulling your cover up to your chin. 

“Suck a dick, Summers.” 

“I’m sure I will, later,” He blinks. “But you’ve missed breakfast and your first class. It’s time to get up.” Grumbling under your breath, you turn and face him. He’s been awake for hours, you knew because he woke you up when he did. Plus, he’s a messy sleeper and you relish the bed to yourself sometimes. He smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, stroking your hairline. 

“It’s Friday, man. Can’t we cancel class for one day?” Your eyes dart between his glasses, finding his eyes in the red. 

“I’m sorry,” He shakes his head. “It’s time to get up.” Relenting, you sit up and drag yourself into the bathroom. He doesn’t stay, he has a class to teach and he knows if he does, you’ll rope him into missing it. 

Thankfully, you only have three classes before you can sit and relax. But things are never that simple inside that damn school, something happened during the period just before lunch. Some telepathic kid messed with the newest kid to join and the kid absolutely destroyed the classroom with his shock waves. He told you it was something about his past and you reassured him it’ll be fine before sending him up to talk with Charles. 

Tragic backstory after tragic backstory, you must’ve thought yourself lucky that your trauma came from the one time you accidentally turned a candle into a stick of dynamite at a historical building during a field trip. 

Not your best moment, you should admit. But the tour guide was being a prick and it’s what you imagined throwing at him. Sorry to the historical building, though, shame it became an arcade like five years later. 

This mutant's anonymous shit wasn’t your speed, sure that’s not what Charles called it (he called it mediation between two students who are having issues), but that’s definitely what it was. Everyone sat in a circle, telling their feelings and instead of some chip to commemorate being a mutant, you’re left to go out on ugly ass spandex and give up your apartment in replace of living amongst traumatized teenagers and more traumatized emotionally stunted adults. 

But hey, you agreed to become a teacher for those same young mutants— you just didn’t expect them to take to you like glue on paper. For fucks sake, you taught them chemistry, far from a friendly subject. You know you hated it when you were their age. And Jean tells you that you’re far from a friendly person, too. Not too sure on how she managed that assessment because there’s a group of teenagers in your office eating and talking. Willingly, during their lunch period. 

There are six of them, one of which is sitting on top of your filing cabinets and eating straight from a cantaloupe. No spoon or anything, just his hands. Never mind the chunks falling on your floor.  

“No, because Todd is totally grinding my gears,” Claire grumbles from the floor. Todd, her boyfriend, definitely wasn’t on your list of best students. “He keeps talking about he’ll be the next leader of the X-men and I’ll be his trophy wife! Trophy wife!” She shouts through a laugh. “He runs fast and I can bend light to my fucking will!” 

“He tried to get with Stacy Ambers,” You hum, stabbing your fork into a piece of chicken. Everything quiets down and they turn to face you, their jaws dropped. “I caught them during class when you went to the bathroom. He ran to give her a note, she giggled and nodded.”

“That sleaze!” Kelly shouts, standing on her knees. “Ugh! And with Sticky-Stacy? As if,” She lowers herself back to the floor and picks up her juice carton. “I say we stick them together in the training room and use them for target practice!”

“Saying stuff like that will get you a week's detention if the Professor hears,” You lazily remind them but you do nothing more to stop that conversation.

“The owner of the school is a telepath,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he already knows all the fucked up plans in her noggin’.” 

“Which you shouldn’t be encouraging,” Scott chides from the door. “Come on now, go with the rest of your peers.” The kids groan and pack their things, leaving you and Scott inside the room. He steps inside and shuts the door. 

“I wasn’t encouraging,” You defend, holding your hands up. “I was acting as an outlet to the children, as Charles always drones on and on about.” He smiles and you think, rolls his eyes before he walks over to your desk. 

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it.” 

“What’re gonna do about it, Summers?” You grin, rolling your head to the side as he gets closer. He shrugs and sits on the edge of your desk. Grabbing his thigh, you roll your chair over to him and hang your arms over his legs. “Because it seems like you’re jealous I’m the favorite teacher.” 

“Jealous?” He echos, staring down at you. “Far from it; I’m glad you’re bonding with the children. We know how your temper is.” Frowning, you shove his stomach and lean back in your seat. He tilts his head as though you’ve proved his point and you chuckle, rolling your eyes. 

“Why’d you come anyway? You never visit lil ole me during lunch.” Grabbing your food, he steals a piece and you’re just glad it wasn’t the piece you were eyeing. 

“I do visit,” He rebuts. “I visited you last week. But I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me this Saturday? The Professor wants me to check out a potential mutant fight ring,”

“Hmm,” You pretend to think. “Another mission turned date, I can get down with that. Where is it?” 

“Chicago. Close to the border.” 

“Groovy, I’m in.”  Patting his thigh, you push yourself back to your desk and grab your lesson plan for next week. “Do you think the Professor would be upset if I turned the walls of the classroom into chocolate? For science, of course.”

“Yes, he would. Especially since they’re currently being rebuilt.”

“Aw, man. That was my whole lesson for Monday.” 

“Why don’t you do normal chemistry lessons? Like toothpaste volcanoes or colored fire?” He grabs another piece of your lunch and some of your juice. 

“Firstly; it’s called elephant toothpaste. Secondly, it’s hard keeping them focused in class. Half of the kids already make colored fire!” Taking the juice from him when he’s done, you take a sip. “I mean, I could do normal lessons. But it would bore everyone.”

“How about boring lessons all week but on Friday you do fun stuff like chocolate paperwork or something.” The suggestion is obvious but you take it down all the same, writing that in the corner of a paper to look at when you get back from the mission. 

“Oh, and since classes are canceled because of the incident, we could leave for Chicago now. If you’d like.” 

“Oh man, would I? Let’s go, Summers!” Slapping his shoulder, you run out of the room and head up to pack your bags. 

—

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask while Scott flies the jet. It’s impossibly quiet inside, the unattended chairs and lack of chatter were almost foreign with missions. You’d been walking around, messing with straps, and threatening to turn a chair into water. It didn’t take a genius for Scott to tell you were talking about Logan’s seat. 

“You always are,” He hums and you grin, messing up his hair. He grabs your hand after a second and kisses the back of it before you move to take a seat next to him again. 

Sighing, you kick your feet up on the control panel, careful to not actually press any buttons. “I don’t know your eye color,” You admit, staring at him. Even though you’ve been dating for nearly three years, you’ve yet to see his eyes behind those red frames. You also haven’t seen any childhood photos of him. 

“They’re blue,” He answers with a smile. “I have blue eyes, Alex said they’re blue like the sky. I think they’re blue like Florida oceans.” 

“Blue,” You softly echo, staring at him. “I always thought they were brown.” He laughs and shakes his head. It makes sense, you think. Because of course, he’d have blue eyes, how could you picture him any different? 

“What about yours?” He asks. “It’s hard to tell colors,” You tell him, describing your eyes in the way that you view them. Correlating beautiful things to the shade. “That makes sense. I thought they were gold because of your mutation and that’s what Ororo had told me.”

“Oh, I wish!” You shout. “I’d be so cool, you couldn’t stay away from me if they were.” 

“I can’t stay away from you now,” You chuckle nervously, looking away from him and he just smiles. That asshole just smiles. “I love you, I hope you know that.” He continued just to see your reaction. 

“Yippee,” You respond and immediately cover your face. “Summers, take those glasses off and kill me.” It’s a near beg as you scream into your hands. You, a grown adult, had just uttered the word yippee following a declaration of love from your boyfriend. Oh, how prepubescent. How… emotionally stunted. Oh my god, you’re no better than the other X-men. 

This, this is your trauma. This is what you’ll look back upon and shiver, pushing it deep down in your memories as if it was bad food at a family gathering and the trash was nearly full. 

“I meant,” You shudder. “I love you, too, Summers.”

“Wanna try with my first name?” He asks and you groan. He blinks over at you, his eyebrows clearly raised at your antics. 

“Give them an inch and they’ll ask for a mile!” You joke. “I love you, Scott.” You finally say, looking back at him. He bites his lip as he smiles and you lick yours, nearly forgetting that he’s flying a jet and should not be distracted. Looking away, you see Chicago in the distance and remind yourself that the mission comes first. 

Go, X-Men, Go!

[miasmaghoul]

miasma how much for swissdew pussy eating….im prepared to give up my first born if need be

i accept payment in good vibes and offerings of either fruity candy or noodles

if anyone was curious

(ft transmasc dew, use of cunt/clit and dick for his anatomy)

Dew's a vision at the lakeside.

Pale skin glowing in the summer sun, golden hair soaked through and pulled back in a tight knot. He'd just finished his latest set of laps, skin still sparkling with shimmering droplets of lake water as he flopped onto his towel.

Swiss really can't help but stare from his place by the dock. Impossible not to, really. He just looks so sweet in those little white shorts, ones he must have stolen from Rain - they're triple knotted but still hang low on his hips. He smiles to himself when Dew wrings water from the drenched fabric, revealing the soft, milky skin of his inner thighs. Skin that's begging for a few bruises.

Dew stretches, lays himself out in the sun, and Swiss decides he looks far too alone.

He keeps his pace casual as he saunters towards the little ghoul. Keeps his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts and lets his shirt flutter in the summer breeze. It's a short sleeved button down in pale pink, only two buttons done up, and Swiss can feel Dew's eyes on his chest the closer he gets.

Not that Swiss is doing much better - his own golden gaze rests on Dew's pert, stiff nipples. The silver barbells through them sparkle in the sunlight, and the only thing prettier is the pink flush of exertion painting Dew's cheeks and chest.

"How's the water?" Swiss drags thick fingers through his curls, smirking down at the lithe body laid out before him.

"Not bad," Dew replies, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back in a way that can only be intentional. He sighs when he relaxes, offering Swiss a lazy grin. "Little chilly."

"Looks like it," Swiss comments, nodding at his chest. "Got 'em all stiff."

Dew glances down and offers a soft chuckle. Swiss tries not to let his eyes bug out of his head when the little ghoul starts plucking at those tight, pink buds.

"Guess so," he says, amused. Dew smiles when he looks up again. "What's your excuse?"

Dew nods at his crotch, and Swiss laughs. Gets a handful of the obvious bulge in his khaki shorts and gives it a nice fondle.

"This one's all on you, firecracker," he lilts, not missing the flash in Dew's lovely copper eyes.

Swiss bodily flops on the ground next to his towel, laid out on his side and resting on one bent elbow. His other hand drags over Dew's thigh, catches in the creases of his wet shorts.

"Can't help it when you look so pretty."

Swiss walks two fingers over a bony hip while Dew preens, up the smooth plane of his stomach. The little ghoul watches them move, watches Swiss's fingertips sink into the tiny bit of softness just above his waistband.

Swiss can't take his eyes off of Dew's face, though. Off of sun-darkened freckles painted over the bridge of that strong nose, off of the few wisps of almost dry hair hanging in his face.

He catches the little ghoul in a slow, decadent kiss. The kind you can only have outside, surrounded by sweet grass and heady summertime scents. It's languid and luxurious, Dew's fingers finding their way into Swiss's hair around the same time Swiss licks into his mouth. The little ghoul tastes of the lake, clean and fresh and tinted with the spice and tobacco that Dew always carries, and Swiss groans into his mouth.

Dew looks up at him with dark, lidded eyes, and Swiss's cock fattens up just that much more.

"So pretty."

They pull back at the same time to breathe, and Swiss laughs to himself when he realizes that he's straddling that little body now, large hands cupping Dew's warm cheeks. He looks dazed, lips rosy and slick. Swiss has to catch one between his teeth, giving that soft flesh a playful tug.

"You still chilly, Sparky?"

It's an easily answered question - Dew feels like a furnace beneath him, skin steaming away the remnants of the lake. The skinny arms looped around his neck feel like branding irons, even through his shirt. Dew is most definitely not chilly.

"Freezing," the little ghoul chirps, leaning up to lick at Swiss's tongue. He sighs when Dew sucks the tip of it into his mouth, sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners. A small foot strokes along Swiss's calf. "Gonna warm me up?"

"'Course," Swiss winks, dipping down to lick at the hollow of Dew's throat. "I was just thinkin' it was time for lunch."

Dew hums, letting his arms fall to the towel instead. Swiss rewards him with a wet, sloppy kiss to the side of his throat. Dew cringes even as he laughs, the sound melting into a pleased sigh when Swiss sucks the first of what will be many dark marks into delicate skin.

This is one of his favorite ways to have Dew - there's always something to be said for their more frantic encounters, for the ones that leave them bloodied and exhausted. For the times he makes Dew cry, and for the times Dew fucks him into to brainlessness with a strap that could rival Mountain.

But times like this? Ones where he can take his time, can worship Dew the way he likes best? Swiss can never get enough.

He takes it so very slow. Kisses every inch of Dew's throat, over both collarbones, down his sternum. Colors his skin in splotchy purple and deep red, nips at his few soft spots and glides warm, steady hands along his sides.

Dew's nipples get special attention, of course. Swiss can't help the obsession he has with those little pink nubs, not when Dew is just so, so sensitive there. He squirms so beautifully when Swiss catches them between his teeth, makes the sweetest sounds when Swiss latches on to what little he has there.

He watches Dew's face through it all - the way his brows furrow, the way he sucks his lower lip between crooked teeth, the way he breathes so harshly through his nose when Swiss snakes a hand between their bodies. A large hand cups Dew's cunt through his now-dry shorts, and the little ghoul rocks shamelessly against his palm.

"Don't feel chilly here," Swiss teases, licking a broad stripe along one of the crescent-shaped scars on Dew's chest. He can feel the stiffening bump of Dew's clit throb against his hand, and Swiss groans as he gives it the smallest rub.

"You should probably make sure," Dew breathes, hands coming up to rest on Swiss's broad shoulders. He gives them an impatient little shove and Swiss snorts.

"You're the boss," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to Dew's belly as he slides south. He nuzzles the barely-there trail of hair just below his navel, dips his tongue into that divot, and hooks thick fingers into Dew's shorts. "Think you're all slippery for me yet?"

Dew shrugs, tucking one arm behind his head and threading long fingers into Swiss's hair. Scratches at his scalp in a way that has a rusty purr kicking up in his chest. Dew rocks his hips up into his face and Swiss nips at him through the fabric. Dew smiles.

"Dunno," he says, noncommittal despite how fucked out he looks already - pink cheeks, swollen lips and nipples, a perfect collar of sucked-in marks lining his throat. "Guess you should check on that too."

Swiss tips his head, makes a sound of consideration while he unwinds Dew's fingers from his hair. Dew watches him place soft kisses to each knuckle, watches him drag his teeth along the inside of his wrist.

Dew whines, his eyes slip shut, but he obeys. Swiss watches his fingers move through the fabric, hears them slip through slick folds. The sound goes straight to his balls, wrings a pained moan from his throat, and Swiss grinds against Dew's towel.

"I have a better idea."

Swiss lifts Dew's waistband and shoves his own bony hand into his shorts. The little ghoul gasps, and Swiss smirks.

"Go on and show me how excited you are, sweetheart."

"Yeah, just like that," he rasps, licking his lips. Swiss grips his skinny waist, presses his nose to the crotch of those shorts to breathe in deep."Fuck, you're gonna taste so good." He pats at Dew's arm. "Lemme see, c'mon, show me."

Dew makes a sweet little sound, pulls his hand back, and Swiss drools at the way his fingers glisten.

"Beautiful."

He grips Dew's wrist and wastes no time taking those wet digits into his mouth. The taste of him floods Swiss's tongue, sweet and salty and so fucking addictive. He can never get enough, and that suits the both of them perfectly. He licks at Dew's palm, breathing heavy and ragged. Dew watches him with blown-out eyes, little chest rising and falling bunny quick.

"Think you need more," Dew mutters, voice thready with need. "Didn't you say you were hungry?"

Oh, Swiss is going to implode one of these days.

"Baby, I'm starving."

Swiss scrambles to get Dew's shorts down, leaving them looped around a scrawny ankle while he pushes those slender thighs apart and gets the little ghoul properly exposed. Swiss chokes at the sight of him, plump and slick and throbbing. He presses his nose to the crease of Dew's thigh and inhales like a man starved.

"Lucifer, you smell like heaven," he murmurs, and Dew sighs.

"You gonna talk about it all day, or are you gonna eat?"

Swiss laughs.

"Until I can't anymore, princess."

The first pass of his tongue, flat and broad, has Dew sagging back against his towel. Swiss huffs against him as he repeats, licking long and slow. Dragging it over every inch of hot, sensitive flesh in the ways he knows Dew likes best. Spreads him with two fingers to he can take each of Dew's dusky lips between his own and suckle them until Dew's legs start to shake. Licks from his hole to the base of his clit and back again, swimming in every sweet, eager sound the little ghoul feeds him.

"Fuck, your mouth," he groans, gripping Swiss's hair and rolling his hips. "C'mon, lick it, lick it."

Swiss dips his tongue inside for the briefest second, and Dew kicks like a dog.

"Yeah? That what you need?"

Swiss asks it between soft, wet kisses around his clit. So much attention paid to every place except where he knows Dew wants it most. The little ghoul grumbles, halfheartedly trying to hold Swiss in place with the hand in his hair. Swiss bumps the very tip of that swollen length with his nose, and Dew hisses.

"Need me to suck this cute little dick?" Swiss gives that stiff length a sweet, tiny kiss, just enough to make Dew's thighs clench. "Need me to make it cum?"

"Uh huh," Dew nods, hooking a leg over Swiss's lower back. He's flushed straight down his throat now, chest blotchy red. Gorgeous. "Suck it outta me. Lemme get your chin wet."

Swiss throbs from head to toe, he swears it. With a mighty groan he readjusts, tosses skinny legs over his shoulders, and digs his fingers into bony hips. He'll leave bruises in the pattern of his fingertips, and neither of them will mind. Especially not when Dew stretches tomorrow, when his shirt raises and exposes those marks to anyone that cares to look. The thought has Swiss shivering already, a thrill shooting through him and a copious blurt of pre soaking into his already stained shorts.

"Oh, sweet boy," he says, hitching Dew's hips up, "I want you to fuckin' drown me."

Swiss wraps his lips around Dew's fat little clit, swirls his tongue, and everything that isn't Dewdrop fades away.

Swiss hopes it never comes back.

[miyuhpapayuh]

He got game 4

Adina: The Cougar Next Door

Summertime rolled around, and Odell's mother encouraged him to take up a little summer job, so he could have some money in his pocket to do as he wished.

He wasn't allergic to hard work, so he welcomed the idea. At first he wasn't sure what he'd want to do to make money, but when he saw his next door neighbor, Adina, a 32-year-old divorcee, tending to the hanging garden that occupied her front porch, he knew just what to do.

One warm, yet breezy Thursday afternoon he caught her outside and voiced his proposition of taking care of her yard work. She happily accepted, offering more than fair compensation.

The first week went by uneventfully, as he planned on how he'd put the moves on his vixen of a neighbor. On a couple of occasions, he caught her second-too-long stares as he pushed and pulled the lawn mower across the grass.

Bingo.

With her paid vacation underway, she didn't have much else that needed her attention. She didn't have children, just her Egyptian Mau, Perla, a sassy kitten that seemingly preferred to be by herself.

On a particularly boring early afternoon, she found herself sitting on her porch swing in a cream colored sundress that bared an expansive amount of thigh, fanning herself with a vintage paper fan as she watched Odell manicure her front lawn. She sat with a bit more interest when he decided to ditch his beater and hang it over his shoulders.

She knew she shouldn't be having the thoughts that ran through her head about this boy. He was over a decade her junior, for God's sake! But God knows the way those beads of sweat dripped down his sculpted torso made her drip below the belt. Her conscience was telling her to get away and take a quick ride with the windows down. Anything to clear her mind, but the little succubus on her shoulder urged her to take him for a test drive.

Weighing each decision carefully, her dark side won out. She was determined to find out if he could make her kitten purr.

Pouring some ice-cold strawberry lemonade into a glass, she made her way over to Odell, tapping him to get his attention as he had earbuds in.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Honey, you make me sound like a grandma," she joked, "Adina's fine. Here," she handed him the refreshing drink, "I know it's hot as hell out here."

She had to fan herself when he flashed that brilliant white smile her way. "Appreciate it, Adina."

"You look like you could use a break. Out here with this sun beating on you. Come sit down and get some of this air conditioner."

Come inside and get this throat is what he heard. It's what she might as well have said.

"I'd like that." She led him inside and he thanked his lucky stars his mother was working until the late evening today.

He might be here a while.

He sighed in pure relief when the cold central air made contact with his blazing hot skin.

"I see you inhaled that lemonade, sugar. Want another glass?"

"Actually, I'd rather drink you."

"Hm. And here I thought I'd have to play the coy game." Shamelessly, she let her dress fall from her body. A scrap of black lace you could barely classify as underwear was the only thing adorning her now. She hooked her finger in the front of his basketball shorts.

"Follow me."

She led him to her spa-like bathroom that had a shower big enough to fit at least five people. After fiddling with a couple knobs, water rained down from the ceiling. Pleased with the temperature, she rid herself of her panties. Bending at the waist, she peeled them down her legs giving him the perfect view of her glistening cove. She flung the piece of cloth at him, and he caught it, sticking them in the pocket of his shorts.

She entered the shower, standing directly under the water. He watched mesmerized as the steaming water cascaded down her figure.

"Care to join me? Or would you rather stand there drooling on yourself?" she chuckled. He was out of his remaining clothes and in the shower in record time.

Taking her mango-scented body wash, she squeezed some into her palm, working it into a rich lather. Starting at his neck, she worked her hands down his body, washing him down.

Slipping down to her knees to wash lower, and she's face to face with the prettiest dick she's ever seen. Long, girthy, with a thick vein going up the underside.

Perfect.

She gripped it, running the flat of her tongue along that vein. Placing a sloppy kiss to the tip, she winked before swallowing him whole. She used one of her free hands to rub her clit and the other to massage his balls.

He exhaled roughly through his nose, gripping her thick, wet hair in his fingers. She relaxed her throat allowing him to fuck her face however he liked.

She slid two of her fingers into herself, moaning around him.

"Fuck," he bit out as the vibrations from her mouth covered him.

He pulled out of her mouth before he could bust in it, and placed her on the bench in the recess of the shower wall, kneeling between her legs. He draped them over his shoulders, and went to work, licking a stripe up her slit much like she did earlier making her hiss.

He was intrigued by the tiny gold bar that went through her hood. He investigated it with his tongue. He must have tripped something because his mouth started to vibrate, eliciting a gasp from her.

'So she's that kinda freak,' he thought. He licked circles around her clit while the vibing piercing did its thing. He could just barely make out her sweet little moans as his head was basically sandwiched between her thighs.

Her head was thrown back in pleasure, moaning loudly into the damp air. A hand was threaded through his curls, while the other tweaked her nipple.

"Fuck, I'm about to cum!" she ended on a shriek. He groaned against her already overstimulated clit, setting her off. She made a mess of her juices all over his face.

Getting eye-level with her, he pressed their lips together making her taste herself. She tasted even better on his tongue.

Exiting the shower, he forewent drying off, and bent her over the counter. He sent a heavy smack to her ass, surprised when she asked for another, harder this time. Quick to oblige, he made sure to leave a nice, bright red mark this time. One of the sexiest sounds left her mouth in appreciation making his dick stiffer than he thought possible.

Moving behind her, he tapped his head against her a few times before sliding in, filling her to the hilt causing them both curse at the contact. He spread her open to making sure he got as deep as possible with each stroke. She had to brace herself against the mirror for fear of hitting it headfirst with how powerful his thrusts were.

"You're so--," he hits her spot so good she almost loses her balance, "fuck baby, you're so fucking deep!"

She brings one of her arms back to press against his abs to relieve the building pressure.

He caught her arm, holding it behind her back. Gripping her neck, he pulled her back placing his mouth against her ear.

"You gon take all this fucking dick. Got it?" It was like he was stealing the breath from her body with how deep he was.

“Got it?!"

He tightened his grip on her, moving painstakingly slow, pulling out so far she thought he'd pull out, just to slam back into her wetness full force driving her insane.

"Yes! Yes imma take all of it!" Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her jaw hanging slack as he brought her closer and closer to spilling all over him.

"Good girl."

He knew she was close, and he wasn't far behind.

"You ‘bout to make me cum all up in this good shit, baby. You want that?" he licked up the side of her face.

"Mmm, yeah give me all that nut, big boy."

"Take that shit, then." She began throwing it back on him recklessly, meeting him thrust for thrust, obscene, wet sounds filling the bathroom.

Together, they came loudly & noisily, with her wetting up his dick and thighs. She pulsated around him, milking every drop she could. He collapsed on top of her, their sweaty bodies sticking together as they tried to regain control of their breathing. She reached back, rubbing soothing circles against the back of his neck with her fingertips.

"I'm gonna have to raise your pay," she joked tiredly.

Lmao this one was wild. Enjoy!

@thegifstories @blackerthings @ghostfacekill-monger @honestpreference @blowmymbackout @headcannonxgalore @harmshake @henneseyhoe @blackpinup22 @twistedcharismaaa @abeautifulmindexposed @starcrossedxwriter @megamindsecretlair @soufcakmistress

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 4)

The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted through the air, encasing your senses as you and Cillian stepped into the threshold of the cafe. A buzz of chatter from the crowded space filled your ears, punctuated by the clinking of porcelain and the hiss of steam frothing milk. The cafe's modern decor, a blend of industrial chic and cozy warmth, seemed to draw in half the city, leaving  you and Cillian at the end of a winding line of impatient patrons.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, an eclectic pattern of colors that you had chosen to appear both sophisticated and approachable. Entering the queue, you the weight of the many eyes skimming over both you and Cillian—some curious, others envious. He stood beside at your side, the epitome of effortless elegance, his dark hair catching the soft glow of the pendant lights above.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” he remarked. “I hate when something I like becomes popular.”

“Seems so,” you replied, your tone light but your mind elsewhere. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, thumb flicking across the screen with swift, practiced motions. Emails, job listings, opportunities—they cascaded down the display as you filtered through them with a sense of urgency that belied the calm front you tried to project.

“Are you looking at anything interesting?” Cillian asked, peering over at your screen with a curiosity that felt too close, too keen.

“Just looking at some job postings,” you said, minimizing the list of applications before he could glimpse the titles. You knew he didn’t truly understand your need to earn your keep, to build something for yourself without the crutch of connections or favors. “It’s difficult to find something with flexible hours and decent pay. I want to find something that fits, you know?”

“I figure it’d be,” he said with a shrug.

Once he retreated out of your personal bubble, you scrolled through one listing after another, occasionally pausing to submit your resume into the void of potential employment. Each tap on the 'apply' button was a tiny leap of faith—a hope that somewhere out there was a chance for you to prove yourself capable, independent.

The cafe was stifling. You removed your cardigan and settled it over your arm, only for Cillian to sweep it into his arms. You glared as he draped the sleeves over his shoulders, tying them into a knot. It was an eyesore against his monochromatic ensemble, but as always, he wore it well.

You shuffled forward in the line, your eyes trailing over the scuffed tile floor of the bustling cafe. Cillian loomed beside you, his body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your blouse as he leaned a little too close for comfort, arms pressing into your side.

“I love this,” Cillian whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Our weekly meet-ups are all that get me through the week.”

You nodded, a quick jerk of your head, wishing your frazzled hair would shield you from the intimacy of his gaze. Your attention shifted to the chalkboard menu above the counter, where playful script offered promises of bold new flavors and exotic blends. You considered ordering a raspberry mocha or the spiced chai latte, something to break the monotony of your usual orders.

“Hey, Lee, what do you think about those new items> Do they look—”

“No. You know how particular your stomach is,” Cillian cut in, his tone laced with feigned concern as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "You should stick with the usual, and I’ll get the new stuff so you can still try it." Before you could protest, Cillian turned to the barista, his charismatic smile in place. “Two of the usual, please. And could you grab one of those pre packaged blueberry muffins?”

Whatever. I’m eating on his dime, you thought as he swiped his card.

With a sigh trapped behind you lips, you smiled and watched as he paid for the order, his flamboyant duct-tape wallet—the same one you made for him during a particularly boring summer—flashing briefly before being tucked away. The idea of eating another stiff, cellophane-wrapped muffin seemed ridiculous when there were trays of fresh pastries just a few feet away. But he was paying, and arguing seemed like it would cost more than you were willing to spend.

“Come, let’s find our table. Did you know the owner started reserving the one in the back for us? It’s nice when loyalty is rewarded.” Cillian steered you gently by the elbow toward an empty table in the corner. Releasing you, his fingers curled around the back of the chair, sliding it out with a graceful swoop that seemed practiced, almost theatrical.

No sooner than you sat, a broad-shoulder man rushed over with their drinks. “Here you go,” he said, gently placing them down. “I knew what to make as soon as you walked in.”

You settled into the seat, your eyes drifting to the cup placed before you—a frothy concoction topped with swirls of caramel and a mountain of whipped cream. You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, feeling its smoothness against your palms, the heat barely penetrating the barrier between them.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, more out of habit than genuine gratitude. Bringing the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, the sugary liquid flooding your mouth with an intensity that made you wince. It was cloying, too much, like the heavy-handed perfume of someone trying to mask their insecurities. With each visit, the sweetness seemed to grow, or perhaps it was just your weariness of this routine that soured the taste.

“Say 'ah',” said Cillian, tilting his drink to you. “I asked you to open your mouth. I'm giving you the first sip.” He tilted his head, curved lashes rising and falling with each blink. “Or do you want me to make you? Would you like that?”

“I want none of that. It's embarrassing.”

“Fine.” Cillian snatched his drink back, his lips curling into a contented smile as he savored a flavor that  you could no longer stomach. His phone appeared in his hand—sleek, the latest model—as if by magic, and he began to fuss over their table setting, rearranging the silverware and napkins with meticulous care.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to halt your movements as you reached for a muffin. “Let me get a picture first.”

Sighing, you withdrew your hand. You should’ve just shut up and drank from his cup. He was probably punishing you now.

You were forced to watch as he positioned his phone just so, angling it to capture the perfect composition of their prepackaged desserts. The shutter clicked repeatedly, a staccato rhythm that echoed the tapping of your foot beneath the table. With a sense of dettachment, you observed the scene through the screen’s glow, detached, as if viewing it all from a great distance.

The cafe buzzed around them, a hive of activity and chatter, but in their little corner, only the soft light of Cillian���s phone display and the artificial sound of captured moments filled the space.

“Perfect,” Cillian finally declared, his voice threaded with satisfaction as he admired the digital gallery of confections and cream. “I can make even cellophane wrap look appetizing.”

“So talented,”  you replied, tone flat, the single word falling short of enthusiasm. You watched him now, as he edited and filtered reality into something palatable for public consumption, something that would garner admiration and envy in equal measure.

Finally allowed your beverage, you eagerly dug in, first savoring the whipped cream before it could’ve further melted into the beverage. Scooping some into your mouth, a dollop of whipped cream perched precariously on the edge of your straw.

It was then that the inevitable happened. The whipped cream betrayed you, a small glob landing with a soft plop on your nose. You froze, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face as you reached for a napkin. But Cillian’s hand was quicker, his fingers skimming your cheek, then swiping the cream off your nose. He lingered a second too long.

“Got it,” he murmured, tongue slithering out to lick his fingers. He wiped his saliva on the sleeve of your cardigan, which was still settled around his shoulders.

Your breath hitched. Although a more sensible part of yourself fought the urge to scream at him for the act, a quieter, darker corner of your mind began to race.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, drawing back slightly. You eyed your portion of the desserts, the artificial brightness of the strawberry topping almost mocking in its vibrancy. You scooped up a small bite, the saccharine taste doing little to satisfy the craving you couldn't quite name.

Cillian watched you, his dark eyes gleaming. He seemed oblivious to the fact that your routine outings had become a suffocating ritual, a showcase for the curated life he projected onto his Instagram feed.

“Isn’t it delicious?” he asked, his tone expectant, a hint of coercion nestled between the words.

“The same as always,” you echoed, though the flavor was as hollow as the affirmation. The consequences of defying Cillian’s vision for your friendship loomed large and his approval was a drug you had been conditioned to crave.

Your spoon clinked against the plastic container, a soft sound. You ate mechanically, your thoughts drifting away from the table, away from Cillian and his veiled demands. You imagined stepping out of this scene, leaving behind the cloying sweetness and the confines of expectations. In your mind's eye, you pictured yourself tasting something real and complex, something that didn't leave you longing for more.

Your eyes wandered from the busy baristas steaming milk to perfection, to the patrons hunched over their laptops or lost in murmured conversations. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the muffled chatter around them. You inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses, yet you found no comfort in the familiar scent. Instead, it underscored a sense of monotony that had been creeping into your days, a desire for something more than these meticulously staged outings.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice threaded through your thoughts, smooth and commanding. His eyes were fixed on her, expectant, as he leaned forward slightly, his posture perfect, his smile practiced. “You seem distant today. You know you can share anything with me, right?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, pressing your lips into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking about a paper I have due.”

“Your dedication is admirable,” he replied, his tone laced with an affection that felt like a velvet glove masking a steel grip. “Admirable, but irritating. You need to learn to relax a bit. Don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you.”

You nodded. You watched him as he adjusted his phone on the table, the screen alight with notifications—likes, comments, a digital chorus singing his praises. It seemed that he had already uploaded the images, a new record. Cillian seemed to exist in two worlds simultaneously: the one before you and the one inside his phone, each moment curated for maximum effect.

“Let’s take a selfie,” he suggested suddenly, his voice light but insistent. “We haven’t updated our cafe chronicles in a while.”

Before you could respond, he had positioned his phone, the lens aimed at capturing the dessert and you smile.  You obliged, tilting your head just so. You braced yourself for a barrage, but he merely snapped one image.

Your stomach curdled. Was it alright? How could he be satisfied by only one picture? Were you ugly and was offering to take a picture with you merely a way to maintain the farce of friendship? He was always buying you things, and you had never stopped to wonder what he was getting in return. Was it a sick sense of charity?

“You’re so pretty here,” Cillian declared, reviewing the photo with a nod of approval. "Our followers will love this."

“Our?”

“They’re mine, but they like seeing you, too. I guess I should share you, sometimes.”

“Right. Yeah, guess that makes enough sense.”

You couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone out there who saw past the facade, who understood the reality of the smiles and the sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste. You longed for the authenticity that no filter could provide, a life where moments were lived and not merely documented for the hollow validation of strangers. You wondered what kind of person Cillian was without that glassy shield.

“Your turn,” he said, pushing the phone toward you. “You should post something too. Keep up appearances, you know?”

“Right,”  you murmured, your fingers hovering over the device. You glanced at Cillian and then back at the bustling cafe, the world spinning around you in a blur of motion and sound. You glanced up at Cillian, who was animatedly discussing his latest social media strategy, his features alight with enthusiasm.

“Imagine the likes we’d get if we posted every weekend.”

“What’s your goal with this?” you abruptly asked. “Why do you post so much?”

He paused, his gaze lifting from the screen to meet hers, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I have dreams, Y/N,” he said softly, almost tenderly. His dark eyes held a glimmer of something fierce, something hungry. “I want to be more than just a face in the crowd. Modeling—that’s what I see myself doing. My face on billboards, in magazines…”

Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the sudden realization that he had been serious about his ambitions all along.

“Then I support you,” you murmured. The words felt hollow, even to your own ears, as if they were being swallowed by the grandeur of his dream.

But as Cillian spoke, detailing his strategies for building a portfolio and networking within the industry, your attention waned. You nodded mechanically, your mind drifting. Your could hear the passion in his voice, see the fire in his eyes, but it was like watching a play through a thick pane of glass. You couldn't reach him; you couldn't touch the world he was so vividly painting with his words.

The conversation began to feel like a soliloquy, his voice the only sound in the room, resonating with aspirations that soared high above your understanding.  Your gaze settled on the phone still clutched in his hand, the screen alive with notifications—each one a confirmation of his allure, each one pulling him further away from her. The light from his phone cast a glow on his sharp features, throwing shadows that danced across his high cheekbones. He was talking about headshots now, about finding the right angle to accentuate the stark lines of his jaw. You tried to listen, tried to be present, but a storm brewed within her, dark and relentless.

Cillian was sensitive, his heart an exposed nerve, and the world he so desperately wanted to conquer was unforgiving, ravenous. The beauty industry would devour his gentle spirit; you could almost hear the snap of its jaws in the distance. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, caught in the maelstrom of criticism and rejection, those princely features twisted in pain.

A shiver ran down your spine upon drawing a cruel conclusion. You wanted to see him crying, but you wanted to reserve the sight for yourself. He would look pretty even when crying—you had seen it before, the way tears clung to his lashes like morning dew, the way his blue eyes deepened into stormy seas.

Your lips parted, breath catching. It was a troubling realization, one that made your cheeks flush with heat. You didn't want the world to witness that vulnerability, to see him stripped bare of the confidence he wore like armor.

“You’re beautiful. The world will love you," you managed to say. “It will devour you whole.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto your, and for a moment, there was silence. “You really think so?” he asked, tentative hope threading through his words.

You nodded, your throat tight. “It’s impossible not to,” you said, and it was the truth. But buried beneath that truth was a coil of scales and green, that dreaded jealousy snaking around your heart. It was a silent plea that begged him not to share his beauty with anyone else. In a world where you often felt mismatched and uncertain, his adoration was the anchor that kept you from drifting too far into the sea of your own insecurities. The only thing you had was him, and the thought of losing even a sliver of that connection was more than you could bear.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice sliced through your reverie, laced with a hint of suspicion. “Really, what’s wrong? You seem spacey today.”

“Sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only tired, that’s still all.”

As you finished eating the desserts,  youur restlessness clawed its way up your throat, desperate for release. With each bite of the overly sweet cake, you tasted the blandness of repetition. The same cafes, the same dynamic, the same Cillian — it was a pattern woven into the fabric of your daily life, one that now chafed and constricted.

You pushed the plate away, the remnants of frosting clinging stubbornly to the porcelain.

“Next time, let’s try somewhere new,” you ventured, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe something less curated? We could take a stroll around town and see where we wind up.”

“New?” Cillian laughed. “Why fix something that isn’t broken? This place is us. It’s our spot.”

Your gaze fell to the empty plate, the hollow echo of ‘our’ ringing in your ears. No, you thought, a slow-burning defiance taking root. This isn’t us; it’s you, and I’m just along for the ride because you pay for everything.

“Guess so,” you murmured, the word sticking in your throat like the last taste of artificial sweeteners. Cillian continued talking, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring within.

You bit your lip, gaze lingering on your phone before shifting to your bag, the dog-eared textbook inside. Reluctantly, you retrieved the device and opened your emails, sifting through the job listings yet again.

“Applying to jobs? You can do that anytime.” Cillian’s lips curled into a half-smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly—a fleeting shadow crossing his otherwise immaculate features. “Why are you worrying about that, though? If you need money, I can talk to my father. He’s always looking for competent people at the company.”

The offer hung in the air between you, a gilded temptation laced with implications. Your fingers paused on the page, the words 'cognitive dissonance' blurring before your eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in your chest.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, more to yourself than to him. “I want to earn my way, not just land a job because I know someone who knows someone.”

Cillian leaned back, his expression unreadable as he regarded you through half-lidded eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, the phrase an echo of acquiescence that seemed to dance on the edge of something darker, something you couldn't quite place.

Turning back to the textbook, you tried to lose yourself in the psychological complexities it held, your mind tracing the intricate pathways of human behavior and motivation. Yet, a part of you remained acutely aware of his presence, the weight of his gaze, and the unspoken challenges that brewed like the coffee behind the counter—bitter and potent.

“Really, Y/N,” Cillian said, his voice smooth like velvet but edged with something colder. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “You don’t have to do this. I can make things easier for you. You’re not just anyone to me. But you aren't family either.”

“You’re not getting it. You’re just a friend, and connections can be so easily severed. I’ve done it since secondary school, and now that we’re entering adulthood, I don’t want to keep relying on you. I want to feel like I’m doing something for myself for once.”

“Fine,” Cillian’s voice dropped, a shadow passing over his face that matched the darkening sky outside. “But remember, my offer to take care of you is always there. It would be much simpler than all this.”

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cafe’s air conditioning. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling slightly. Your ambition battled with the gnawing doubt that his words left in their wake.

“Simple isn’t always better,” your murmured, your attention ostensibly back on your phone, but your senses were hyper-aware of the man sitting across from you.

Your fingers paused over the screen, the list of job postings blurred by a growing resolve. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you met Cillian’s gaze with an icy detachment.

“What do you even want?”

“I need to contribute to my brother's school fees. He deserves that chance.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cafe's buzz dimmed under the weight of his scrutiny. “Which school is he at?”

“Some snooty international boarding school,” you replied, your protective instincts flaring. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want him to know.

“A prestigious place. Must be expensive.”

“Very.”

“A good education is vital yet costly. Surely, for people of your financial status, there are scholarships, grants…”

“None that cover everything,” you interjected, your tone laced with the fatigue of countless hours spent searching for financial aid.

“Then work harder,” Cillian suggested, his words wrapped in a honeyed tone that did little to sweeten their bite. “Or not. You could always reconsider my proposal.”

“I already said no to the job.”

“Not that one.”

You recoiled, as if the words were a physical blow. “Stop joking about that,” you stated, your voice quiet but fierce. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

An unreadable expression crossed Cillian's face before he masked it with a charming smile. “As you wish. But the world isn’t kind to dreamers who walk alone.”

Your heartbeat quickened, not from flattery but from the veiled warning in his tone.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper as you clammbered out of your seat, sidestepped away from Cillian. Your fingers trailed the cool, marbled countertop of the cafe as you headed towards the sanctuary of the restroom. Inside, the air was perfumed with lavender and vanilla, an artificial calm that did little to soothe your troubled thoughts.

Standing at the sink, you turned the cold tap and splashed water onto your face, watching as droplets clung stubbornly to your glasses before tumbling down. You looked up, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. The girl reflected back at you had eyes wide with determination, yet shadowed by doubt. With a trembling hand, you pushed the glasses up the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath, trying to wash away the worry etched into your forehead.

“Can you believe we happened to come here at the same time as them?”

“As who?”

“That’s  Y/N L/N,” a hushed voice pierced through the quiet, followed by the sound of stifled giggles.

You stilled, your heart skipping a beat. You recognized the voices of fellow students, their words weaving through the space between the stalls and sink, ensnaring your attention.

“The one who's always with Cillian?” another whispered, a note of envy threading through her tone.

“Exactly! I thought they were just friends, but seeing them here together, they must be dating. She’s so lucky; he looks like he walked out of a fashion magazine… Vogue, who?”

Your hands paused, water dripping from your fingertips. Their words wrapped around you like a velvet robe, heavy with implications you’d never dared to consider. To them, you were no longer invisible, no longer just a friend clinging to the edges of Cillian’s spotlight. You were the object of speculation, the center of a narrative spun from half-truths and assumptions.

Your reflection in the mirror now seemed different, caught in the crossfire of jealousy and admiration. It was unsettling, this new role you hadn’t auditioned for. And yet, part of you reveled in the novelty, the taste of a life where you weren’t just surviving but thriving in the eyes of others.

“Seriously, what does he see in her, though?” the first voice added with a scoff, the sound sharp enough to cut through your fleeting fantasy. “She’s not even that pretty, and she doesn’t even dress well.”

“Who knows? Maybe she's not as plain as she looks. Or maybe it's her brain. Isn't she a biomed major?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I had it.”

You exhaled slowly, the air leaving your lungs like the deflating of a balloon. With one last glance at your uncertain reflection, you adjusted your clothes and stepped out of the restroom. Your eyes scanned the café until they settled on Cillian. He sat at a corner table, his princely features bathed in the soft glow of your laptop screen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said tentatively, approaching him.

“For you, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Cillian replied without looking up, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

You leaned over his shoulder, watching as paragraphs morphed under his command. You noted how he supplemented your notes with additional information, his edits weaving through the essay like intricate lacework. A warmth spread through your chest at his helpfulness.

“Your argument here is strong, but you’ve missed some spelling errors, and the grammar is wonky in some bits,” Cillian pointed out, highlighting the words with a click. “You need to pay more attention to detail.”

The feelings of admiration died.

“Thanks for catching those,” you murmured, trying to match his attentiveness with an appreciative smile. Yet, as Cillian continued to point out every tiny mistake, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. It was as if he were peeling away layers, exposing the flaws you had worked so hard to hide beneath vibrant colors and earnest smiles.

“Here, another one,” he said sharply, almost triumphantly, correcting a misspelled term with a swift stroke.

“Right. I’ll remember that.”

For a moment, you stood motionless, observing Cillian's meticulous grooming mirrored in his meticulous editing.

“Your words are comprehensive,” he commented, finally meeting your gaze. “But sometimes, it feels like you're not quite sure of yourself. You could be more assertive.”

“Maybe,” you conceded, tugging at the hem of your blouse. “I don’t know how to write well. I just want it to be perfect, you know?”

“Just rest up and let me worry about perfection,” Cillian said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the screen’s glow imprinting on your eyelids. The day replayed itself behind your closed eyes: all of it now seemed trivial compared to Cillian's insistent editing, his fingers deftly correcting your words as if they were errant children straying from the path.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the computer screen. His changes were precise, the document almost gleaming with perfection under the cursor's blinking supervision. But it was your essay, your thoughts—your voice, now polished by someone else's hand. You felt a pang of something akin to betrayal, though no promise had been broken.

"Is it better now?”

“Better,” you replied, your voice lacking conviction. You noticed then how the light caught on the angles of his face, a visage crafted to be admired, to be envied. It struck you—how many others had been captivated by that same light, only to find themselves lost in the dark?

“Thanks,” you added, a necessary courtesy.

“Anything for you.”

You turned back to the screen, retreating to your essay to calm yourself. But even there, doubt crept in, whispering that perhaps you were losing yourself in the pursuit of an image—a place beside Cillian, envied by strangers and shrouded in false admiration.

[milksuu]

HIIII omg im in love w ur writing !! if it’s not too much to ask, can i request heartsteel aphelios and his s/o who also happens to be an idol?? maybe something where he finds them stressing about a song not being good enough or just general stress?? ty in advance!!

❥ prompt: Being an idol came with all the stresses one could imagine. Autograph signings, photo shoots, and general press interviews. That was your life. Day in and day out. At some point, something had to break. But Aphelio's was there to pick up the pieces. ❥ content/warnings: hurt/comfort, panic attack, angst, fluff ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel aphelios/ f!reader

Your life was scheduled. Rigid. Kept in a little black book. In the right-back pocket of your manager's steam pressed pants. Anything that went outside the borders of those pages, was irrelevant. Nothing else mattered.

And a lot of times, you thought you didn't matter. Your manager would remind you, quite often. That you were just another pretty face. With just another pretty voice. With just another idol cookie-cutter personality. Easily replaceable. Easily forgotten. No matter how many hit singles topped the charts. No matter how many brand deals you signed. No matter how many venues sold out. If that black book disappeared, you would go along with it.

But when you met Aphelios. You felt it. How important you actually were.

It was a comical meet-cute. There was a mix up in dressing-rooms at one photoshoot, where multiple artists attended. You found it odd when you saw the make-up artist open their color palette. Mostly darker colors, which wasn't on brand for your aesthetic. Still, you didn't question it. To not be labeled a difficult artist, you went along with anything and everything.

It wasn't until Aphelio's knocked on your dressing-room door. And when you opened it. Wow. How pretty. With all that glitter pink lip-gloss, peach summer cheek blush, and gorgeous lash extending mascara. Then there was you; dark lipstick, pale cover foundation, and heavy eye-liner on your bottom lid. He explained the situation by taking a lip-stick and writing on his arm. You couldn't stop laughing ever since.

It was only a miracle that you were somehow able to convince your manager to set up a collab with Aphelios. If it involved work and profit, it was marked inside the little black book. If that's what it took. You would work yourself to death. Even just to spend a fraction of time with him.

And yet. How did it turn out like this? There you were, inside the recording booth at Riot Studios. Your hands crinkling the lyric sheet Aphelios gave to you. Written specially for you to sing. But you were trembling, your voice trapped inside you. Your heart pounded so loud it hurt your chest and head. Your breathes? Where did they go?

Your dizzy eyes darted upward. Behind the booth glass, you saw Aphelios raised in his seat. A look of worry spreading through his features.

Bang! You flinched. Your manager slammed that little black book against the glass. Yelling at you to sing—to stop wasting everyone's damn time. Bang! You're going to be replaced. Bang! You're going to be forgotten. You! Don't! Matter!

The banging stopped. You stared wide-eyed. Aphelios snatached that little black book. Page by page, he tore it to shreds. Tossing the pieces at your manager, and tossing the book on the ground. His voice silent, but you heard him. So loud. So clear. A strong and beautiful voice. It was the strength you needed to not collapse.

Before any physical confrontation transpired, Aphelios pressed a specific button underneath the panel. Shortly after, two security guards dragged your manager, red-faced and swearing out the door.

Aphelios hurried inside the booth with you. You reached a trembling hand to him, stumbling into his arms with utter exhaustion. He caught you in his embrace, bringing you into the safety of his chest. You heard his heart sing. Felt it beating against your cheek, reaching for you too. Thank God. Hot tears pricked the corners of your eyes. That little black book was gone. But you were still here. You mattered.

And you mattered so much to Aphelios. He made some text calls, contacted a couple of important people, and pulled some strings. He arranged your new manager to be his sister, Alune. Who was more than happy to work with you. From then on, your days were filled with Aphelio's, Alune, and the rest of Heartsteel. Your most precious musical family.

an: bruhhh the life an idol, especially if you have a poopy manager must be hell. so stressful. ty for you req. anon. got me in the feels a bit here.

[hollowwrites]

Summer of 6th Year

Ominis x MC Rewrite

Summary - I hate, hate hate, thinking about Ominis with his family. I don’t like to think about what the summer between 5th and 6th year would have been like for him. Too upsetting. The boi deserves better. But I’m taking my own head canon of 5th year into account (part 5 of Blindsided shh) and suddenly it’s not as sad?

Warnings - Mostly just sad thinking about what could have happened during the summer but none of it is mentioned specifically

Word Count - 2393

~

The chug of the steam trains pistons started to fade into the distance as it continued on its journey. With the last train now gone that would mean all attending students to Hogwarts were on the grounds.

However, Ominis was yet to find Evelyn.

He swept his wand broadly across the platform at the remaining students idly chatting or waiting for their friends. With the crowd thinning further, he had hoped she had seen him and he would soon be sent hurtling to the ground in her embrace.

Perhaps she had decided not to return. After the 5th year they both shared, he couldn’t blame her. But his heart sank at the idea. Or maybe she had seen him, and ignored him entirely.

He couldn’t work out which was worse.

Garreth remained patrolling the bottom of the stairs leading out of Hogsmeade station, counting how many Weasleys were arriving and squinting at every new ginger kid that bounced towards the castle. As Ominis approached him, he eyed him cautiously. The Blonde Slytherin didn’t look like someone returning to Hogwarts but rather someone who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. His features were heavy with fatigue and his deep set eyes blinked unenthusiastically in Gareth’s direction.

He looked, truly…

…Gaunt.

“Hello Garreth, you haven’t seen Evelyn have you?”

“Yeah, she’s just asked me the exact same question, she’s…Merlin where has she gone?” Garreth peered over the sea of first years being ushered up to the castle to be sorted. “I swear I just saw her, she-“

“Ominis!”

And there it was.

The voice that calmed him like no other. The voice that could call to him even in the darkest of places. The voice he had heard rattling around his head for six long weeks, each time it would change and morph. Like he was slowly forgetting who she was.

But oh was it sweet now…

His Evelyn…

Garreth watched as Ominiss’ shoulders visibly relaxed and he immediately turned in the direction of her voice. He laughed at the twitch of Ominis’ lips threatening to break into a smile at the mere mention of his name.

Wand in hand he strode towards her, hearing the loud patter of her feet as she ran towards him. Before long, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her height.

So small. He had forgot that too…

“I missed you so much” Evelyn muffled into his neck. Pocketing his wand quickly, his arms snaked around her. One along her waist, pulling her ever closer till there was no gap between them. The other soon joined cushioned behind her thighs as he scooped her clean off the ground. The elated scream that erupted from her lips vibrated through her chest where Ominis pressed his ear. He sighed contently.

Her heartbeat.

He didn’t need to be this close to hear of. But why not when she was so willing? It hammered strong and erratic against his head.

A reminder she was alive.

“Oh you have no idea how much I’ve missed you” he muffled into her arm, wrapped around his head. She cradled him as much for stability as for comfort.

When the pair broke away, minutes after, the platform was almost empty. Garreth bid them both a quick farewell before his departure. No doubt off to watch the horde of Weasley get sorted into Gryffindor.

Both Ominis and Eve decided to take the longer, more scenic route back to the castle, catching up on their summer in a more private and beautiful setting.

“So how is Anne?” He asked earnestly.

“She’s doing really well” Eve beamed “Her fits are down to 2 or 3 times a day, depending on what we’ve been doing, if she’s feeling well. There’s a lot of factors but…she’s getting there”

“And Sebastian?” Her stride slowed somewhat at his follow up question

“I haven’t heard from him” she linked her arm with his giving it a little squeeze. The closest thing they could get to a hug whilst they slowly ascended to Hogwarts. “Have you?”

“Not even one owl” Ominis replied blankly, finding it easier to lie about his summer than offload his own problem into the already fretting Evelyn.

“We did the right thing. Yes? Yes.” She fiddled with her fingers around his arm, picking at her nails as she was known to do. He placed his hand over hers to stop her anxious habit.

“He probably just needs some time” Ominis said convincing himself as much as he was convincing her.

An uncomfortable silence crept of the pair.

So it was going to be like this again.

“I thought you would have visited…” Evelyn’s voice was quiet, barely there as she effortlessly broke his heart in two.

“I…was busy” Ominis lied

“I went to Feldcroft to see you. See if Sebastian had returned and how you were faring…You were never there”

Anne spoke of Ominis often. It seemed they were close. Annoyingly close if Evelyn was being honest. The rancid taste of jealousy rose on her throat whenever the sick Sallow said his name with a tone of affection. Despite that though she had proved to be a valuable resource of information about him. About how they’d spend summers together. How they often slept under star whilst the Sallow twins described different constellations for their blind counter parts.

And how vile and twisted his family were.

Surely he would rather return to an empty homestead than his family

Evelyn’s stomach remained constantly in flux over her summer. Anne: Cursed. Sebastian: missing. Ominis: unaccounted for.

“I was out rather a lot. Holidays. Day trips. The like…” He lied once more. Easily.

If he were to tell anyone it would be Evelyn. She got the Scriptorium location from him. He trusted her. Right?

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He would tell her in his own time but it was killing her, this unknown.

So they simply walked back in silence.

~

The sorting ceremony happened with no major catastrophes or drama. As everyone filed out to go about their nightly routine, find their common room or just get reacquainted with one another, Ominis could hear a gossipy bunch of younger students just ahead. The topic of their conversation piqued his interest away from the infamous student still clinging to his arm.

“Who is that? They weren’t in the hall?” The young Ravenclaw said

“Nope not at our table either. That is green isn’t it? Slytherin?” The Slytherin girl sneered

“Oh that’s just Sebastian Sallow” The eldest student replied.

Ominis froze.

No mistaking it. The habitual tapping of his foot. The impatient huff of air on every second breath. The smell of smoke, embers and coffee.

There, stood leaning against the wall in the foyer between the parted sea of students, was his oldest friend. Ominis remained stationary. Stuck in place by a mixture of emotions none quite strong enough to rise to the surface.

One thing rattled around his head more than anything though…

How dare he?

“What’s wrong?” The tiny voice of Evelyn rang hollow in his ears as Sebastian pushed himself off the wall and made his way over.

Eve followed Ominis’ sightless gaze and her eyes met with Sebastian. She stared at him, unknowing of what she wanted to do. She missed her friend. She wanted to embrace the boy whose sister she now cared for. The boy who showed her that secret place deep in the belly of Hogwarts. The boy who showed her spells and mysteries and new places across the region. The boy whose smile, that was currently plastered across his face, had manipulated her into doing stupid and unforgivable things.

She blinked away images of Anne. She saw her in Sebastian face more clearly now she was almost free of that curse. The nights she stayed up with her over those six weeks, well into the early hours, crying over the loss of her brother.

Now she wanted to hit him.

Make him feel a fraction of the pain he had caused his sister in his absence. Anne’s voice sang in her ear;

‘Us Sallows are thick-brained stubborn mules. He just needs time as much as I need time. I don’t want to see him right now, but I miss him. Does that make sense?’

Eve’s hand fell from Ominis as she hugged herself tightly. Fighting every fibre in her being from doing…something.

“Hello you two. Long time no see” His voice was thick with a confidence only he could muster.

“‘Long time no see’?” Ominiss’ signature sharp tone returned, his voice rising in volume causing Sebastian to flinch somewhat and a plethora of nosy student to turn their way.

“I just mean-“

“Ominis please-“ Evelyn begged seeing the last few students leaving, turn to look at the scene. She glared at them until they realised the drama, wasn’t worth their life. She was the new fifth year after all.

“She wrote you. She went to Feldcroft. Where were you? She put herself in danger for you! Again!” Ominis took a step toward Sebastian, his wand blinking faster giving him a better layout of the situation he found himself in.

“I didn’t ask you too” Sebastian followed suite, both boys leaning forward as though a physically fight was only moments away. Then Evelyn realised...the last time they saw one another, Ominis had his hand wrapped around Sebastian’s throat, and his wand buried harshly in his temple.

“Don’t rope me into this. I’ve had to silently worry for six weeks, Sebastian. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t visit. I couldn’t leave because I had to spend my summer with family” Sebastian retreated slightly mouth going slack as he processed what he said

“You didn’t stay with Eve?”

“Why would I do that to her? She’s already tending to your sister. And you didn’t exactly extend me an invitation like you have every other year” Ominis’ anger slipped a fraction, betraying the hurt behind his words, his brows pulled upwards.

“You didn’t stay at Feldcroft?” Eve yanked at Ominis’ arm forcing him to face her.

“No I…”

“Ominis…” Sebastian reached out to Ominiss’ shoulder, placing a comforting hand upon the taller Slytherin.

“Are you okay?” Eve said taking his cheek in her hand. Ominis didn’t answer.

His head filled with those six dreaded weeks. Waking to screaming as they tortured yet another muggle. Being denied meals for refusing to participate. And of course the immediate punishment. Crucio. That word had been uttered more over those six weeks than he cares to remember.

Though he couldn’t really.

Whether it was his minds self preservation or had chosen to forget he didn’t know. Those weeks were a blur. All he could remember was pain, the fetid smell of that old Manor House and incessant questioning of ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’.

Of course they had heard about her power. and of course, they wanted it for themselves. Thankfully, from what he could gather, they had no clue who she was. Neither witch or wizard, muggleborn or pureblood. They didn’t know. And Ominis would keep it that way.

Whilst Ominis’ mind was reeling, the anguished expression on his face evidence of that, Sebastian was pacing, muttering to himself over and over.

What he always did when he was thinking.

Dangerous.

“So I wasn’t at Feldcroft because I went to look for Solomon” Sebastian spoke with a determination that didn’t suit the topic he had randomly brought up. “I couldn’t find him. His friends, those that he had left, old Aurors, I even asked Sharp for some contacts. Nothing. I assume he’s took another name and fled. Anyway, that means Feldcroft is mine now.

Sebastian turned to his friend, all determination and stubbornness leaving him. All that was left was compassion and love for a boy he failed to protect. Like he always had.

“You live with me now.” He grabbed Ominis by the shoulders giving him a singular light shake.

“Sebastian-“

“No! Even if you don’t want to, I-I-I can make myself scarce…or at least it’s an option. You don’t have to go back there. You can’t…I can’t protect you there. I can’t…” Sebastian searched Ominis’ eyes for any resistance. Worse. There was none. He’d given up.

“It’s not that simple” Ominis spoke quietly, heavy with despair

“Or me. You can stay with me.” Eve smiled up at him before pulling herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist “You’ve spoken very little about your family, I know it’s bad but... I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve offered to-”

“Shhh” Ominis hushed softly, his arm wrapping limply around her shoulders and smoothing her soft hair against her head. Sebastian followed suit and wrapped his arms around them both and squeezing.

After a moment, Ominis relented his shaky arms wrapped around the two of them, resting his chin on Evelyns head.

“I’ve missed you both so much” Ominis finally spoke, his voice quiet and not quite carrying the normal gravitas that it did. It was broken. And soft.

Sebastian was the first to pull away, though kept his hands upon his two best friends. His smile was charming, as it always was.

“I give it till the middle of first term. Then you’ll be sick of us again” Sebastian grinned pulling away from them.

“Please, tomorrow afternoon and he’ll ban us from the Undercroft” Eve smirked, giving Ominis one last squeeze before releasing him.

“Now” Sebastian rubbed his hands together “Is there any of that food left? Unlike some people when I’m late I don’t like drawing attention to it and I’m hungry!”

Ominis sighed and for once allowed the twitch of his lips to take over.

It felt good to be back.

~

Bonus:

“She wrote me six times over summer” Sebastian burst through the door of the boys dorm, a huge knapsack in one hand and a small stack of letters in the other.

“You sound mad about that” Ominis put his book down, knowing no more reading would be done if Sebastian was in a mood

“I am! Look at this” He began to shovel the contents of the bag onto Ominiss’ bed. “These are all for you! There’s at least thirty!”

“Oh!” He felt his cheeks start to burn, feeling the parchment between his fingers

“Honestly it’s as though we didn’t commit multiple crimes together”

Masterlist

Original

[luvrsbian]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐏

A/N: thank you so so SO much for the support on part one. i did not expect that at all!! everyones likes, reblogs, comments, and tags made my whole day (especially the comments and tags, almost cried during class cause i was soft over some of y'alls fic reviews) um, anyway, still fluffy, still 4k words, still a little awkward eddie, and some very minor angst for plot movement. nothing to be scared about, i promise. also, this fic is very much not a slow burn, it's more akin to love-at-first-sight-but-were-both-awkward-idiot-dummys. and as always so much love and praise for mona @enam3l for making sure this fic is coherent and not just me rambling thoughts. please enjoy!

PART ONE ✿ PART THREE

Virginias letter sat heavy in Eddie’s pocket for the remainder of the day. Only being touched again when he took it from the deep, work pockets and folded it up to put in his jean pockets as he left for the day back home.  

Eddie didn’t see you the rest of the day, assuming you left around 2:50 like Virginia would, his own shift not ending till 4. This theory being confirmed when he did finally head out, there were only two cars left in the staff lot. One being his van, his baby that was on her last legs. A few spots down sat the second, Mr. Sinclair’s Honda Accord. Knowing the father of Lucas and Erica, an ex-elementary school teacher turned middle school principal, he probably wouldn’t be heading out till around 5:30 when Ron came in for the night shift and lockup. Mr. Sinclair was a kindly principle with a no-nonsense policy yet, still carefree enough for the kids to like him. He was way better than the principle of Hawkins middle when Eddie attended.   

Eddie parked the Mystery Machine - a name dubbed by Robin the first time he took her and Steve on a drive - in front of the small, blue house. Wayne’s car still parked in the driveway, his shift at the plant not starting till 6; giving Eddie enough time to take a power nap and make dinner for the both of them. Tonight was definitely a soup and grilled cheese kinda night. Maybe some steamed broccoli for a balanced meal or what not.  

Entering the home, he falls into his usual after work ritual of putting any change from his pockets into the coin-jar and his keys next to it. Then, his shoes come off and are placed by the door so he could slip them on easily in the morning. Wayne’s door was closed, presumably still sleeping, so he does his routine quietly. He keeps his shirt on but takes his jeans off to put on some plaid, loose fit pajama bottoms. Before discarding his jeans into the could-be-worn-again pile, he takes out the note. With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed with the letter clasped in his fingers.   

Eddie doesn’t even know why the letter was stressing him out so badly. He knew it wouldn’t be anything truly bad. Yeah, he was bummed he wasn’t warned beforehand about her sudden retirement to Florida, but at least she left him something to explain herself. That’s more than the other people in his life who upped and left with no warning could say.   

Man up, dude. It’s just words on some paper.  

With a few more seconds of memorizing all the curves and loops of his name written by Virginia on the back, he bites the bullet and opens the letter. He unfolds the parchment, noting the formal stationary with a huff of laughter, surprised it wasn’t just a loose-leaf lined page. Eddie begins to read the words left for him.  

Dear Eddie M.,  

If you’re reading this letter that means I’ve finally left this hellhole and jumped ship. (Jumped on a ship, that is. You know me and my affinity for cruises to tropical locations.)  

Eddie did know this, having heard a small handful of stories from Virgina about the cruises and summer beach vacations she would take with her son, Rick, and her roommate, Caroline. He even remembers a few years back, one of the first times he saw her out and about at the grocery store wearing this graphic t-shirt of a humanoid lady cat in a hot pink one-piece, lounging on a beach towel with the words ‘Bahama Mama’ in matching pink script above her. Eddie had walked up to her in the dairy aisle, Cheshire Cat grin on display, and said with his whole chest, “Hello, Bahama Mama.” To which Virginia promptly ignored him with a side eye glance and headed towards the produce section.  

But that also means you’ve met the lovely nurse who will be taking my place. She also has a great enjoyment of beach vacations, if you’re looking for topic starters. You’ve always been quite dreadful at small talk, but I won’t bore you with the reminiscing of our first meeting, you were there, and I hope you remember it like I do.  

Knowing you, though, you’re either jumping for joy to be rid of this old gal or confused on my sudden departure. I’m truly sorry I couldn’t say goodbye in person and to leave so suddenly. But let’s be honest here, Edward, if anyone could convince me to spend another 65 55 years in Indiana, it would be you.  

Caroline and I decided it was as good as time as any to finally do some traveling, just the two of us. Rick and the kids are in a good place now (but please still keep an eye on him when you can, I don’t trust him to be truthful about things, like you are.) You're in a good place as well, whether you care to admit it or not.   

I would never have left if I thought you truly still needed me.  

Eddie lets out a sardonic laugh at her truthful sentiments. Virginia wasn’t a liar, she had secrets like any normal person, but when she said things, she meant them. He furrows his brows noticing a small wet stain on the next line before another quickly appears. Bringing his free hand up to his face he realizes he’s crying. With a hard sniffle and another chuckle at his own emotions he collects himself and finishes the note. 

Enough of the sappy shit crap. You’ll be receiving various postcards in due time through our gorgeous new friend. Play nice and don’t fuck it up, Edward. I believe in you. You need to make friends now before you end up stubborn and old like me. Not everyone gets their own Caroline.  

I better here back from you. My replacement will know what to do with them.  

Love, Virginia Wagner  

Eddie folded up the letter, put it back in the envelope and tucked it in his bedside table drawer. Don’t fuck it up, I believe in you, echoing in his brain. He had no intentions on fucking up anything. Especially with you. You, the woman he just met not even 24 hours ago. He shakes you from his thought, not ready to jump  nto that obvious trap set up by a secret hopeless romantic. He needed time. His mind, body, and heart still processing the words he just read before an evil grin spread upon his lips.  

“I fucking knew that old witch was a lesbian.”  

You didn’t come into work for the remainder of prep-week.   

Which was fine. So fine in fact that Eddie 100% didn’t even notice. He had his own work to distract him. How could he have known you weren’t there when he was so busy moving desks, cleaning floors, eating lunch outside with that sad, puppy dog look on his face because he’s never had to find a spot to eat outside of the nurse's office before. Your disappearance hit him like a freight train on Friday.   

With one of those old school paperback books from a second-hand shop in town in one hand and the other preoccupied with feeding himself. His brain simultaneously trying to read the small words whilst not overthinking every possible thing regarding you.  

Did Eddie just fuck everything up with one meeting? Was he so off-putting that the only reasonable response was to quit on your first day in order to prevent the chance of running into him again? Your ability to make people leave will forever astound me, Eddie Munson, he tells himself.  

The reasonable part of Eddies brain played quickly to shut down this intense negative thinking. Maybe you were just sick? Even nurses get sick sometimes! Or a family emergency! Or your car broke down! Or something evil that Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever possibly be able to explain to someone who didn’t experience it first-hand like him and his friends was happening in Hawkins again and you just happened to be the first victim-  

Nope. No. No. We’re shutting this down here, traumatized and overactive brain. Eddie began doing his deep breathing exercises that he learned from his therapist (well, Steve’s, who had promptly told Eddie because mental healthcare was a luxury he could probably never afford.) Reminding himself he was going to be okay he decided that on Monday, if you were still M.I.A, he’d ask someone. Freaking out and thinking the immediate worst, wasn’t gonna help anyone, he needed to just chill. Not let his mind take control of him. Virginia was smart and could sense things about people, she wouldn't have forced the two of you to collide in such a way if she thought you’d up and disappear.  

Besides, even the kindest of people don’t share Swiss Rolls with people they hate, and Hawkins was no longer a literal gateway to hell.  

Eddie’s weekend was uneventful.  

He finished his book. He went grocery shopping. Him and Wayne watched some rom-com film with Julia Roberts as a sex worker. In hindsight, a bizarre movie choice for both of them, next time Eddie thinks he’ll just let Wayne put on his beloved westerns. He worried just a bit about you. He kept his thoughts as realistic as he could this time. Although, he did at one point worry, whilst lying in bed Sunday night, whether you had gone missing and he was the only one to notice, meaning he’s now fucked up any chance of your rediscovery by not informing someone. But this was Hawkins. If you had truly gone missing without a trace, he would’ve heard of it by now. Especially from Pamela in Admin who did the attendance records and didn’t know how to keep things to herself.   

Point is, if you had an unexcused absence for the 4-days you were gone, she would’ve made it everyones business. Which gave Eddie some peace of mind that he’s heard nothing through the grapevine that runs through Hawkins.  

That Monday morning, Eddie was the first to traverse the halls of the first day of another school year at Hawkins middle. Or he thought he was. He wasn’t so sure because as he made his way to the main switch box that turned on all the hallway lights, a fluorescent glow was spilling out of the Nurse’s office.  

He slowed his pace as he approached the door left ajar, his head peeked around the corner of the entry. The lights were all on, there were various storage boxes on the beds, some filled with medical odds and ends, others empty. It was clear someone had been there organizing supplies.  

“Uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, the first use of his voice for the morning, “Hello?”  

“Good morning,”  

He whips around, startled by the cheery voice.  

“Jesus H. Christ, you gotta stop doing that,” his hand rubbed at his chest, face disgruntled and red from the jump scare.  

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps entering my workspace unannounced,” a look of innocence on your face. You step around him, bodies almost touching for just a second, causing Eddie’s heartbeat to increase embarrassingly so.     You’ve got a coffee mug held tightly in one hand, the other stuffed deep in your cardigan. The same sunflowers embellishing it, that greeted Eddie last time. Your scrub top today was black with various illustrations of Mickey and Minnie Mouse depicted as nurses.   

“I said hello,” he argues, hand rubbing at his chin. He continues to take in your appearance and any new details he can latch onto. You look the same, of course. It’s only been like what, 6 days since he saw you last. The only glaring difference being a sleepier appearance, even with the bubbly morning aura, your eyelids look heavy. You roll them at his defense, a resting smile never leaving your lips.  

You step over bins on the floor, take a long sip from your mug, and set it on the same table he put his lunch sack on last week. He smiles at the mug; it was off white and in red cartoonish font had the slogan ‘I ♡ my aunt!’. You begin to work on the boxes and talk as he stands in the entryway, not wanting to disturb the systematic mess you have in place.  

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” you snort, picking up a closed box and putting it in the storage closet by the office part of the Nurse’s Office, “I normally don’t disappear like that. You know, I just moved in town a few weeks ago, and I’ve been having problems with the house I’m renting,” you sigh after exiting the closet. Now stuffing labelled Ziploc bags with various bandages and over the counter medication into a new bin. You look focused even while speaking sporadically.  

He can’t move his eyes away from your hands as you work diligently on putting content into storage while still explaining about your absence. Vaguely, he catches something about landlords, repair men and having to take cold baths. He was listening but most of his attention was focused on your fingers tackling Ziploc bag openings. Your sleeves rising just enough for him to wonder if shadows were playing tricks on his mind, or there was a wrist tattoo he couldn’t quite make out from this angle.   

“Eddie, ya still with me?”  

He eyes snaps up from your stilled hands to look at the playful gleam in your eye from catching him staring, “hm?”  

“I asked if you’ve read the letter yet,” you decide to step slightly closer, most of the boxes now closed and in the closet. There weren’t that many to begin with but he’s still surprised with how fast you managed to finish the task.  

“Yeah, I did. It was sweet, for Virginia that is,” really sweet. You show your teeth in a wide grin.  

“I’m glad. I was afraid you might hold some resentment towards me for replacing her,” you do that snort laugh thing again, “I am nosey though, did she mention me?”  

Eddie smirks mischievously, hands coming to rest on his hips, allowing himself to incline, further closing the distance between you both.   “Wouldn’t ya like to know, Peach.”  

Your stomach did front flips from the use of that silly, little nickname again. 

“I would, I really would. That’s why I asked,” you say as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. One of your fingers he’d been watching intensely before, now coming up to give his chest a poke. 

Was this flirting? Eddie knew it was something akin to flirting, but was this a playful flirting or a serious flirting? He struggled between the two, often getting told off and read wrong for his natural charm. He’s like pretty sure he’s flirting with the serious intention, but were you? His heart felt like it was gonna fall out of his ass and he might throw up his own brain from all these emotions and thoughts.  

Before he could respond and remind his head and heart to start working again, a familiar voice spoke from behind his back.  

“What is happening here?”  

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes, another body squeezing past him to enter the nurse’s office. He takes a step back to let the young intruder have space to do whatever he needs to do here. You put your hand down and smile at the student you’ve yet to meet.  

Matty Sherman had a head of thick dark curls, a mole on his left cheek, and dark green eyes. He was wearing an obviously well-loved and a size too big Pantera t-shirt he had obviously cut the sleeves off himself to make into a muscle tee. He paired this with loose fitted, medium wash jeans, and some relatively new converse. Obviously wanting to make a statement and look his best for his first day of 8th grade. Both of his backpack straps were secured on his shoulder. His eyes looked between Eddie and you before landing securely on you.  

“Sup,” he smiles wide, dimples and braces on display.   

“Hi,” you smile widely yourself, a hitch in your voice from trying to not laugh at the situation. You glance over to Eddie, who’s looking at you with a pout on his pretty lips. Your eyes shift toward yet another, Ziploc bag that was in Matty’s hand.  

“That for me?” You ask, hand gesturing towards the bag holding obvious medication.  

“You the nurse?” The teen boy asks in a playful tone, as if you’re not wearing an outrageously patterned scrub top whilst standing in the nurse’s office.  

“I am the nurse.”  

“Then this is for you. I have asthma,” he hands you the Ziploc bag, curls bouncing when he turns to look at Eddie now, “Munson.”  

“Sherman, how was your summer?”   

“Dude, it was great. My dad felt so bad about not doing crap with us for Christmas that he took Me and Eli to see Megadeth in Chicago,” Matty excitedly responds, hands flailing around as he speaks. Beaded bracelets he had covering his wrist clanking together.   

Eddie couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. As much as he acted like Matty was a thorn in his side, he did genuinely care about him. In some weird turn of events, he had become to Matty what Virginia was to him. A safe haven at school. Even though Matty was far more popular than Eddie was at the same age, he obviously needed some sort of role model or trusted adult to just care. Matty had his mom at home and Eddie at school. Similar to how Eddie had Wayne at home and Virginia at school.  

Matty was waiting for Eddie's response, wanting some sort of confirmation that his ass of a father taking him and his older brother to see a metal concert was actually a cool thing to do. You were clearly taking your time putting Matty’s medication away to give them time to have this moment. Eddie smiles wide at Matty, to which he instantly perks up more.  

“Man, that does sound like a great summer. I spent my whole summer cleaning up after you kids,” he huffs and gives Matty’s shoulder a nudge.  

“You would’ve loved it, Munson, I’m telling you.”  

“Yeah,” he agrees before your make yourself known again.   

“I hate to break this up but class for you,” you gesture towards the youngest metalhead, “starts in about 5 minutes and I’m pretty sure we need to get back to work,” you give Eddie an apologetic smile. It’s probably the closest thing to sad he’s seen you so far and he’s not a fan. At all.  

“Yeah,” he agrees sadly, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, “We good for lunch?”   

“Yes.” You respond, quickly. Agreement coming out before he even got to the final syllable in lunch. Now his lips are being nipped to contain his full smile.  

“Good, I’ll see you then,” he moves his hand to grab the handle of Matty’s bookbag to lead him out.  

“You will! Bye guys,” You wiggle your fingers in goodbye.  

“Bye,” Matty waves to you as he’s being pulled out by Eddie. Your laugh following them out into the hall.  

Eddie keeps his hand secured on Matty’s bag until they’re a good few feet in the opposite direction from your door. He lets go and Matty takes a few steps to the side and adjusts his backpack to sit better on his back.  

“She’s hot.”  

Eddie is positive he gets whiplash from how fast his head turns to glare at the 8th grader. Disgust on his face, even though he said something factual, he shouldn’t be saying things like that at all. He’s like a baby in Eddies eyes.  

“Jesus, Matty, don’t say shit like that.”  

Matty gasps in mock shock, “Woah! Language, Mr.Munson, I have impressionable ears,” he dramatically covers his ears with both hands. Eddie shakes his head and gives his bookbag a gentle shove towards where he knows his home room is.  

“Get to class.”  

Matty laughs loudly as he runs down the hall to his first period. Eddie felt too old for this shit.  

That Monday lunch went swimmingly. Eddie thinks. He hopes. It definitely felt like it went swimmingly?  

You laughed at his jokes. His actual jokes, not just his situational awkwardness. You asked about his week and he asked about yours. He left out the part of being fearful you quit cause of him. Whilst you delved more into your trouble with the handy men and your landlord; your stove still didn’t work but at least you had hot water. He even got to learn more about you pre-Hawkins by finally divulging the info Virginia had written about.  

“Well, she is right. I do love the beach,” You were talking with a grape stuffed into your cheek. It was endearing but Eddie was silently praying you chewed it well and didn’t choke cause he definitely did not know the Heimlich manoeuvre. “I think that’s what I’m gonna miss the most while here. Indiana doesn’t even have a coastline, how sad is that,” You’re shaking your head in disapproval.  

“We have lakes,” he tries to amend, taking a bit of his Swiss Roll that you, again, have shared with him.  

Your eyes shoot up at him in a glare, not amused by his suggestion, “Eat your sandwich.” You say it in a tone that Eddie imagines you would use while scolding a student, it makes him roll his eyes with a huff but he does as you say. Putting the half-eaten Swiss Roll down to actually eat the sandwich he brought, another concoction of various cheeses and deli meat and some lettuce for color.  

You smirk at him following your directions. You’re eyeing both your lunches once again, almost identical to the meals you brought on your first lunch. Two sandwiches, two Swiss Rolls, one bag of pretzels, another bag of grapes. You have a Coke can and he’s got Yoo-hoo in a glass. It kinda makes you sad that you’re both grown adults eating lunches teenagers would prep for themselves. You think, once your stove is fixed you may start bringing some better meals, definitely less peanut butter and more vegetables. Maybe you’ll even bring enough to share.  

And on Thursday that’s exactly what you do.  

Outside of that first Monday morning, nothing eventful really happened for the rest of the week. You had your small group of after lunch medicine takers and a few kids in need of ice packs and Band-Aids. Your lunches were preoccupied with Eddie, getting to know him better.   

Part of your brain wanted to convince you that they were kinda like mini dates.  Unfortunately, your rational side reminded you that you were just two co-workers who didn’t really fit into any of the other staff groups, looking for some companionship during lunch. You were the replacement of his previous lunch partner. But then you remembered all the snippets of info Virginia had written to you once she began to send you letters after your acceptance to take on her job so she could retire. You probably would never tell Eddie you know this slice of information, not wanting to embarrass him, but she had made it very clear that Eddie was lonely. She knew you were lonely too.   

You two can be lonely together.  

When Eddie walked into your office that Thursday he was extremely confused at the second lunch box placed where he would normally sit. It was bulky and plastic like yours, but instead of Snoopy it was the Smurfs. You were writing something down in that nurses journal you had, your own lunchbox sat next to your resting elbow.  

A worried thought started in his mind, Did you find a new lunch buddy? Were his conversational skills not improving? But then you looked up at him, that kind little smile on your lips.  

“You gonna sit down or just keep enjoying the view?”   

He returns the smile and gestures to the blue thing before taking his seat, “What’s this?”   

“Oh, uh…” You’re flustered. It’s obvious and he’s enamored by it - like most things you do. God what’s gotten into him. “I hope it’s not too forward, but I made you a lunch. My stove got fixed and your, well our- please take no offense to this, our lunches were starting to depress me a bit.” You were talking faster the more you went on. Realizing the possible negative consequences of your actions. Eddie was nice but he didn’t have to entertain your too comfortable and too caring too fast behaviors.   

He quickly shut down your increasingly panicked explanation, “I’ve never had a girl make me a lunch before. It’s sweet. You're sweet.” He was honest. He hasn’t had a girl in this context make him any sort of a meal before and you were sweet. Sharing Swiss Rolls and ‘take as many as you like’ candy bowls with the expensive chocolate kind of sweet. 

You smile. A wide, closed mouth smile at his understanding. He taps his fingers against the hard plastic shell, right on-top of Smurfette's blue face.   

“I hope you like it and I hope you’re not allergic to anything.” You’re calmer now and anticipating him opening his lunch.  

“I’m not. Except, for like, pollen,” he chuckles and unlatches the box. Inside there was a Tupperware of spirally noodles with a mix of cut up: vegetables, tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, a few rogue pieces of broccoli and some halves pepperoni slices, an oil based Italian dressing covering it all. Your aunt’s pasta salad, that was the first recipe you ever learned. Next to it, wrapped in cling wrap was a fudgy looking brownie with peanut butter morsels spread throughout. When he looks back up you had taken out two Coke cans from the stash he knows you keep in the bottom part of your giant metal filing cabinet. A pretty hand holding one out to him.  

“I refuse to buy Pepsi, hope you like Coke.”  

“I love Coke,” he takes it from your hand.   

The food tasted as good as it looked, so good only the sound of chewing, plastic forks on Tupperware, and hums of appreciation being heard. It was similar to the first lunch but instead of the awkward, uncertain air, this moment was comfortable, relaxing. Two friends - because that’s what you two have become in this last week - enjoying a meal together.   

It happened fast, Eddie thinks, this comfort between the two of you. Maybe it’s the kindredness between you two, the various similarities you shared.   

“You know, I can cook too,” Eddie breaks the silence. You’re working on your dessert, always saving it for last. Eddie was impatient and devoured his first thing in the most polite way possible. There’s brownie in the corner of your mouth when you give him your attention, humming for him to continue his thought.  

Eddie’s not sure what possesses him to do it. He could play it off as his role of janitor and having a habit of cleaning messes, but he knows that’s not entirely true. He cups one side of your face with his hand, the rings are a nice cold on your warm face. His thumb swiping the crumbs from corner lip in such a natural way you’d think he would have done this to you often. No matter how hard you try, you'd always been a messy eater. You don’t flinch. You don’t even show any signs of this being unusual or unwelcome aside from a slight widening of your eyes.  

Eddie let's another wave of confidence take over him. “Maybe I can cook for you on Saturday night?”  

You nod, mouth still full of brownie and making the executive decision to not be gross and talk with your mouth full in this situation. He smiles and removes his hand from your cheek. Silently, you both find the skin that had just made contact now tingles. It's hard not to think about when you may steal another touch, but the pair of you hope maybe Saturday.  

the clean up crew (taglist): @avobabe87 @bakugouswh0r3 @ms1oftheboys @rosaline-black @haylaansmi @adoringdanvers @wyverntatty @gaysludge @bebe07011 @boltonbritreads @hugdealer @gothvamp1973 @awhoreforeddiemunson @definitionwanderlust @billytalentleaves @aysheashea @pollenallergie @siriuslysmoking @heavymetalbabyy @killerbailey @sidthedollface2 @whenshelanded @hazydespair @mayhemicfordays @inocrazeh @thora-jane @varevaretostuff @vintagehellfire @chaoticgood-munson (strike means it wont tag)

comment or ask to be added to the clean up crew!

[pedriswife]

Can you imagine which reader is talking gavi or her boy best friend and pedri get jealous so he take reader to car and fuck her hard?? Or just leading to the smut

Your writings make my day better and better ily ❤

I combined these two requests together and changed things a bit. I hope neither of you will mind (car sex pedri either way, a win is a win💀)

Warning! Smut ahead (I'm glad you like my writing, love you too bestie🫶🏼)

☆

Pedri could do nothing but helplessly watch his own best friend Pablo flirt with you right in front of his eyes, your eyes lighting up at the conversation that he was making, your gentle laugh heard throughout the space. He watched the pair of you like a hawk, a vice like grip on his champagne glass, threatening to shatter on the floor.

He had finally hit the limit of his self-control when Pablo had the balls to place his hand on your lower back, pulling you into a side hug. He left his glass on the nearby table and stormed over, immediately pulling you away from him, a death stare directed towards Gavi.

"I think we should go now, princesa, eh? It's getting late, " he stated, you knowing from the tone of his voice that he was pissed off. You bid Gavi goodbye, giving him a slight wave as you made your way to Pedri's car, him following behind.

"Did you enjoy your time with Pablo?" Pedri asked through gritten teeth, jealousy obvious in his tone. His hand made its way to your thigh, stroking soft circles onto your skin, going on to play with the hem of your summer dress.

"Pedri, please, we were only talking as friends. You know I'm only yours, right?" You answered, whispering the last part of the sentence into his ear, watching as the tent in his jeans grew.

He groaned at the statement, his free hand coming up to your throat, applying some pressure, watching as your breathing accelerated.

"Say it again. Tell me you're mine, " he said, his lips making their way to yours, kissing you feverishly with passion until you were out of breath, the windows of his car already starting to steam up.

Instead of saying it back, you decided to show him; you made your way to the back of the car, Pedri following, you pulling of your dress completely forgetting that you were still in a public car park, the fact that anyone could see you, only turning you on even more. You were left only in your underwear as Pedri looked you up and down, his eyes filled with lust.

His mouth made its way to your neck, marking you up, his hands in your hair pulling at the roots, you moaning in response. Your hands grabbed hold of his t shirt, pulling it over his head to be met with the sight of his abs, something that always had an effect over you.

He pulled your soaked panties off, stuffing them in his trousers pocket, whilst his fingers were already playing with your clit, tracing a figure of eight, making you moan in delight.

His hand immediately made its way to your mouth, covering it.

"Shush princesa, you wouldn't want someone to hear what a whore you are for my cock, would you?" He teased, his fingers entering your core, your whimpers stifled by his hand. He continued to drive them in and out of you, curling them up in the process, hitting your g spot as your body shook from the pleasure.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, Pedri pulled his trousers and boxers down to his knees, his cock springing up to his stomach already leaking precum. His fingers continued thrusting into your core, you on the verge of your orgasm until he stopped, pulling them out completely, the loss making you whine against his hand which he took off your mouth only to replace them with his fingers, soaked in your juices.

You sucked on them, tasting yourself on your tongue whilst making eye contact with Pedri, him entering you with his cock this time. He immediately started pounding into you, his groans quiet against your ear, you moaning against his fingers, drips of saliva escaping from the corner of your lips. Tears of pleasure started forming in the corners of your eyes, smudging your mascara, your eyes already having the fucked out look.

The sight of you with his fingers in his mouth, gasping for air as he pounded into you was nearly enough to make Pedri cum on the spot. He continued to hit his cock against your g spot, your orgasm suddenly washing over you as his name left your mouth as an incoherent scream, repeating the words "I'm yours" as the clenching of your core and your cum soaking his cock finally made him empty himself out into you, profanities leaving his mouth as he rode our his orgasm.

Your erratic breathing started to slow down as the two of you came back to yourselves after your orgasms. He pulled out his fingers out of your mouth, saliva dribbling off your face, a tear coming down your cheek as he kissed it away, grabbing a tissue from the back of his seat to wipe you down, your body still slightly shaky.

You sat up straight, your back hurting from being up against the car door the entire time. Needless to say sex in the car wasn't the comfiest.

Pedri noticed your discomfort, immediately pulling you against him as he massaged your back, leaving tender kisses over the marks he made on your neck beforehand.

"Maybe I should flirt with Pablo more often if its gonna get you in such a state" you teased, your hand wiping over the steamed up window, glad that there was no one around that saw the whole scenario as he suddenly stopped stroking your back, shock forming on his face.

"Oh yeah? Next time you pull a stunt like that I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll be needing a wheelchair" he snapped back, you already laughing at his reaction.

☆

Anyways, jealous pedri>>>>>

[briarcrawford]

Little Details For Writers To Make Winters Seem More Real ❄

In the past I did the post “Writing Realistic Winter Scenes,” but it did not quite cover everything, so I thought I would add some more tips! I hope they help for making your stories more realistic.

Stomping Feet.

Only rude people don’t stomp snow off their boots before coming inside. Where I live, you will often also see people giving their boots a good stomp before entering a store.

Once inside a home, take off your boots and (if they have one) put it on a boot tray to stop puddling. If you are entering a store, many locations have rugs by the door. Once inside, wipe your feet a few times.

Holding a drink with both hands and no metal mugs/plates.

Tim Horton drinks are called “Canadian hand warmers” for a reason, so you will often see people waiting for a bus or city train with a drink in both their hands.

As for the metal mugs and plates, I learned my lesson for this one very quickly. When I was an Air Cadet (teens) we would go on weekend survival trips, and most the kids idolized military kits. So, many kids(myself included) would purchase military mess kits. Now, I am not saying they are not handy; plates, bowls, and even a tiny frying pan, all fold up together neatly and flat in your bag, so what is not to love?

Well, when you are camping in places below -25c, and you take off your glove for a moment, you may find your skin sticking to the metal of your plate(thanks to the cold, and steam from your meal). Now, this might seem funny, but if you are not careful, you could actually remove skin.

So, metal is great for cooking and great for the summer, but I suggest being careful if you plan on using them to eat with in the winter.

Bringing Your Animals In

In medieval times, farm animals were often brought into the house. Some houses kept them on the bottom floor while living on the top floor, others not so much. This is to keep the animals from freezing to death, but also to add some extra warmth in the house.

It was not just in the past, either. My past co-worker grew up on a goat farm, and said if it was too cold out, they would bring the baby goats in to run wild in the basement. She remembers it fondly, but it must have been incredibly chaotic for her parents haha.

New Water Source:

Creeks, lakes, and wells will likely freeze over, but luckily you may have another option: snow! Just look for a clean patch, scoop it up, and heat it. It is not a perfect system (during my wilderness survival training days, there were times of picking pine needles out of the water) but it was better than wasting energy to go cut into the ice every several times a day(the holes will re-freeze over).

If it is cold without snow, cutting the ice is exactly what you’ll have to do.

Tree Wells:

Evergreens — like pine trees — are built to shed snow off their triangle-shaped form, so often have little pockets around the trunk with less or no snow. This might not sound like a problem, but occasionally people on skis and other equipment die in them. People are on the move, fall headfirst into them, and their skis are pinned above in the snow out of reach.

Alternatively, these wells can be an emergency shelter from a storm or hunting hiding spot. Do note that you (for the obvious reason of wood everywhere) can not light a fire in these shelters.

Easy Tracking:

It’s not easy to hide prints in the winter, and they are more obvious. This could be good if your character is tracking something, but bad if they are trying to get away.

Some shows have the characters sweeping the ground behind them, but if the snow is over a foot deep, that wont really work.

Realistic Ice:

If you are on a lake, do not expect it to be quiet. It is always flexing and cracking, and sometimes this sounds like a pop, and other times it can sound like the lake is singing.

Ice can also look different. Some (like Abraham Lake in Alberta) is known for it’s frozen bubbles, while others flex so much while freezing that the ice breaches the surface into what look like frozen waves.

While we are on the topic of ice, crampons/ice cleats. Crampons are spikes that attach to your boots, and people here use smaller ones just for walking the dogs. They bite into the ice, making you less likely to slip. They are not a new invention, either. They have found archeological evidence of them that are thousands of years old in different places around the world.

Sounds:

If it is very cold out, sounds are louder. This is one part because there are no leaves on the trees, but also because noise travels through cold air easier. Both these are why any sound (such as the crunching of snow) can seem so loud in the winter.

Alternatively, the snow can muffle sounds (it is an insulator) but only to a certain temperature. This insulation can make the world around you seem almost unnaturally quiet as it muffles any surrounding sounds.

So basically, mildly cold with snow means muffled sounds, while very cold means traveling sounds.

Multiple Socks:

If you are hiking in the winter, it is recommended that you carry at least three pairs of socks to change into at some time. The reason? Your feet will still sweat even if it’s cold, and that sweat can freeze. As a general rule, if your feet start getting cold, consider changing socks.

Boots Near The Fire:

In movies, characters always put their hands near the fire, and that does happen. It is not just the hands, though. People often sit with their boots near the fire and they may start to steam as the ice and snow melt.

This can be so tempting, that there is normally that one person in the group who accidentally melts the rubber of a boot by putting it too close to the fire, or by resting their boot on the metal rings that some campsites have. While we were sleeping in lean-to’s, one kid even scooted too close to his fire in his sleep, and woke to his whole boot melting. It melted so bad, his boot had to be duct-taped together or else they would send him home.

Since people in the past would not have rubber/plastic on their boots, they would react differently to the fires, but you can bet people in the past did the same.

Pack Sled:

If the snow is deep, you may see people (especially skiers and snowshoers) with a sled that has their pack in it. This is to help take some of the weight off you, which stops you from sinking as far in the snow.

Little Modern Details:

Shoveling the Walks

It’s a silly detail, I know, but it is never in books or movies. Here, you have to shovel your walks by law, but there are two other reasons as well. You need to keep the snow from piling up over your boots, and also to keep your vehicle from getting stuck. For this, people either own a shovel or a snow-blower, then put salt or gravel over the icy spots.

Our homes here are built with a roof overhang to keep snow and such from piling at the door, but homes that are not so lucky (such as places that don’t normally get snow) or homes that face towards the wind, might end up being snowed in if they don’t keep up with shoveling.

Prep your vehicle.

In movies and books in cold places with a storm, the hero jumps into the car and rushes away. In real life, they wouldn’t be able to see out the windows. The real process: Start your vehicle about 10min before leaving. While you wait for it to warm, brush off the snow and scrape ice from the windows.

If your character is in that much of a rush, they can put the window down (if it is not frozen) and stick their head out the window while they drive(100% not recommended lol. You can’t even use a seatbelt if you do this).

Fighting for the Register:

If you are a kid and you come in with wet boots, the fight for the spot over the heat register is on! Those with the lucky spot will have far drier and warm boots or mittens for next use.

Dead Batteries:

If it is really cold out and you have something like a phone with you, you had better keep it in your inside pocket(most winter jackets have them) closest to your body. If not, even a full battery can completely die out in record time. Batteries simply are not made to handle extreme cold. They sometimes turn on again if you warm them up, but other times you will have to plug them in and charge them.

[kpoptrashlord-007]

    Rain patters against the roof in large drops. A once beautiful sunrise turned dreary in a matter of seconds. Dark clouds hang overhead. Static sparks dance across your cardigan as you smooth it down with one hand. In the other is a steaming cup of tea. Its warmth is ebbing, losing the battle against the morning breeze. There’s a bite in the air – summer is ending. 

    Yawning, you pace to the other end of the balcony. On the street below a car passes. It’s that in-between hour where most people are asleep or already at work. Any other day you would be amongst them but today is different; today is special. Sliding your hand into your pocket you procure your phone. Anticipation courses through you. He’s on the way. After many long weeks apart, your boyfriend will soon be home.

    With a final glance around the quiet neighbourhood (and a mighty deep inhale to accompany it), you turn around… and  just about leap out of your skin. Leaning against the sliding door is Seungmin. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as he watches you. Soft hair speckled with rain shines as the sun bursts through the clouds. Dressed casually in a black hoodie and sweats, he’s as handsome as ever.

    “You scared me,” you say around a small laugh. “Got in okay?”

    He nods, a playful grin on full display. “Sorry. You just looked so… content.”

    “Because I knew you were on the way.”

    “Missed me that much?”

    With a few short steps you’re wrapped around him, arms entangling in his hoodie’s front pouch. Warmth returns to your rain-spritzed limbs and bubbles deep in your chest. Nestled between fluttering lungs, your heart skips a beat when Seungmin pulls you closer. Hugged tight against him, you can hear his inner workings, can feel how his body synchronises with yours. 

    “I always miss you when you’re gone,” you murmur, words muffled in the soft fabric of the hoodie that so delectably carries his scent.

    It’s an overreaction but tears spring to your eyes despite your mind’s protests. Breathing him deep, you close your eyes and commit this moment to memory – a future failsafe against late night yearning. His lips press into your hair where he leaves a gentle kiss. All your worries dry out under the bright sun. He’s home, and the world resumes. Cars beep, children shout, and birds trill, but it’s all ambient noise. Muting the bustle of life, you block it all out to listen to the response that even after all these years conjures pure elation within:

    “I missed you, too.”