#this AU is running wild and that's fine by me

[overdevelopedglasses]

Sunday Six time!

My Sunday is very hectic today, hence the early post, and I was worried I wouldn't have much to share bc of finals week, but a 4 hour road trip pulled through!

A lot of fics got released this week by the conglomerate (including mine!), and I need to read them (only got to 2, iirc) but I'm sure they're all great!

Speaking of, the usual peeps are getting tags: @carbonatedcalcium @fire-tempers-steel @passthroughtime @woundedheartwithin @mike----wazowski @four-white-trees and @skysquid22

If you see this, you write RGG stuff (or even if you don't!) + you want to be included, tag me in your post and I'll throw you in the tags next week!

Got some more Survive!Mine food for all of you guys (hey @lordichamo come see your son), with a fun annoucement: it's a multi-chaptered fic now! (My first one too oh good god) Either all chapters will (essentially) release at once this week, or they'll come out day by day. One of the two.

With that, here's a bit from Chapter 1!

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Using the differing pieces of furniture strewn at various points of the room, Mine makes his way to the large yet still pretty empty closet. He puts on a faded maroon shirt, buttoning the buttons one by one, and grabs a sky blue tie. It would be a bit too bright of a shade for him to enjoy normally, but he's grown to like it. He slips on a pair of jeans that aren't too tight, a black vest, and slides his black sneakers on. He shuffles to the door, grabbing his support canes and descends down the stairs.

He rounds the corner and enters the main space of Survive proper. Kashiwagi waves at him from behind the bar. 

“You really should try the hair-down look one day. I think it'd suit you, and it'd help to change things up once in a while.”

Mine blows a strand of said hair out of his face in lieu of a vocal response. He had been meaning to get his hair cut, but he wasn't in the state to get to the hair salon, nor did either of them own a vehicle.

“Maybe one day. I'm going to get cleaned up in the meantime.”

Kashiwagi chuckles at his response.

“Suit yourself. Don't trip on your way there.”

[tbosasgunsandroses]

snowjanus week 2: ‘crack’

(btw coriolanus is cremello and sejanus is bay roan 💕)

[soupmanspeaks]

if some of the games exist within the canon universe of fnaf can the memes exist too, like do some people go "hor hor hor hor hor hor" is that canon

[reysdriver]

i need more dad James 🫣🫣🫣🫣

James comes home from a trip to the farm supply store with a wild surprise — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little bit of fighting but it's absolutely not angsty, some parental nervousness ig

words: 1.3k

a/n: I need more of him too lol (I'm gonna use this ask to test out my new au tho so I hope you're ok with that <3)

James came home right when you were starting to prepare dinner, much to the joy of you and both your children. You scooped up your baby girl from her play mat on the ground, then right on cue, your toddler showed up at your side, rushing to the front door with you. 

“I guess you heard the door too, Haz?” You asked your son, holding out your hand for him to take.

As he looked up at you and nodded, he took your free hand so that the three of you were all going together to see James. 

Once you saw your husband at the door, all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach that still hadn’t flown away even after all these years. But then, you noticed how he was leaving very little space between him and the door as he closed it, and how he was covered in little strands of fur even though he was just running a few quick errands. 

Before you could even ask him about it, he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It took you a bit of time to register what was even happening, but as soon as you started to melt into the kiss, James pulled away and flashed you a sweet smile. 

He then bent down to greet both Ivy on your hip and Harry standing beside you. 

“I have a surprise for you and the kids.” James said, mostly excited with a hint of guilt. 

You raised an eyebrow at your husband. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged and touched the door handle, ready to open it. “I can’t really tell you. It’s better if I show you.”

He opened the front door to reveal a ridiculously small horse standing fifteen feet away from you and tied up to the bannister outside. 

It was half your size and incredibly fluffy. You had to resist going over to pet it just because you were so in shock at the fact that your husband came home from the farm supply store and surprised you with a whole horse—or maybe just a third of a horse, based on its size.

A thousand and one thoughts raced through your head but before you could make sense of any of them, Harry giggled loudly and began to run towards the horse in front of you all. 

Panicking, you called your son back and walked him back to the porch. You used your free hand to hold him tightly against your thigh so he wouldn’t run back the animal James just surprised you with. 

“You bought a pony on a whim?” You asked your husband. 

“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “She’s a miniature horse. They’re totally different. The guy I bought it from told me all about them!”

Of course. Now that the horse’s title is settled, everything is fine. 

“James, we need to speak in private. Stay here.” 

His face flushed. He knew you were mad because you almost never called him by anything other than your various pet names for him unless you were upset. 

You then ushered Harry back inside the house to the living room, where you set Ivy back down on her play mat. 

“Play with your sister for a minute, Haz. If she gets fussy at all, you can come get me outside, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, sitting down next to the one year-old. “Can we play with the pony soon?”

You exhaled, unsure of how to respond. “Your dad says it’s a miniature horse, not a pony. And maybe, if you’re good.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that, so you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and walked back outside, where you found your husband looking extremely guilty as he awaited your return. 

Once you closed the door behind you, he immediately tried to make the situation better. 

“Lovie, I knew you’d be reluctant about all of this, but I swear I can explain—”

“You bought a horse, James! You were only supposed to be going out for a new shovel and some paint, then you come back with a horse?!”

 “Well, I got the other stuff, too, it’s just in the truck. I just got to talking with a man at the supply store and he said he was selling some of those cuties right out of his horse trailer in the parking lot.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “How much did it cost?”

“Not much at all! The guy was selling them for bottom dollar ‘cause he’s moving soon and needs ‘em gone!” James rested his hand on your upper arm and stroked lightly. His voice softened, and so did his expression. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have bought her if we couldn’t afford her. I’m always thinking about our family.”

You were trying real hard not to look into your husband’s pretty eyes because you knew the second you did, you would have no choice but to give in. You stared at the porch swing, the miniature horse, the chicken coop, anything but James. 

And he could clearly tell you weren’t convinced just yet, so he kept going.

“Look, I know we got rid of most of the animals before Harry was born, but those were the more unstable ones, and that was back when we were nervous about everything. Now we’re more experienced, and she’s just the sweetest thing.”

You exhaled, peeking through the window to check on Harry and Ivy playing on the living room carpet. 

“They’re just babies, Jamie.” 

He bit back a smile at the use of his nickname, letting him know you were warming up to the idea. 

“Harry’s already three, love.” He removed his hand from your arm and gestured at himself. “I was just barely older than him when I started riding the real horses, and now look at me!”

He smiled and posed with open arms, which in turn made you smile. 

“I love looking at you.” You said sincerely. “You’re the best.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You giggled, then pulled him in for a kiss. And not just one to distract like when he first came home. A real kiss, and a good one too.

When you pulled away, you left your hands where they were and caressed softly. 

“Next time you want to do something extravagant for the kids like this, talk to me about it first, okay? If you kiss me enough, I’ll say yes to anything.” 

James raised an eyebrow, insinuating things that made you glad the kids were inside. 

Your jaw dropped in mock stun. “Not like that, Jamie! What do you take me for?!” 

The two of you both laughed, and he pulled you in for a sweet hug. “My wife, the mother of my incredible kids, the love of my life. I could go on.”

You would have claimed he was just flattering you as an apology for buying the horse, but you had already told him he could keep it. Plus, he says things like that far more than he had ever bought something crazy and needed forgiveness. 

“So I can go introduce the kids to the horse for real now?” 

Your gaze moved over to the animal a few feet away from you, and you nodded as a response to your husband’s question. 

“As long as you have a saddle for that thing.”

He grinned, then kissed your nose quickly before darting away. “Thank you! It’s in the truck! I love you!”

You laughed to yourself, and shook your head amusedly while you walked towards the miniature horse that you now owned. 

“Hi there, sweetheart.” You greeted, brushing her mane with your fingers. “Welcome to the family. James there can be a bit daft, but I think you’ll like it here.”

[vaaaaaiolet]

Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve. 

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep. 

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees. 

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl. 

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script. 

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet. 

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy. 

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine. 

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you. 

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”  

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length. 

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.” 

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank. 

All the way to the hilt. 

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.” 

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?” 

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.” 

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems. 

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?” 

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!” You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three. 

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.” 

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[senascoop]

DREAMSCAPE ☁︎ M.LIST !

WELCOME to the DREAMSCAPE MINI ENHYPEN series— a collection of seven unique fanfics that blur the lines between fantasy, crime, comedy, and romance. Each story dives deep into intricate plots, so if you were hoping for simple FLUFF or SMUT, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're here for thrilling twists, complex characters, and captivating worlds, you've come to the right place! BUCKLE UP; it's going to be a wild ride!

WORD COUNT MIGHT RANGE FROM 10K—20K,

MINORS, please steer clear of the SMUT fanfics. However, don't worry—you’re more than welcome to dive into the fluff stories! They’re just as captivating and enjoyable, offering all the heartwarming moments without the mature content. Enjoy responsibly!

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE FICS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH ONE YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN!

JUST REPLY WITH THE PREFERENCE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED. THANKS!

﹙ 🕊️ ﹚ ぃ ──── SHE HAS LOST EVERY CASE, HOW COULD SHE WIN MINE?

EXCUSE ME !

READ HERE

SUSPECT ! HEESEUNG × LAWYER ! AFAB READER

MATURE THEMES, LAW BASED & SMUT !

Heeseung is unexpectedly thrust into the center of a murder investigation, accused of killing an old school friend. The truth, however, runs deeper than it appears, leaving everyone questioning whether he's truly the suspect. Enter you, his defense lawyer, notorious for losing every case you take on. Against all odds, you're handed Heeseung's case, and let’s just say…it’s a recipe for disaster for both of you. As you dig deeper, unraveling layers of deception, you’ll have to confront your own doubts and insecurities. Will you be able to prove Heeseung's innocence, or will this case be another tally in your string of failures?

﹙ 🧊 ﹚ ぃ ──── DID I REALLY DESERVE TO BE CAUGHT UP WITH SUCH A TROUBLE?

OOPS, WRONG ERA !

READ HERE

TIME TRAVELLER ! JAY × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

20TH CENTURY AU, SLIGHTLY FUTURISTIC & FLUFF !

Jay was the epitome of a perfect student—charming, intelligent, and utterly dedicated. The only catch? He was a time traveler from the future, marooned in the 20th century and trying to blend in as a normal teenager. When you discovered his secret, you seized the opportunity. You blackmailed him into becoming your personal homework and assignment writer, using his advanced knowledge to help you ace your classes. Jay’s attempts to navigate high school life while fulfilling his unexpected new role provided endless amusement and challenges for both of you.

﹙ ☁️ ﹚ ぃ ──── WHY WOULD YOU SHOW UP WHEN I MOVED ON?

WINDS CHANGE ☁︎

READ HERE

EX ! JAKE × EX ! AFAB READER

ANGST & SMUT !

It's been five years since you and Jake called it quits, each going your separate ways. Life seemed fine—until the dreaded wedding invitation arrives from an old friend. Reluctantly, you decide to attend, only to find Jake, your ex, waiting there like a storm on the horizon, ready to turn your calm into chaos. With unresolved feelings and past memories looming, the wedding becomes a battlefield of witty exchanges, accidental encounters, and a slow unraveling of what truly ended between you two. Are the winds of change blowing in favor of a second chance, or will they only serve to remind you why you broke up in the first place?

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

GET WELL SOON シ︎

READ HERE

RACER ! SUNGHOON × ORPHAN ! AFAB READER

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE & OVERALL FLUFF !

You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

﹙ 🦄 ﹚ ぃ ──── CAN'T YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BY YOURSELF?

LIKE PINK !

READ HERE

GUARDIAN ANGEL ! SUNOO × CLUMSY ! AFAB READER

FANTASY & PURE FLUFF !

You’ve always believed you were cursed with the "unlucky girl syndrome." From tripping on flat surfaces to losing your keys every other day, it seemed like misfortune followed you everywhere. But was it really a curse, or just bad luck? You never quite figured it out. When a guardian angel was sent from above, you hoped your luck would finally turn around. Instead, you got Sunoo—a messy, clumsy, and utterly unhelpful angel who seemed more like a walking disaster than a divine helper. All you could think of was asking God for a refund, because with Sunoo around, your life was about to get a lot more chaotic… and maybe a little brighter, too.

﹙ 🔥 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW A TRICK TOO!

SIZZLES OF HIM ᯾

READ HERE

CLASSMATE ! JUNGWON × AFAB ! READER

FANTASY ELEMENTS, MAGICAL AU & SMUT !

There was always something about your quiet, mysterious classmate Jungwon that piqued your curiosity. You couldn't quite put your finger on it—until the day you accidentally peeked into his room and saw him hovering mid-air, surrounded by sparks of electricity. It all made sense then; he wasn't just your average student. Little did he know, you were hiding a secret of your own—one that mirrored his in more ways than one. Two forces of nature, each with powers as different as night and day, destined to collide. As they say, opposites attract, but in your case, they might just ignite.

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

TIED UP IN YOU !

READ HERE

PHONE GUY ! NIKI × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

CRACK (?), PURE FLUFF !

Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

﹙ 🍒 ﹚ ぃ ──── THANK YOU FOR READING!

Sena’s note: I’m not sure when I'll finish these seven fics, but I hope it’s soon. I’m unsure if anyone will be interested, but this was a preview of what’s coming.

main masterlist.

[atyourmerci]

✩Your Galaxy✩

✩ ✩

Abby Anderson / Mandolorian AU

Summary: Abby as a Mandolorian. No specific relationship to reader yet (will obv get into if this turns into a fic).

Warnings: smut, MDNI, some fluff holy fuck Madda wrote fluff?? Fingering, cunnilingus, switch!abby, switch!reader, cannon typical violence, no y/n, only description of reader is having hair, making up shit about space and Star Wars uni that I don’t know!!!it’s fine!!!

A/N: hey babies, so I’ve been sittingggg on this idea for a sec and idk if it will gel with you guys so pls lmk if this would be something you’re interested in. I guess this is a blurb?? If you wanna see it turn into a fic pls let me know:))

✩ ✩

Mando!abby who takes off her gloves so she can feel how wet you really are, even when you promise her.

Mando!abby who let’s you trace your fingers along her face in the darkness of the night so you can imagine what she truly looks like. The first time you weren’t expecting her vulnerability, she had just fucked you senseless as you laid there heaving when she pulled your shaky fingertips to her defined face, allowing you to let them roam freely.

Mando!abby who took her helmet off for the first time when you were laid inbetween her thighs, lapping at her swollen clit. She wanted you to hear her pathetic whimpers that no one else had. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly when you heard the rustling of the helmet come off, but she trusted you… “k- keep going baby I- jus’ wanna watch you”

Mando!abby who couldn’t help but to admit her real name with you as she had you bent over her bed, helmet off heavy breathed over the shell of your ear, driving her soaked fingers into your needy cunt. “F-fuck Mando…” you pathetically breathe out, muffled by the thin white fabric of her bed. “Abby,” Mando remarked flatly. It took you aback at the unrecognizable name, your body froze as your mind raced, did she call you the wr- “call me abby,” she corrects herself. A guttural breath you didn’t notice you were holding escapes your lips. Abby…Abby. A delicate name for the otherwise ruthless murderer. The name swirled aimlessly in your mind over and over again…abby.

Mando!abby who’s secret you knew. She was able to go unrecognized as a woman in her field, tweaking her modulator so her voice came out husky, her build making her larger and more threatening than any other mandolorian you had seen before. She didn’t want them to treat her differently, think less of her ability. You accidentally stumbled upon her well held secret when she came back to the ship with a gash across her abdomen. She tried hiding it from you, but it came up so close on her chest you unknowingly forced it out of her. You froze at the sight of her black bra peeking under her tunic, cheeks flushed. “Don’t say a fucking word,” she bit under her breath. You internally pulled yourself together with your new found information on the mysterious killer, wild eyed averting your gaze back to her cover eyes, eyes that you’ll never see. “Okay.” You said with an attempt at confidence. An attempt at reassurance. She had no reason to trust your word, but she did.

Mando!abby who insists on showering your body even if the lights are on. A stupid fucking ship. If the shower was running the lights had to be on. This was an automatic off zone for you when things started with you and abby. Not only could you see her face, but her entire body would be revealed to you in the intimate space of the well-lit shower. Her body that you had only seen bits and pieces of in desperate, heavy breathed moments, but never her face. But when you had returned from a rather brutal hunt, blood caked in your hair, she insisted to clean you off. “B-but abby-“ before you can protest she began removing your blood soaked clothing out of your sight behind you, “just close your eyes, I’ll stand behind you. I’m not leaving you by yourself for another moment,” the tang of her sweet voice fluttered your ears, unmarked by the hardness of the modulated voice of her visor.

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [5] - Unyielding

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Certain arguments can’t wait.

Word Count: 3600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, you could do nothing but stare at him with wide eyes, frozen in your seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Just hear me out before you grab your gun, it would—” he started but you scoffed and stood up from the lounge chair, the familiar anger rushing through you so fast that it almost made your head spin.

“Do you think this is funny?”

He shook his head fervently. “I’m completely serious.”

A dry laugh spilled from your lips. “Oh really?”

“Charm…”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but my stupid little crush on you went away years and years ago,” you growled, glaring daggers at him. “You made sure of that, so if you dare assume for even a moment—”

“Oh my God, that was the wildest bachelorette I’ve ever been to!” Becca’s voice cut you off as she pushed open the door and stepped into the rooftop. “Also I’m pretty sure I’m in love now, so…” she stopped when her eyes fell on you two. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said after a beat and threw your shoulders back. “Did you just say you’re in love?”

“Yeah!”

Bucky stole a look at Becca. “Who did you fall in love with?”

“That’s a long story. What’s going on in here?”

You pursed your lips together, your heart still beating in your ears as you tried to focus through the fury, then cleared your throat.

“We were—”

“Y/N, we’re leaving!” you heard Ian’s voice and your head whipped around, then you cleared your throat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss on her cheek in a rush. “Let’s get coffee at the usual place?”

“Uh, sure?” she said slowly and you walked out of the rooftop like someone was chasing you, without sparing Bucky so much as a glance.

The road back home was considerably quiet but it did nothing to silence the chaos in your mind. You had excused yourself to your room as soon as you got home, but after an hour of tossing and turning in the bed, you huffed out and kicked the covers off of you, sitting up in the bed.

This was nonsense.

There was no scenario in which you’d marry Bucky. You weren’t even sure you could spend more than half an hour together without being at each other’s throats, let alone being an actual couple—

Not that you had thought about it.

Much.

Fine, back when you were younger and Bucky hadn’t ripped your heart out yet, you used to spend a lot of time thinking about you and him ending up together. He was your best friend’s cool older brother and you were both heirs to your families’ empires, so your little crush let your imagination run wild.

And then he had broken your heart but after everything, even now, your imagination still liked to conjure him up in your dreams some nights.

But unlike before, you weren’t an idiot. You knew what kind of an asshole he was, so there was no way you could even entertain that stupid proposal, no matter what kind of a promise of power it held.

You rubbed at your eyes and got up from the bed, then padded your way down the hallway, then went down the spiral stairs. You stretched out your arms over your head as you followed the hallway to the kitchen where the light was coming from, as you knew it would, then peeked your head in.

Oh good.

It was just Jennifer, your genius chef who was now busy with making a sandwich on the counter while Ryan sat on one of the chairs, his hands clasped together, his back completely straight. Ryan was Ian’s right hand, -ex military, as much as you knew- but unlike Ian, he was much calmer and rational. He was tall and very muscular and didn’t like to talk much, and that added more to the air of mystery he held, considering no one seemed to know much about his past, or his personal life.

“Hey,” you knocked on the door, making both of them turn their heads. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all!” Jennifer said as Ryan stood up from his chair.

“Ma’am.”

“Oh don’t!” you motioned at him. “Please don’t stand up, I just…I couldn’t sleep so I figured—”

“Warm milk with honey and cinnamon?” Jennifer finished your sentence for you, making you smile and nod your head.

“Yes please,” you said and pulled yourself a chair, resting your elbows on the counter. Ryan eyed you, then sat down as well.

“There you go!” Jennifer said, putting the plate in front of him, then smiled at him. “Chef’s special sandwich.”

“Thanks Jen,” Ryan said, his voice gruff and Jennifer turned to you.

“Would you like one as well?”

“Ah no, thank you,” you said and heaved a sigh. Jennifer stole a look at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Too many thoughts,” you muttered, leaning your chin on your fist. “Ryan, are you married?”

Ryan’s head shot up as he chewed on his bite, then cleared his throat.

“No ma’am.”

“Any partner?”

“No ma’am.”

“He’s single,” Jennifer said with a grin. “And all my friends are very eager to change that.”

Ryan offered her an almost abashed smile and shifted his weight on the chair as if he was uncomfortable with the sudden attention while Jennifer put your glass of honeyed milk with cinnamon in front of you with a couple of cookies on the plate.

“Thank you so much,” you said as you took a sip, then bit on the cookie.

“Jen, you’re married and in love, right?”

“And I’m also the luckiest woman in the world in addition to all that,” she said, making you smile.

“Do you think people could get married to people they hate?”

“Why would anyone get married to someone they hate?” she asked and Ryan took a huge bite of his sandwich, looking between you.

“Common interests,” you said. “I don’t know, I had this strange thought…”

Jennifer tilted her head. “What?”

You heaved a sigh, then shook your head.

“Nothing,” you said. “Don’t mind me. Just some late-night thoughts, that’s all.”

                                                 *

By the time you met up with Becca, you still couldn’t stop thinking about last night and Bucky’s proposal, if you could even call it that. It was nonsense, you knew it was, but considering Becca was your best friend, the mere thought of keeping it from her was simply absurd.

“He proposed?” Becca asked, gawking at you. “He actually proposed?”

“Well it was technically a business proposal.”

“And a marriage proposal at the same time?”

You shrugged your shoulders while the waiter filled your coffee cup.

“You know…” Becca trailed off. “Hypothetically speaking—”

“You cannot tell me this is a good idea.”

“I’m not but think about it,” she insisted. “You and Buck already hate each other kinda, so you’re technically already married. You just skipped like ten years into it and got to the resentment part.”

“Becca!”

“You fight like a married couple.”

“If some married couple is fighting like me and Bucky, they should get a divorce,” you pointed out, leaning back in your seat. “I blocked his number, and just…ugh the nerve of the guy, can you believe him?!”

“Mm hm.” Becca said, sipping her matcha before checking her phone. “Oh thank God!”

“What?”

“Sarah is coming to the club this weekend,” she said and pointed at you. “So are you, right?”

“Yeah, me and Ethan.”

“What?”

“I’m bringing Ethan with me,” you explained. “I had to ditch him today, we were supposed to meet for lunch but as you can tell, this couldn’t wait.”

“My brother asking you to marry him even if you hate his guts? Yeah, that beats lunch with the cute ex.”

“And you know, since we’ve been texting a lot, I figured…”

“Yeah yeah, bring him over!” Becca said. “It’ll be fun—oh my God, so my brother’s audacity and ego aside, I need to tell you about the girl I met last night.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you!” you said. “You said you were in love?”

“I am!” she said with a smile. “You know, I was thinking I could invite her and some friends as well, but now that I think about it, maybe I could just take a page from Bucky’s book and open with a marriage proposal.”

“Becca!”

“I’m just saying, we can just skip to the happily married part, flirting is a waste of time at this point and—”

“You’re not doing that!”

Becca let out a laugh.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just because it didn’t work for him doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work for me.”

“It wouldn’t work for anyone, Becca,” you told her and she hummed.

“I’ll just say one thing about this, then I’ll talk about the love of my life, alright?”

“Alright,” you said and she turned her cup in the saucer, then clicked her tongue.

“You and Bucky being married is an absurd idea yes,” she said. “But he did have a point.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I’ll ask you the same thing my aunt asked me when I took my civilian boyfriend to my cousin’s wedding, and I have a feeling your answer will be different than mine.”

“Which is?”

She smiled at you mischievously.

“Do you want love poems, or do you want power?”

Your eyes shot up to hers before you shifted your weight, then motioned at her with your hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Enough about that. Tell me about the love of your life.”

                                                     *

You and Becca ended up spending the whole day together, and by the time you decided you would go back home, it was already dark outside. Watching outside as the driver drove you home, you leaned your head on the window, then felt your phone buzzing in your purse so you grabbed it, smiling slightly at the name before answering it.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” Ethan’s voice reached you, and you could tell he was smiling as well. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you said. “Full of romance.”

“Romance?”

“Becca is in love,” you said and he let out a whistle.

“Your best friend Becca?”  

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I had to talk her out of looking at bridal shops, but we still went cake tasting.”

“Does this person know they’re getting married to Becca?”

“That’s just a small detail,” you joked, making him chuckle. “She invited her to the club for the weekend, I’m pretty excited to meet her. How about you?”

“Do you find data analyzing romantic?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then it was less romantic than your day.”

“And the hospital?” you asked and he took a deep breath.

“Oh everything is fine. Should be free of the bandages next week.”

You bit inside your cheek. “I still feel responsible—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. “Seriously. The incident had nothing to do with you.”

“Mm hm.”

“Besides, you can’t really blame the rollercoaster if someone gets hurt on one.”

“No one is supposed to get hurt on a rollercoaster,” you pointed out and he thought for a moment.

“Okay in hindsight, it wasn’t the best analogy…”

You pulled your brows together. “Wait, am I the rollercoaster?”

“No! No, you’re sitting next to me on the rollercoaster,” Ethan explained. “We’re both riding it.”

“That’s not—” you started but a black sports car wheezed past yours and sharply drifted sideways as soon as it got in front of your car so that yours would have to stop.

“I’ll call you back Ethan,” you said and hung up the phone, your heart skipping a beat as you grabbed the gun from underneath the seat, looking to your right to see your bodyguards’ car stopping as well. The driver lowered the partition as the bodyguards stepped out of the car.

“It’s Mr. Barnes’ personal car, ma’am,” he said. “I know the plate.”

“Oh Jesus Christ…” you murmured as you put the gun back to where it was and opened your door, then stepped outside at the same time Bucky left his car. Your bodyguards hesitated as soon as they saw him, looking between you and you waved a hand in the air.

“It’s fine guys,” you said and turned to Bucky. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders as if nothing was wrong.

“You blocked my number,” he said. “It’s not like I can text you.”

“And what, it wasn’t enough of a clue?” you asked tersely and Bucky nodded in the direction of his car.

“Come on, get in. We’re going to talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Nope.”

“Charm for fuck’s sake…”

“I’m not going to talk to you, and I’m certainly not getting in your car.”

“You seriously want to do this right here on the road?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You are the one who’s blocking the road, motherfucker!”

You could see the petrified expressions on your bodyguards’ faces before one of them gazed up at the sky while the other one put his hands into his pockets and kicked at a tiny pebble on the road, both desperately trying to look like they weren’t hearing you two.

“Listen—”

“I will not,” you retorted. “What is your deal, seriously?”

“We need to talk about last night,” Bucky said and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the bodyguards exchanging glances, so you gritted your teeth and grabbed Bucky’s arm to pull him to the other side of the car in an attempt to get more privacy.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said through your teeth and Bucky ran a hand over his face.

“No I’d say there’s plenty to talk about,” he said. “I mean you didn’t even give me an answer—”

“That poor excuse of a joke doesn’t deserve an answer.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.”

“Well, it was to me.”

He shook his head slightly.

“Just—” he said. “Why not?”

You raised your brows, gawking at him in disbelief and a look of realization dawned on his face before he heaved a sigh.

“Charm…”

You shot him a mocking smile, crossing your arms.

You and Becca sneaking into nightclubs wasn’t a new thing, and now that you were leaving for college in a month, you were trying to spend as much time together as possible. Becca threw her arm over your shoulder as you walked through the crowd to the bar.

“Two martinis please,” she told the bartender and he took a look at you two, but before he could say anything the other bartender muttered something into his ear, then motioned at you.

“Coming right up,” he ended up saying as you turned to Becca.

“So you were saying?”

“Yeah like, he keeps saying he’s too busy but I’m not buying it—ugh, you gotta be kidding me!”

You frowned, then followed her line of sight to see Bucky and Steve stepping outside from the other exit that led to the back alley behind the club, your heart starting to beat faster.

“Where are they going?”

“They’re probably gonna beat someone up, who cares?” Becca said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s in such a mood nowadays, I’m not even gonna let him know I’m here. Arrogant asshole.”

You tilted your head. “…Oh?”

“He and daddy had a huge fight the other night,” she said as she took the drink from the bartender while he put the other one in front of you. “Like my mom had to step in because they were at each other’s throats, that kind of a fight.”

“Why?”

Becca shrugged again. “It’s probably about business. The golden heir made a mistake I guess.”

You took a sip of your drink. “Interesting.”

“Yeah and then he went and broke up with Laura.”

Your head shot up. “They broke up?”

“Yeah!” Becca said. “Which, I’m not sorry at all because she was so annoying, but no girl in the world deserves to get dumped by Bucky so I have mixed feelings about the situation.”

You could feel the small glimmer of hope warming your chest and you pursed your lips together, then cleared your throat.

“I just—I forgot I was gonna call my dad, he gets so mad when I don’t let him know,” you said. “I gotta step outside for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” Becca said and you made your way through the dance floor before reaching the second exit, but before you could open the door, Steve had already beaten you to it.

“Y/N,” he said when he saw you. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you smiled at him. “Um—have you seen Bucky?”

Steve looked over his shoulder, then turned to you with an apologetic smile.

“He’s not…” he trailed off. “He’s not in the best mood.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you said and pushed the door open before he could say anything else, then stepped outside, holding your phone for the sake of appearance. When you saw him, Bucky’s bodyguards were dragging a nearly unconscious man out of the alley while he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a tissue, then lit a cigarette.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears, but you bit down on your lip, fixing your dress before clearing your throat.

“Bucky?”

He turned his head when he heard his name, then exhaled the smoke.

“Hey Charm,” he greeted you, making your heart skip a beat. “Is Becca here too?”

You bit inside your cheek, trying not to get discouraged by that, then nodded your head.

“Um, yeah we just got here.”

“Great,” he murmured. “Tell her not to drink too much, will you?”

You nodded again and smiled at him, your hand shaky a little as you fixed your dress again, desperately hoping it looked good on you.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Yeah well, here I am,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette, leaning back to the brick wall and you licked your lips.

“And are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, just...” you stammered. “Becca mentioned you and Laura.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Happens. I’m fine, it was my call.”

Dear God, he was so handsome that you could just stare at him for hours.  

“Are you going to that gala thing as well?” you asked, nervousness pulsing through your system. “My dad is basically dragging me there, is George doing the same?”

His jaw clenched at the mention of his father, and he nodded quietly, exhaling the smoke.

Your voice was trembling a little, your throat incredibly dry because of the nervousness mixed with anticipation, but you still managed to get the words out.

“So I was thinking, do you—um—do you wanna go together?”

That managed to get his attention and he pulled his brows together, then let out a dry laugh.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered. “What, you rushed here as soon as you heard about me and Laura? Seriously?”

You pulled back slightly, your stomach doing a flip and you shook your head.

“No, I just—”you stammered, tears stinging the back of your eyes already. “I was just thinking—”

“Listen, I know you don’t see it right now, but this little crush of yours is just…” he trailed off with a small chuckle, motioning between you. “It’s kind of adorable, but it’s not going to happen. If I go to that gala with you, you’ll get your hopes up, so will everyone else around us and I’ll end up trapped in something serious—which is out of question. I can’t trust you with the business, not when you’d probably report everything back to your own family and I can’t afford a mistake, not right now.”

You tried to blink back the tears, staring at him as he threw the cigarette butt on the ground, then put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“Not to mention,” he said. “I don’t go for daddy’s spoiled whiny princess type, and you’d be better off with a nicer guy anyway.”

You could feel the sobs threatening to climb up your chest, so you sniffled and turned around to rush back into the club, leaving him there before he could say anything else.

“Don’t tell me that’s the reason,” Bucky’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you arched a brow.

“I said nothing.”

“It was what, almost ten years ago?” he asked. “I was an idiot—”

“I am really not interested in whatever this bullshit is,” you told him. “And I’m going to be late for dinner, so…”

“Just hear me out first—”

You looked over your shoulder and motioned at the driver.  “Turn the car around please!”

The driver did as you asked but before you could step away from Bucky, he grabbed your arm.

“Charm, I can help you get the power you want,” he insisted as you rolled your eyes. “You might hate me right now, but you know I can do that. Just let me get you that crown.”

“We’re done here.” You yanked your arm out of his grip and walked to the car but stopped when you reached it, turning your head to look at him.

“I’m not going to marry you Bucky,” you called out, fully aware that the bodyguards could hear you, and the mere thought gave you a strange sense of satisfaction. “I would never marry you. I don’t go for the arrogant asshole type, and you’d be better off with a nicer girl anyway.”

 With that you got in the car, and the driver started driving as soon as you slammed the door shut, the car gliding down the road smoothly.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. “The fucking audacity.”

Chapter 6

[pressureplus]

Ah hi there Author-San! Just saw your ask box open so I had to request this prompt which is bugging me forever

The reader is female, but looks exactly identical to Sebastian when he was human, hair, eyes, face, everything. Like identical twins, except for the gender change.

Like one fine day our foish guy is chilling in his shop waiting for the expendables when the reader comes through and open her helmet, causing Sebby to go through five stages of confusion like a washing machine.

Hi there, author here, and I LOVE this idea! Hope you don't mind me running a bit wild with it!

Reflection

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟ ◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

You broke through the water, hands grasping the metal in front of you with a huff. A bit of a struggle to pull yourself up and into the room, but you managed anyway. Laying flat on your stomach for a moment to try and catch your breath. Any moment to spare that wasn't spent looking over your shoulder for an angler was a good one. You felt yourself begin to relax, but that didnt last long at all as the light in the room mysteriously flickered on. A more golden color than the other rooms you've been in, and higher too? You sit yourself up only to freeze, panic rushing through your veins like shards of ice. There, sitting taller than any of the previous creatures you've encountered, was what you could only describe as some kind of fish man. His fins flick back and forth as he tilts his head. A smile on his face as his upper set of hands clasp together.

“Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice is smooth and calm, an unfamiliar playfulness that you'd have never expected of a creature down here ringing through.

“Despite what you may have seen, heard, or been told. My name is Sebastian, your only friend.” You aren't particularly fond of the way he says only. Something about it makes your stomach churn and your anxiety build. You can't tell if that's to say he isn't really your friend, or if that's more to the effect of saying there's more things looking out for you down here. You don't like either option. You don't want anything watching over you, mostly because you don't trust it. You've only ever heard this name spoken by the higher ups in whispers, like he's the boogeyman or something. His voice on the intercom talking about the mess he's made of all the operatives sent down to dispose of him. Its a little hard not to be intimidated.

“There's no need to be so tense, I'm not going to bite. Look. You have data, lots of it. All that data you've been collecting doesn't really have a use to you, now does it? Now I have all sorts of things you might need, medkits, batteries, and the like.” He shifts his tail forward just a bit, allowing you to get a good look at his wares.

“For the price of that data that you certainly have no need for, you could have something actually useful to you down here. Isn't that nice?” He hums out as you stand up. Your hands coming up to your helmet to tug it off with a gasp. A nice deep breath in of the oddly fresh air in here leaves you a bit more relaxed as you shake your head. Your hair falls into a messy heap more so than anything particularly pretty or graceful. Imagine if you could have that kind of hair care routine down here? A girl can dream, right? You lean over to get a good look at Sebastians things, but the fish doesn't say a word. His entire body seems tense, gaze locked on you.

“Uh- everything okay?” You ask, but he seems to almost be staring through you.

“Whats your name?”

“Y/N? Why?” You attempt to ask but he’s already leaned his face close to yours, leaving you both tense and uncomfortable. His third hand falls to your hip to tug you in. One hand pushing your hair back, and the other cupping at your cheek. His eyes bright as they flick around your face. His breath comes out oddly shaky, its hard to tell if that's fear or anger or what. Still he releases you all at once, staring you down like you'll stab him while his back is turned. He seems shaken up, like one of those small puppies that gets lost in rooms that are too big.

“You alright? You're acting really jumpy for a man that was talking so smooth just a moment ago.”

“Where did you get that- why do you look like that?”

“Ouch? I can't exactly help the way I was born. You didn't have to be so rude about it. That's a real fucking mean way of calling me ugly.”

“No- no you're not- that's not-” He attempts to correct himself but really just devolves into confused choked noises.

“Is there something specific about my face you don't like or? Like, should I put the helmet back on?”

“NO! No I just…haven't seen a face like that in a while. You remind me of someone is all. Someone I miss.” You hesitate for a moment before allowing the defensiveness to wash off you. He’s grieving, maybe? I mean seeing someone that looks like a loved one you can't see anymore must hurt, right? Especially down here. You're certain that if you'd been trapped down here as long as he has and saw someone that looked identical to a loved one on the surface, you'd probably freak out too.

“Can- Can you see them again?”

“No. They…They've been dead for a long time.”

“Im sorry for your loss.”

“No, no it's fine. Seeing you was just a bit shocking is all. Never mind that- is there something you wanted to buy?” He tries to carry on, but now, every time you step into his shop. He can't help but let his eyes linger on your face.

[petit-etoile]

Oh oh I have an AU I haven't had the chance to write anything for. It's pre-vampirism magistrate Astarion and criminal tav who is incredibly well-versed in law. They keep committing crimes and getting caught in purpose just to see Astarion who fucking hates their guts because he can't ever convict them of anything bc they find loopholes and somehow manage to evade the law. It's an "at each other's throats" kinda romance and they kiss with teeth between cases

darling,  if  you  love  me  say  it  back

pairing  .  ⊱   astarion x tav wordcount  .  ⊱   3,604 content warnings  .  ⊱  canon compliant temporary character death,  tav isn't a human but can be whatever else you like,  astarion isn't a vampire yet,   tav is gender neutral other tags  .  ⊱   canon compliant,  canon temporary character death,  introspection,  p.orn without plot,  oral s/ex,  desk s.ex,  inappropriate use of a cravat,  c.reampie archiveofourown  .  ⊱   here.

taglist  .  ⊱  @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added  .  ⊱   here .

summary  .  ⊱   The Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin has a soft spot for you. You like to exploit that fact.

‘I need to see you in my office,’ Astarion hisses  —  and the tips of his ears are so red you think they might catch flame. He grabs you by the elbow roughly and tugs. ‘Now.’

‘Let’s do it, baby,’ you say smugly. ‘I know the law.’

Knowing the law might be an overstatement. You have studied the law for only one purpose, and that purpose you know like the back of your hand. So when Astarion presses you, you don’t argue. You do as the magistrate says and allow yourself to be dragged across the court. He admonishes you like one would get onto a dog who misbehaves. You can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t like Astarion isn’t a super serious magistrate with a focus on criminal prosecution. He wants to nail you for your sins, for your crimes. The only catch is that no matter how amazing Astarion is at his job, you’re simply better. If you’ve stolen something, you’re more than capable of hiding the evidence. If you’ve murdered someone, you know all the best ways to hide a body. It comes naturally.

Astarion is wearing that ever familiar frown as he marches through the elegant halls. It’s a frown that says you’re in trouble and there’s nothing that I can do. But that isn’t necessarily true. Astarion will do anything you ask so long as you ask nicely, and you’ve been getting good at asking nicely lately. He prides himself in training you even if it isn’t that simple. He calls it rehabilitation. You call it sex.

‘You can’t keep doing this, you know,’ Astarion snaps at you. ‘At some point you must give it up!’

He isn’t good at whispering when he’s riled up. He runs his free hand through his curls in anger, pushing them away from his face like his bangs being wild make it hard to think. It makes him more attractive.

‘You don’t mean that,’ you say with a shrug.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘very much mean that.’

You grin. ‘You would miss me,’ you tell him lasciviously, and he groans. ‘I know you would.’

He huffs. ‘The only thing that I would miss is the peace after the headache you’ve given me. It’s as though you aren’t even aware of how vexing you are.’

You laugh, and the fine line of Astarion’s temper snaps. He all but throws you in his office and locks it behind him. He’s annoyed with the way you stagger dramatically to one of the velvet couches before his desk. You lean over the arm and kick your feet up.

‘Does the idea of cuffs around my wrists excite you?’

You look over your shoulder. Astarion clenches his jaw. It must hurt to frown as hard as he is. You pull yourself onto the cushions and sit demurely. You study him. His rigid lines, tense gaze. He comes and sits on the edge of his desk, pressing his forehead into his hands as if that will relieve him of his headache. You’re determined to make it worse.

‘I apologize,’ you say sweetly. ‘I’ll behave from now on.’

‘We both know that you are not capable of behaving,’ Astarion says thinly.

He shouldn’t have said that. You can’t help yourself, but most of the time, Astarion makes it so easy for you to dig into his weaknesses and exploit them. You stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

‘You should teach me,’ you suggest.

Astarion’s patience snaps. ‘I beg your pardon? Have some decorum, please!’

‘Having decorum is so boring,’ you say, pouting. ‘Life is much more fun when you live freely.’

‘And committing crimes is your definition of living freely?’

‘What is the point of living if not to live?’ you ask. ‘Why confine myself to rules of good or bad when I can choose what makes me happy.’

‘What exactly makes a criminal like you happy?’ Astarion asks bitterly.

You’ve always been possessed by a sense of otherness. You rise from the couch and carefully twist your fingers in his cravat, tangling yourself in him as he has become entangled in you. The Silverymoon lace tickles your skin. You pull Astarion closer and he begrudgingly caves to your strength. Your lips barely brush against his and already you can sense it. The barely contained restraint. The hunger. Astarion longs for you. He’s carefully hidden it beneath the scent of bergamot.

Slowly, you slide him free of what pressures him most. The cravat slides from his neck easily. It excites Astarion. His eyes glitter like you’ve never seen before. Being a magistrate isn’t about caring about the laws he’s vowed to uphold. It’s about power. You give it to him. You hold your wrists together with a wicked grin.

You balance the fabric on your fingers. Astarion swallows. Being proper isn’t really his thing. It’s thrilling to watch as he changes his mind. You annoy him  —  he detests you, wishes you gone. You are the object of all his improper late night dreams.

But as if he’s moving through water, he takes his cravat from your hands. You almost think it’s going to be a rejection. Astarion bundles your wrists together with an expertise that suggests he’s done it before. The binding becomes tight but not too tight and you relish in the way it twists your wrists. He fastens the knot into a pretty bow.

And then he kisses you. He grabs you so roughly by the back of the neck that your teeth slam together, but Astarion sighs so prettily against your mouth you decide you could withstand anything.

It’s a passionate kiss made up of teeth and spit and tongue. Astarion is both pushing you and pulling you. He can’t make up his mind. Does he want you and the stain you’ll bring to his reputation? A magistrate with a weakness for a criminal is such an interesting dynamic, but Astarion is a proud man. You are almost certain he would throw you into harm’s way if a situation ever occurred that deemed it necessary. You would do the same given the chance. This is simply a tryst.

You like to pretend it is, at least. You hate coming across as a romantic. You chase a freedom so exquisite no one will ever understand it, but when Astarion pushes you towards the couch, you don’t complain. You fall across the cushions with ease and catch him as he falls between your thighs.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses hotly, ‘are an irrevocable annoyance I may never be cured of.’

‘You are so very frank in all the ways you despise me,’ you say, moaning softly as he kisses your neck. ‘I think you’re capable of being freed after all.’

‘I am glad to see you are finally aware that it is hate that drives me,’ Astarion murmurs thickly. ‘It repulses me that you think you could possibly be endearing.’

You laugh and Astarion sucks a bruise into your collarbone. He’ll pretend to be aloof and noncommittal to your very presence, but he’s invested. You can feel the weight of his pleasure against your thighs even as he denies his feelings for you. Astarion doesn’t bother with your shirt or his own. He clings to your waist as he finds the lace of your breeches and tugs you free.

Astarion pushes his hand inside of your smallclothes and touches your flushed skin, spreading his fingers so that he can touch every inch your body has to offer. The fervor of the motion is what causes you to gasp. He’s a man on a mission, and he touches you at your core so adoringly it makes the bite of his words all but disappear. He fondles you like he’s never touched your skin before. Your gasp turns to a sultry whine, and he bites your neck like a punishment. You almost think he’s going to admonish you, that he’ll say your silence is worth more. He doesn’t. If anything, the echo of your voice spurns him to go further.

Astarion presses two fingers inside of you and the laughter dies in your chest. He’s trying to rearrange you through a perverse method. If he fucks you good enough, crime’s appeal will turn to dust within your mind. It makes you wonder what it would be like to dote on a magistrate. Would it be enough? Could it be enough? Sinning feels just as sweet.

He curls his fingers against your core and your back arches prettily off the velvet cushions. You bite your bottom lip and try to quell the pining, but then you catch a glimpse of him from beneath your eyelashes. Astarion is watching your every move. His lips are parted. His pupils are dilated. His cheeks have colored at the sound of your voice. He is torn between watching your face for your reactions and glancing down at his hand underneath your breeches. You meet his gaze bravely, chin lifting, and smile.

He adds another just to watch you struggle. The angle, the curve of his wrist, and the situation are enough to make your thighs squeeze together, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He roughly throws himself between your legs so that you can’t, and it’s hot, too hot that you cry weakly. He grins at the sound like he always does, like he always will. It’s his victory this evening. 

But as quickly as Astarion deigned to touch you, he releases you. He stands up and drags you by the wrists, turning his cheek the other way when you try to taste his skin.

‘The prosecutor is ineffectual  —  ’

You snort without meaning to, and Astarion digs his fingers into the swell of your hip. You allow him to maneuver you, bending at the waist while he presses you forward, chest against the chilled wood of his desk. You have to rise on your toes to stand comfortably.

‘Is that what you’re thinking about?’ you ask breathlessly.

‘I’m thinking about the necessary reform,’ Astarion snaps.

You press your cheek into the wood and stare at his door. The prosecutor, the defense. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Astarion is the only one who cares. You’re somewhat glad he does. It means he’s taken your case to interest, and when he presses himself to your lower back, you’re excited. He shoves your breeches to your ankles.

‘Are you going to take me here?’ you murmur. ‘On your desk. Where is your propriety?’

‘You dare speak to me of decency?’ Astarion snorts.

‘The weight of my sins will be forever embedded on your desk,’ you say. ‘You flatter me, your honor.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ Astarion asks. You can hear his patience snapping.

‘Well, you’re just so boring,’ you say, laughing. ‘Why don’t you do something that  —  ’

Astarion kneels down behind you and shoves his way between your legs. You shiver when he presses his lips against your core. He mouths at you hungrily. He grunts low in the back of his throat and digs his nails into your thighs. It steals your breath away. He’s so determined to change the very essence of your being that his tongue and mouth searching where his fingers first were makes you go weak in the knees. You whine.

You press your fingers into the dark, rich mahogany of his desk and try to keep focus. You want to taunt him. You want to tease him, but that wanton desire is almost forgotten entirely by the way Astarion feasts upon your flesh. He parts you with his thumbs and groans against your skin and you almost forget who you are. This is what he wanted. He wanted to pull your desires from you and replace them with his own.

You let him. He works you up as easily as anyone can be worked up, his fingers and his mouth exploring every inch of your skin that’s exposed. He goes to slide a finger in curiously, but you twist your hips away. Astarion is all work and no play. He will tease you relentlessly as it suits him, and he will do what interests him. You interest him more than he’s willing to confess. That’s why he works so hard for your pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he kisses the base of your spine soothingly. Your legs tremble beneath you. Astarion smooths his hand across your hip. You glance at him.

‘Perhaps I can fuck some sense into you now,’ Astarion mumbles.

He has the audacity to sound inquisitive. It’s not like it’s possible, but he seems determined enough to try it out regardless of his intuition. His hands are warm against your skin, and the excitement only builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel Astarion’s skin touch yours. You hear his clothes rustle and his breath catch in his throat. You hide a smile against your arm.

When Astarion slides into your core, it’s like a possession. The breath steals from your lungs. His touch is a familiar constant  —  you would recognize him anywhere by scent alone. You cry weakly. Your toes crunch from the angle, but there’s nothing you want more at this moment than to learn to be good.

Astarion hums behind you as well, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to steady himself. The desk crunches uncomfortably against your belly but it’s a welcome pain. It keeps you focused. You still have the energy to wiggle back against him as his cock slowly pushes in until there is no more room left to explore.

‘Be good,’ he whispers, ‘and I will give you what you deserve.’

What do you deserve exactly?

It’s hard to say. You enjoy your life of crime almost as much as you love the way Astarion bends you over his desk. You’re good at stealing, you’re good at killing, but you’re good at being soft and pliant as well, giving in to that sentimentality that keeps you coming back from more.

At first it was an elaborate game. What could you do to ensure that Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin looked your way? He was a noble elf, and your hands were covered in fresh dough from the baker you stole from. There was a curious glint in his eyes when he looked over you, yet somehow the gods had deemed the yeast and honey on your fingers was not honest enough to be proof.

You are smitten. You bounce taller on your toes with every aggressive thrust, arms struggling to support your weight. Astarion fists his fingers into your hair and pulls until your throat is exposed. He wants you to sing for him, so you do. You arch your back and moan loudly. The sounds of it bounce around his little office.

‘You wouldn’t shut up before,’ Astarion says breathlessly, a hoarse laugh.

‘Do something  —  worth talking about  —  ’

Astarions laughs incredulously, but he does fuck you harder for it. He releases your hair without much flourish and focuses on dragging your hips back onto his cock, punching forward so hard you see stars. It’s wonderful, it’s powerful. If Astarion’s entire goal was to make you forsake the world, he’s done a good job of turning your life around. The cravat rubs against your wrists as you try to seek purchase on the desk. Your fingers drag across the polished wood, and you shudder as you clench down around his cock.

You sound so breathless and silly, groaning while he fucks you against his desk. He fills you full until you’re certain you can take no more. You press a hot cheek against the wood and try to catch your breath. You hook a foot around his ankle for support, twisting on his desk. You tuck your arms beneath your chest. You feel as though you’re coming undone. All your years of villainy, and it comes undone by the consistency of Astarion’s presence.

Your arms are stiff from constantly being up, but you’re almost grateful when Astarion pauses. He helps you turn on top of his desk so you’re on your back instead, and even though the edge digs into your lower back, you prefer that to anything else.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He tells you he hates you, that he wishes you were out of his hair, that he despises you, but the gentleness of his eyes tells you otherwise. He slides back into you with a small moan, and you wrap your legs around his hips to guide him in further.

‘It’s good,’ you gasp. ‘It’s good, you’re good  —  ’

Astarion doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You can see it clear as day in his eyes. Astarion won’t say he loves you, that in his ardent fervor he seeks you out, but he knows that you know. Why else would fate lead you back together? You reach for his face with your hands, and his eyes flutter closed to avoid the wistfulness. He leans into your touch.

You cry softly as Astarion begins to grind into you again. He helps carry you as he does so. And it feels so good, feels so overwhelming that you briefly consider the fact that he has changed you for the better.

A spirit that slides into your very marrow. Astarion is hauntingly beautiful, and if he is a spider then you are a fly tangled in his web. He calls you a pretty thing and you give into the struggle. You press your wrists against your forehead and strain against his cock, unable to hide from the waves of crashing pleasure.

Astarion finishes inside of you with a low moan. He presses a rough hand against your belly to stabilize himself, and shyly, you touch his wrist with your bound hands just to feel his pulse. As soon as he’s caught his breath, he releases you from your bonds.

You almost miss him when he pulls away from you. He uses one of his hanging cassocks to clean himself with and is kind enough to do the same for you. You’re almost certain that your legs won’t work, so you sit up on his desk to rest and damn his paperwork to the hells. You kick off your breeches from around your ankles and sit, legs crossed, while Astarion tries to fix his reflection in the mirror.

‘You are truly an astute teacher,’ you say casually. ‘The art of lockpicking is all but gone from my mind. Thank you, your honor.’

Astarion snorts and shakes his head, torn between ignoring you and giving into your wiles. He curls his hair back into place and then walks back to you, leaning forward until you’re nose to nose.

You think he won’t kiss you, but then he does. His lips taste like summer oranges and you taste him until it’s the only thing you can think of. He hugs you tenderly. It isn’t the same as when he admonishes you. It makes your chest feel warm. You almost feel weaker for it. Your bite is being taken away.

‘I can’t keep protecting you,’ Astarion says softly against your cheek. ‘You torment me day and night. When I lie down in my sheets, I find myself consumed with worry.’

‘You think about me?’ you tease. ‘In your sprawling manse?’

‘Move in with me,’ he murmurs. ‘Then you can be inferior yet vain inside my sprawling manse.’

Astarion is not there that evening. You try to wait as long as you can without seeming suspicious. There are maids, family members, and their admirers who come inside and out throughout the evening  —  but not Astarion, never Astarion. You wait until the sun sets and fireflies light up the streets of the Upper City but eventually, the malaise of abandonment guides your feet away. You walk the streets aimlessly until a shiver runs down your spine. A chill so violent turns you away from the courthouse.

But in the morning, there’s a fuss. It draws you back into where you left and you can’t help but to lose yourself. Astarion is dead. His mother sobs. The members of the city watch who bear the bad news look equally as morose. Astarin’s father nearly falls to his knees in despair.

When you break into their manse that evening, you look for one thing. You steal a cravat from his wardrobe and tie it around your neck.

Then, you leave Baldur’s Gate.

You aren’t sure where your feet are going to take you.

Part of your yearns for the Underdark. Baldur’s Gate is a cursed city, you decide. You wander back to it after two hundred years of avoiding it like the plague, and not an hour within the city are you spirited away on an adventure you never longed for.

You have changed. You can’t really remember who you were all those years ago, or the hopefulness you might have felt in your chest once. You’re different now. A folk hero. You used to steal from the rich and give to the poor before the mindflayers fed you their parasite and stole that part of you. But you aren’t alone this time. You wander the beach for hours searching for anything that can be of use and pause over a love letter that makes you sob.

It isn’t all bad. You meet a half-elf who scowls as much as she mumbles to herself.

On the other side of the beach, you meet a ghost.

His eyes are different from what you remember. The warmth he once looked upon you with is gone and replaced by unfamiliar sanguine.

[ncis-nerd]

Power Outage

grey november au

☆ of course there had to be a power outage on the night of a thunderstorm.

☆ you were still fairly new to this job and adjusting to living in the compound.

☆ you had a deathly fear of the dark and thunderstorms. so it was just your luck, when the lights began to flicker as you were wrapped up in your blanket, reading a book.

☆ you let out a yell in fear, coincidently, a roar of thunder occurred. you cried out, burying your head under your covers.

☆ that was thing about you, even when you were younger you had this fear. your brother had to bring you to his bed to comfort you. as you refused to sleep alone, petrified of the loud noises.

☆ your thoughts would run wild, imagining the worse cases. what if the thunder hit you? what if your brother got hurt and you were fine?

☆ your brother would stay up with you until it was over. those nights consisted of late night scrabble games in his room, him making you hot chocolate, him "letting" you win..God you missed that .

☆ you were shaking under your covers when suddenly, the door opened. "Hun, are you okay? I heard screams-" Nat paused, seeing a shaking figure under your blanket. Of course Natasha heard you, her room is right next to yours.

☆ no response. Nat came over to you and pulled you into her arms. "Shh..it's okay detka, m' here." She mumbled, holding you.

☆ she didn't pull thr covers off of your head. Letting you determine the pace of bow you wanted this to go.

☆ after a moment of her shushing and comforting you, you finally let the covers off. "Now there's that pretty face I love to see." She smiled, wiping your tears.

☆ "N-natty" you whimpered. Her heart nearly melted at the nickname. You never called her that, but your voice sounded so shaky it brought a frown.

☆ "what's wrong, honey?" She frowned, tracing circles on the back of your palm.

☆ you pouted "m' scared", tightening your grip on the older woman. her eyes soften, "i'm right here dear, i'll protect you. do you want to stay in my room with me? it's nice and warm in there. you can bring your blanket if you want" she smiled at you.

☆ you nodded in response, clutching your blanket in your arms. the spy lifted you up, you squealed in response. most definitely not expecting that.

☆ "n-natty what are you doing??" you giggled. she smiled, seeing you laugh "just protecting you, dear! there might be monsters on the floor! don't want them to snatch your feet!!" she exclaimed, carrying you to her room.

taglist: @ssa-shaylam @madamevirgo @radcherryblossompainter @midastouch013 @dumbasslesbi @krystallevine @ellieromanov @midastouch013

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

aus that I always ALWAYS eat up are regency/nobility aus

but an au that I crave but haven't seen is a viking/nobility, but in the sense of "here is a random man I found injured in the woods... my new husband 😍" this feeds off the "I will give you everything I've ever had and more" yk

anon?? thank you for spreading the good word. this is genius and i am shocked it doesn't see more use. you could try this in a number of historical settings and different genres, combine it with different tropes, spin it several ways. also tasty as hell.

gives me strong courtly love vibes--that thing in Arthurian romances/literature; the whole "i am wholly devoted to you past the point of deep passionate romantic love all the way to worship, but can and will never touch you because our stations and other social factors keep us from consummating our relationship; however i will lay down my life for you at every conceivable opportunity and if anything happens to you there will be hell to pay a thousand times over" thing. big big Guinevere and Lancelot trope.

like the idea of you, noblewoman reader, finding this man injured in the woods--handsome man, but has some blood and dirt smeared on him and a wild look in his eye. something is off about him, you know it, but you ignore it because this poor thing hasn't eaten in weeks, he's injured, he ran his horse to death just to escape the circumstances that tried to follow him here. and because the moment you offer to help him instead of turning him in, he looks at you like you're heaven-sent. like an angel.

he lets you lead him by the hand back to town, back to your home (manor, castle, what have you). your friends, neighbors, ladies in waiting see him and almost panic. they're beside themselves trying to warn you about this frankly feral- and haunted-looking man who is gripping your hand like a lifeline but looks like he'll tear the throat out of anyone else who comes too close. you wave them off and take him inside, have a room prepared, a bath drawn, clothes bought. his guest room is nicer than most homes but he never seems to stay there. always seems to find his way back to wherever you are. lurks there until you call him closer to you. this causes everyone else give you a wide berth. that's fine with him.

later, you ask him where his home is and when he plans to return. you say you'll send him off with a new horse, with money, with nice things (things you hope he'll remember you by). instantly he swears his life to you because with you is his place now. you plead with him to reconsider, doesn't he have a family, someone who misses him, didn't he leave anything behind--but he refuses to talk about where he came from. he refuses to talk about what brought him to those woods in the first place, what made him desperate enough to leave his earthly belongings behind and run his horse to death.

he gives his life to you. motherfucker is scary as all hell but he looks at you like he'd die and kill for you. and he would. and he will.

bonus points if you're already married to a man who doesn't treat you well and your new knight/bodyguard immediately knows he'll be solving that problem shortly <3

...

masterlist tag

[problemduetest4life]

Jean Moreau/Shawn Anderson One-shot

I was bored so here's less than a 1,000 words for these goofballs I wrote for a warmup, set in @kevinsdsy 's Trojan's social media AU

“No, it’s crazy that they would think this is a date,” Shawn said, playing the straw of his drink. “Like us? Going on a date? Wild assumption.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “That would not be my first thought.”

“That’s what I’m saying! But if Derek and Jeremy are thinking that we’re going out then they must be thinking about us in that way, right?”

“In what way?” Jean asked, confused.

“In a romantic way, like we’re people who could potentially go out on dates.”

“But this isn’t a date,” Jean clarified. “We’re not people who go out on dates, then. They are wrong.”

“Damn.” Shawn rested his foreword on the table. “Way to crush my hopes and dreams.”

Jean hummed in response, taking a sip of his coffee. He was well used to Shawn dramatics by now.

“But it could be a date,” Shawn said suddenly, a flicker in his eyes.

“What?” Jean asked.

“Jean Moreau, would you like to go out with me?” Shawn asked theatrically, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand. Jean was utterly lost though somewhat amused. That was why he liked hanging out with Shawn after all.

“Very funny, Shawn,” he said, not moving from his seat. Shawn took both Jean’s hands in his.

“Do you want me to get down on one knee? I’ll propose. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

Jean raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Why do you want to anyways? Just to prove you’re ‘dateable’?”

“No!” Shawn said in false offense. He plopped back into his seat. “It wouldn’t matter anyways. No one’s asking me out.”

“Fine,” Jean said. “I will go on one date with you.”

“Yes! Everyone’s been saying we should get together. It’s just meant to be!”

“Everyone?” Jean asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Well, no. Mainly just Jeremy but...”

Jeremy, Jean thought. There was slightly cinching in the muscles of his chest but he brushed it off.

Somehow, they ended back in the apartment watching some silly movie Shawn had picked out. It wasn’t unlike everything other time they had hung out, but Jean could see Shawn tweeting something that was likely going to get at least one of them in trouble.

They were crowded together on the couch. With of their heights and builds it was always a tight fit, a jumble of long limbs and rearranged pillows. Shawn’s hair kept ticking Jean’s nose as the other man lay back against his chest. Jean pulled up his hood to cover it.

“What’re you doing,” Shawn murmured sleepily.

“Fixing your hair. It’s going to make me sneeze,” Jean complained.

“What?” Shawn twisted around to look up at him. Jean was about to repeat himself along with another snarky comment when he saw Shawn’s eyes widen. Their faces were inches apart and Jean was suddenly very aware of how close their bodies were. It usual for them to be physically close with one another and this was mock date after all, right? He swallowed sharply. Shawn blinked slowly, his eyes lashes were blonde and so Jean hadn’t noticed how long they were until now.

Just as he was about to pull away Shawn asked, “are we doing this?”

Jean nodded and met him halfway for a kiss. Shawn’s lips were chapped but they were warm and inviting, nonetheless. He sunk lower into the couch, parting his legs further so Shawn could comfortably lay between them. It felt oddly familiar, Shawn’s callused hands slipping under his shirt to clutch at his torso, pulling him deeper into the kisses. Jean felt safe between the quilt covered couch and his friend above him. He slipped his tongue into Shawn’s mouth.

“So that’s why it’s called French kissing,” Shawn laughed.

“Shut up,” Jean said, “and don’t you dare tweet that later.” He looped a finger in the collar of his shirt and pulling him into another kiss.

They stayed like that for a while. The only sounds were of the creaking couch and their breathing, caught up in one another’s movements. Jean pushed off Shawn’s hood to run his hands through his hair, giving it the slightest of tugs. Shawn made a hitching noise, muffled by Jean’s mouth.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the action on the TV, startling them both. Their teeth clicked slightly, and Shawn pulled back, hoisting himself up with one hand on Jean’s chest.

“Jean,” Shawn breathed. Jean sat up, sensing the moment was over. “I’m down bad for Derek.”

Shawn looked at Jean expectantly. Jean shrugged. “That’s good. According to his tweets, I would say he feels the same.”

“Well, sure,” Shawn. “But you don’t have anything to admit? About Jeremy?”

Jean looked away. Shawn sighed and settled back down against his chest. “We’re hopeless romantics the two of us.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’m going to post that the rumors are true and you punched me in the face,” Shawn grumbled. “Also, that you’ve recruited the freshmen into satanic rituals.”

“Those are lies. I can just tell the truth that you’re secretly a chronic overthinker,” Jean said before squinting at the TV screen. “And you have a kink for making out during Cars 2.

“I don’t know if I should be proud of my influence or disturbed that you’re using it against me,” Shawn said before yawning. He fell asleep shortly after, his phone left unlocked beside him. Jean picked it up, considering what chaos he could bring with full access to Shawn’s twitter account.

[crystalflygeo]

Sinful voice. ft "Morax" + fem!reader (modern AU)

cw/tags: Voice kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, female masturbation, uuhh fantasizing? petnames (sweetheart, sweetie, babygirl, darling).

notes: I literally had this sudden brainrot idea today at work (rip) and as soon as I came home I typed all this in a rush and bOI. That man's voice is just...... no words. Drives me insane, wild, crazy, feral.

To say you were nervous was an understatement.

You were starting a new chapter of your life, fresh into college, moving to a whole other city to dedicate to your studies and enter the “adult world”

You’d arrived a few weeks early to move in and start settling on your little space, it was barely a small room in a house you’d share with other new students. You’d even share a kitchen but hey, at least each one had a tiny individual bathroom for yourselves.

Tomorrow was the big day. Your first day. And although you’d heard many people say they would just take it easy or even skip the first few days (because “they were not that important” as schedules and teachers were still being organized) you’d heard just as many stories about how college was difficult and important and you gotta make good first impressions and familiarize and meet new people and blablabla…

It was pretty nerve-wracking.

So here you are, way past midnight, rolling over in bed unable to calm down.

You sigh and start messing around with your phone, bored. Maybe you can just skip tomorrow?

Or maybe…

You bite your lip. There’s a little something you can do to… relax.

Before you can even think, your fingers are already typing the familiar webpage name on the phone, already smiling mischievously.

In your search for a little “spice” for your solo pleasure sessions you often went for audios and ASMR content. The sounds and voices were much hotter than excessively raunchy lame crude run-of-the-mill videos in your honest opinion. All you had to do was get comfy, close your eyes, and immerse on the fantasy. It was bliss.

And so, a few months ago you had found him.

Morax.

Oh, that man had a voice to die for, deep and rich like syrup, making you shiver and whine every time. His content was absolutely top-notch and you’d been instantly drawn like a moth to a flame ever since you’d managed to drag out one of your best orgasms ever after listening and playing along for a few minutes.

And when you dug around and found his subscription page? Oh boy, you were a goner.

You can only imagine what your parents would say if they knew you spend money on something like this but hey, financial independence means you can spend your money (from part time-jobs and whatnot) on whatever you want.

And damn you want this sexy voice murmuring dirty praise on your ear.

You scramble out of bed, grabbing your earphones and getting rid of some of your clothes before settling down again comfortably, pillow propped against the headboard, almost giggling excitedly as you scroll around the page’s contents.

Morax was obviously an experienced dom. His content covered a myriad of different kinks and scenarios, many of which you had even only started to explore because of him. And though his voice was always calm and refined, with this sweetness and dominant tilt to it, his growls and groans could be just as wild. Morax sounded downright sinful when angry, scolding or degrading the listener. And his moans and soft chuckles? Oh, you could just faint with those.

Or come, probably. Yeah.

“Daddy fucks you in his lap” “Overstimulating my pet’s little clit” “Grind your sweet pussy on Master’s leg” “Waking you up with my big cock” “Making you my good girl” “Cum until you cry and beg”

You blush as you look at the titles, skimming around tags and descriptions looking for whatever strikes your mood tonight. Heck, anything would be fine if it was him though, you swore you weren’t even into the whole daddy kink before you heard Morax but now…

Oh.

Well lucky you, he’d just uploaded something new a few hours ago, you were one of the first views… ever the fangirl, huh? You click on it as you subconsciously lick your lips. Gods, your body feels hot and needy already, knowing what’s to come.

“Daddy spoils your little pussy” reads the caption, and you place your phone by your side, lying down, propping your legs and closing your eyes.

Oh, oh my god. Your breath catches as the audio starts off right away with some lewd wet noises. Usually, Morax would sweet talk for a bit first to set the scene and mood, but you sure weren’t complaining!

Your heartbeat speeds up as your hands start rubbing at your legs and over your panties, just trying to get your body up to speed.

“Hmmm… oh, there you are sweetheart.” Gods. Morax’s voice. You already wanted to moan at the deep baritone vibrating in your ears. “I’m sorry to wake you up.”

How ironic that you couldn’t sleep yourself.

His voice drags, sounds a little tired and hoarse, it just adds to it and you picture him kissing and dragging his tongue along your skin “You like that don’t you baby? Feeling my lips… tracing your hipbone like this. I can feel the goosebumps blooming along your skin.”

Oh goosebumps alright, you shiver as you rub at your skin a little impatient, how you wish you really had his lips worshipping you right now.

“You don’t even have to do anything, you can even just go back to sleep, if you’d like.” He chuckles. “But daddy just needed you, he needed his… hmm… sweet babygirl.”

“Hng Morax yes… need you too, daddy.” You whisper softly, already shifting on the sheets.

He continues to kiss and whisper sweet nothings about how he wants to make you feel good, kiss you and pamper you and make you relax, and you melt. His soft breathing and wet sucking and kissing noises turning you on instantly.

“Alright sweetie let’s take these panties off.” There’s a slight rustle of fabric in the audio as you quickly strip off your own underwear along. “That’s a good girl. Hmm… look at your sweet little pussy, already wet and swollen for me.” He groans and you whimper and buck your hips.

“Oh god please…” You’re so keyed up already. Morax simply has that effect on you, and you wish he would hurry so you can start touching where you most need it.

“Hmm… just relax sweetheart. Lie down and let daddy take care of you… of your cute little pussy.” More erotic noises follow as you picture him slowly going down and down until he kisses and licks at your folds. “Oh, that tickles sweetie?” Another sinful chuckle.

His voice, his voice was just so good. You’d wondered many times what kind of man would have such a deep hypnotizing voice. Surely he was older, but maybe not quite a silver fox. Dark hair, maybe? A large frame, broad shoulders, lean muscles but still elegant, a proper gentleman to go with his personality.

You knew he had golden eyes, that was a fact. Well, at least what he’d mentioned in a couple of scenes, it could very well be a lie but you wanted to believe in that mysterious domineering golden glow, staring up at you like molten heat from above you or between your legs.

Morax’s voice keeps feeding your fantasy, commenting how wet you are, how your body twitches, how he drags, slow and languid around your hole and oh, it’s like your body responds exactly the way he wants, guided by him.

“Darling, let me just… hmm… suck on your cute little clit like this.”

“Ah!”

A shock of pleasure runs trough your veins as you start rubbing on the little nub. His voice muffled, moaning as he sucks and licks and sighs deeply, clearly enjoying this.

“So sweet, so good for me. Oh, it makes daddy just ache for you sweetheart.”  

You want Morax’s cock in you yesterday.

His voice turns breathy and strained, the noises and tension intensifying as you rub faster, legs shaking, your breath coming out in gasps to match his, back arching off the bed. It’s all so good, his praise, his dirty words, his gasps, his moans.

“Come on sweetie, I know you want my big cock but first… hng… first daddy wants you to cum hah… do that for me princess? Come for daddy, come on.”

“F-fuck… fuck… hnnng” You mewl. “M-Morax…”

“I got you darling I’m right here, you can cum baby I want to taste you.”

“Ah A-Ah!” Your mouth parts into a silent scream and your whole body tenses and shudders, pleasure buzzing in your veins and under your flushed sweaty skin. Your juices spill against your hand but you imagine them wetting his chin as his voice groans and moans in your ears. You picture those half-lidded sultry golden eyes glowering at you.

“That’s a very good girl…” He chuckles, and your hazy mind can picture him nuzzling at your inner thighs. “Now, now get ready babygirl, give me your legs like this.” A noise of sheets shifting registers in your brain “Around my shoulder and let me just… hng… stroke my big cock ready for you.”

Oh you were floating, your head was spinning, you parted your legs, following his every command, fingers still rubbing at your oversensitive folds to simulate whatever he was doing. You moan at the slick jerking sound and vaguely lament not having something to fill you up as he would.

“Hmm… we’re just getting started, my dear.” He hisses.

The night was long and the audio not even halfway…

———————————————————–

Even though you ended up going to sleep way past any reasonable time you didn’t really feel tired. In fact, you slept wonderfully, warm and sated. And so, you headed up to class with a carefree skip and bright smile, excited to see what this new day and new year would bring you.

The classroom was rather big but looked pretty empty even though the professor was already there, you slid into one of the front seats and quickly checked the time. You weren’t late or anything, he was just… punctual and early, it seems. Which is more than can be said by the majority of the students… if they are even coming to the class.

Some general studies were mandatory classes, though you’d only had to take a couple courses before moving to subjects more in line with your chosen career. But for now, seems like you had to deal with… history.

The professor was, well… handsome, to be quite honest. And you found yourself quietly admiring him from afar. Prim and proper with long silky dark hair in a low ponytail, a perfectly neat and brown suit, and thin elegant glasses that only drew more attention to his striking gold eyes. Not a crease in sight, not a hair out of place.

He was rather meticulous it seems, with the way he organized his material, checking the time before starting the class on the dot.

“Greetings everyone, my name is Zhongli.” He smiles warmly. “I believe a welcome in is order as this is your first day of college, a new stage of your life.”

No way.

Absolutely no fucking way.

His voice…

“Seems like you’re stuck with me for your very first class.” He chuckles.

Low and deep and velvet.

Oh, you know that exact same sound.

Your eyes widen.

Oh shit.

Mr. Zhongli is Morax…

“Let’s hope this year shall be a good and prosperous one, hm?”

[jo-harrington]

Standard Operating Procedures 1.06 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie’s your boyfriend. Now what?

Previous Part: Disaster Preparedness

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. First Dates and silliness, Sickeningly sweet fluff, miscommunication (not in a bad way), sexual tension, smut, allusion to oral sex, PinV Sex

Note: Here we go guys, the penultimate installment of SMVerse. We only have the finale to go. It's been a wild ride, I'm both ready to move on and give my other stories their attention, and also a little bit loathe to let my babies go. They can always make their little appearances in one-shots in the future if I need them back.

Thank you to @deathbecomesthem and @courtingchaos for looking over a few little things. Your insight is always appreciated.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

"Do I show up with flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"What's that voice, you don't like flowers?"

"Not really."

How you got to become friends with Steve Harrington, you couldn't tell for sure. One day, he was just a frantic customer running around in a Scoops Ahoy sailor uniform worrying about cherry chapstick, and then suddenly he was sitting in your store once a week looking for relationship advice.

Like today, as he tried to figure out plans to win back his ex.

Or something like that.

It was hard to tell with Steve. Oftentimes you got a half-finished story, as though you were some omniscient being that was supposed to know the other parts already. Sometimes he'd be an apt listener with the patience of a saint as you gave him whatever advice you could, and sometimes, he would go off on a one-sided tangent, and thank you for something that you didn't even know had come out of your mouth.

He reminded you of Jimmy a lot, which was why you were as patient with him as you were.

It was fine; it was a Thursday in January and the holidays were over, that meant the mall was dead. You'd hadn't had a single customer yet and a mountain of shipment to process. He could stay as long as he wanted, as long as he kept bringing cookies as payment.

"Everyone likes flowers," Steve argued skeptically after a moment of contemplation. "You're telling me Munson hasn't gotten you roses or something?"

Speak of the devil...

The shop bell rang, a chain rattled, and leather squeaked, and before you could answer, your boyfriend--you were still giddy referring to him like that in your head--himself chimed in.

"If I was a jealous man," he started with an exaggerated glare at Steve. "I would say you're here flirting with my girlfriend."

You rolled your eyes at his antics and crossed your arms over your chest, both Steve and your menial tasks forgotten momentarily, but you giggled nonetheless.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. "Don't you have school?"

"I came to ask you a very important question," Eddie smiled conspiratorially. "But imagine my surprise when someone else is sitting in my spot."

"It's not your spot. And I'm giving him advice."

"Again?"

"He's hopeless, apparently."

"I'm right here," Steve exclaimed and got to his feet, ready to leave. "I didn't come here to be made fun of. I actually need help."

You were about to deliver a snarky remark to your friend when Eddie held a hand out towards you and led Steve out of the store.

The shop bell rang again and you sighed, lamenting your conversion for the millionth time.

You'd just bully Eddie into buying something small.

After a short time, Eddie returned to the store and approached you with a smug smile on his face.

"What?" you asked.

"Oh, nothing," he replied nonchalantly. "Just playing Cupid, that's all."

"Look at you, hopeless romantic." You opened another box and gleefully picked up a little purple jewelry carding that proudly displayed fuzzy red heart studs. You held them up to Eddie's face and squinted one eye.

"What are you doing?"

"Valentine's Day is coming up," you explained. "Trying to see if my resident Cupid here would look cute in heart earrings."

He slapped your hand away and chuckled.

"You know I would," he teased and then fluttered his lashes at you coquettishly.

"Does that mean you're finally gonna let me pierce your ears?"

"Mmmm, does Claire's have a lobotomy option I could consider first? Maybe next time, sweetheart."

"I knew you hated needles," you shot him a teasing glare. "Alright, why did you skip school today? Spill. What is this very important question you wanted to ask me?"

Eddie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and rocked on the toes of his boots, then began pacing around nervously. Which made you nervous in turn.

"You know, you just mentioned Valentine's Day," he began. "And...actually yeah, they're starting to talk about a Valentine's dance at school. It's corny, they always do it. Paper hearts and cherry punch and sugar cookies and bad love songs.

“And the guys were asking if I was gonna ask you. Well, Henderson more than anyone. I think he has a crush on you if I'm being honest, even though he insists that he has a girlfriend in Salt Lake City, do you believe that? Little liar. Isn’t the whole bit that the fake girlfriend lives in Canad—”

"Eddie," you snapped him out of his tangent with a laugh, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. "Are you asking me to the dance right now?"

Ok, a high school dance...wasn't exactly your idea of a good time but...the idea was a bit of a novelty. They didn't have dances like that at your very Catholic, very-all-girls high school. Even prom with the neighboring boys school was...modest dresses and suits and a nice dinner at a banquet hall. No real fun, no real dancing.

Last time you really even danced with someone was at a party Jen dragged you to and then you ended up in a heated makeout session that maybe went a little too far. And wasn't remarkable.

To go to a school dance with Eddie...that would be so sweet and fun. A do over for some non-existent or downright mediocre experiences.

"No, I'm not actually."

Never mind then.

"But it reminded me," he abruptly turned to face you. "That we haven't gone out on an actual date yet."

"Wh...Eddie what do you mean?" you scoffed. "Did you hit your head? We went out on Christmas Eve. Dinner at Benny's."

Eddie had picked you up for work with a thermos of hot coffee that day, you both worked until the mall closed, and then went straight to the diner. The jukebox played Christmas carols only and Ben had two special holiday prix fixe meals: a classic Pot Roast dinner and then one with a little more Benny’s flair—Christmas Dinner style omelettes, candied yam hash browns, and hot cocoa with peppermint whipped cream. You and Eddie ordered one of each and shared.

But you were both so tired that you didn't even talk; you just sat on the same side of the booth snuggled against each other, dozing off and picking at your food until Benny came to wake you both up when he was ready to close.

When Eddie dropped you back off at home, it started snowing right when you kissed goodbye. It was the perfect date.

"I've decided that it isn't our first date," he announced.

"And why is that?"

"Because we didn't even say anything but 'fuck that guy wanting to make a return on Christmas' and 'pass the salt.'"

"You also realize that we've been going out every Sunday since last..." you paused briefly to think back. "May? First week of June?"

"Those don't count either," he shook his head resolutely. "In fact those were specifically not dates."

Funny, that’s how you always thought of them too.

You were about to give in and agree, about to tell him "whatever you say Eddie." He did make a good point and it wasn't like he was calling your relationship off, he just wanted another chance at a first date. What was the harm in that?

But he beat you to the punch, suddenly nervous under your scrutiny.

"Listen, I know it's silly," he crossed his arms over his torso and shrugged. "I just...want to get it right. Make you dinner, see a movie, I know you just told Harrington you don't like flowers but...a bouquet of cookies or something?" He reached over and flicked the bag of cookies on the ear piercing station. "Make you a mixtape, I dunno."

"You made me a mixtape already, Ed."

"Yeah but I want to give you the kind of mixtape a guy makes for his girl."

You melted at his words and fought the smile that threatened to bloom on your lips and butterflies that suddenly fluttered in your stomach.

"And what's on that one that's not on the other one?" you teased, intentionally obtuse.

"You know...ballads and...sappy love songs and..." He froze and you watched as he flushed prettily. "You're making fun of me."

"It's really fun to do," you told him matter-of-factly.

Eddie ran a hand over his mouth and then looked around. He leaned back to glance out into the mall, and then faster than you could react, he ran right up to you, cupped your face in his hands and smooshed his lips to yours in a kiss. You dropped the jewelry you were holding and covered his hands with yours; you took two little steps to get as close to him as you could, and sighed as he broke away to continue pecking at your lips between his words.

"You're a menace." Peck. "You're a trickster." Peck. "And I'm picking you up for a real date." Peck. "Our official first date." Peck. "On Sunday."

You were joined together once again and he paid special attention to your lower lip, sucking on it in a way that made your spine tingle.

"Hmmm," you pulled away, trying to ignore the heat that was overtaking your body. You were still at work, after all. "Sunday huh? I thought Sundays didn't count."

"Well they count starting now." He stole another peck and then backed out of the store. "You have a great day, sweetheart. See you later."

---

Everyone teased you for your entire shift on Sunday.

Mindy was the first, having already unlocked the gate and counted up the registers for store open.

"Oh lookie here," she whistled. "Miss Lovebird is all dressed up for her date with the wannabe-rockstar."

You did a little spin and a pose for her; not dressed in your Seventeen Magazine best, but something a little more comfortable--still a dress, just a little more you--so you wouldn't have to frantically change for your date.

Chrissy offered to do your makeup on break and then confessed that she had a first date fast approaching too.

"No more Jason?" you asked, trying not to sound too hopeful as she swiped eyeshadow on.

"No, he was kind of..." she sighed. "He wasn't what I thought he'd be like as a boyfriend. I don't think I would've had the courage to end things and go after someone I really liked if I didn't work here though. I've...gained a lot of confidence since being here."

"I'm glad," you beamed at her.

Stacey even apologized for all the jokes she'd made about Eddie before she left at the end of her shift.

"I know I give him a lot of shit, but Munson's actually alright," she sniffed uncomfortably, as though complimenting him was something she was allergic to. "That thing he did at Christmas...the Santa thing? That was really sweet."

"Yeah it was."

Finally, 6pm rolled around and the gates closed. The rest of your team went home and you were left counting down the registers in anticipation as Mindy gave you a talk very reminiscent of the Birds and the Bees that your parents gave you once upon a time.

Before you knew it, Eddie was standing outside with his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, and you flashed him a quick "five" to let him know you wouldn't be long.

"Ok listen," Mindy got real close to you know, hand on your shoulder, lips close to your ear as she whispered. "If you guys wanna do the ol' Horizontal Tango tonight--"

"What are you 75?"

"--at the very least do it in a bed and not the back of his van, ok?"

"I swear to god," you mumbled under your breath.

"Invite him back to your place. Light a candle. Ambience. Make sure you have condoms."

"Melinda!"

She started cackling.

"I mean, I guess you don't have to have--

"Utter one more word and you're fired," you pointed at her threateningly.

Mindy immediately held her hands up innocently and then dragged her fingers across her lips like a zipper.

As you finished counting down the registers though, you wondered if you'd only shut her up because she was crossing a line...or if it was because she was actually really good at reading the secret expectations that you may or may not have had for this date.

It was just a first date, nothing was gonna happen. You could think about all of that next time. But…what if…

The store suddenly became unbearably warm.

Before long, the two of you ducked under the gate and Mindy simply waved goodbye while holding back her laughter as Eddie approached you.

"What was that?" he asked, thumbing over his shoulder at her. "Everything ok?"

"She thought she was being funny, but instead she's just an asshole," you explained, trying to laugh off the awkward conversation and illicit thoughts that still lingered in your mind.

"Ah," he nodded slowly, his eyes squinted for a moment and you swore you saw the gears turn in his head. "Yeah...Kyle did the same thing for me too. You remember when I found out the kids had a bet against us? Apparently the whole team had a secret bet going too.”

"And Kyle won?" you questioned eagerly, glad for a change of topic.

"No, Paulie. But P gave me a cut, thanked me for being such a stick in the mud and holding out as long as I did."

"How much?"

"Fifty bucks," he pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. "Gave it to me today and told me to take you someplace nice. Which was the plan anyway, if you were wondering."

The two of you stood there awkwardly for a second before Eddie cleared his throat.

"You look nice sweetheart," he said with a nervous smile.

"Thanks, so do you."

And he did.

He had his leather jacket over a fitted forest green henley, with ripped black jeans and boots. You'd never considered green to be such a favorable color on him, his usual outfits consisting of blacks and reds and the occasional blue, but it was dashing. Brought out the glowing warmth of his eyes, the tiny honeyed flecks that often got lost in chocolate depths.

"I, uh, have something for you," he announced, fishing something out of his pocket. "I didn't have time to do a new mixtape, so you'll have to take an IOU for it. This...might be a little cheesy... but...well, close your eyes."

You followed his instruction and felt him grab your hands and lift them up. He positioned them just so, and then left you standing there as he prepped whatever your gift was.

"It's not my usual thing," he muttered as he fumbled with what-sounded-like a rustle of paper. "But the guys helped me clean out the van--"

"You cleaned the van?" you scoffed. "For me? Eddie I've been in your van before."

"Hey listen," he suddenly sounded offended. "First date and such, you deserve the best."

"I like the clutter in your van," you told him truthfully.

"Listen, if I hadn't cleaned it out I would've never been able to gift you with this, the Mirror of Galadriel. Well it's more like a hand mirror. Hey no peeking!"

He continued telling you about the way Lucas and Will, crafty as they were, helped him make this little surprise during the break of their Friday night session of Hellfire.

"Apparently Sinclair's little sister and her friends make these for each other, and he's helped them. Which, ask me to paint minis for DnD any day; this shit was hard. There. Open your eyes now."

He slipped something over the tips of your fingers and when you opened them you found...

"A cootie catcher?" You asked with a laugh. "Eddie..."

You were about to ask what the deal was when you noticed it wasn't just a folded piece of paper littered with numbers and words, but taped and glued together with bits of familiar papers.

You brought it closer to your face for further inspection, flexing your fingers this way and that to see the bits folded inside.

Was that the logo from Pizzeria Uno? And...a movie ticket?

"Eddie...what...?"

"Ok, it's not just garbage," he assured you. "I know I don't really clean out my van that often. Shit, there was homework in there that I was supposed to turn in last year. No wonder I had to repeat again. But I guess I never realized that after our not-dates, I sort of left a few things in the glovebox or emptied my pockets in the back to throw out later.

"This...this is from our first outing for pizza. And when we went to see Day of the Dead. I cut up the order form when you paid the last installment on Sweetheart. And this? The menu from that one takeout place we ordered from? That night when...you know...before we went to Chicago? A-and a Chef Boyardee label. Y'know from that one time we ate dinner at your place? Well, actually, I don't think it's from that night.

"I-I know, I'm a walking contradiction," he concluded with a laugh. "I said that this was gonna be our first official date and here I am with a reminder of all the times we weren't dating but...I guess I figured...our times together as friends are just as important as any date. So now that...you're actually my girlfriend, I needed you to know you'll still always be my best friend too."

You felt your eyes water and your heart pound in your chest.

"Do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"It's only," you let out a watery laugh. "Only the best gift I've ever gotten."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Not even the Boston cassette I got you?"

"Not even that," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie...it's perfect."

All you wanted in that moment right there was to kiss him.

And you would have, but the lights in the mall concourse dimmed, signaling customer hours were over and that everyone needed to leave.

"You ready?" he backed away from you and held his hand out, fingers wiggling and eager to twine with yours. You gladly took it, expecting to hold his hand as you walked out towards the employee lot, but he surprised you by twirling you in a circle. He spun you into him, tucked against his side, and draped his arm across your shoulder.

You were sure it was gonna be a perfect night. Again.

Because he was perfect.

---

Turns out the Cootie Catcher wasn't just a gift with little mementos of your friendship, it was the means of which the two of you would decide the fate of your date night.

"I'll pick first," he explained. "And then you pick next ok? You just gotta trust me on this."

Throughout the night you both picked numbers and pinched the corners of the cootie catcher back and forth, back and forth, until you came up with the next activity you would embark on.

"Dinner at...the Hideaway," you read the first outcome that had come up. "The Hideaway? I thought it was the Hideout."

"No, they're two different places," Eddie explained. "Damn, you've almost lived in Hawkins for a year now and you still don't know? I'm a really bad Welcome Committee."

Turns out the Hideaway was a sports bar on the outskirts of town. The bar itself was a little crowded with patrons drinking beers and watching football on the twin tv's that were mounted overhead, but there was a tiny little dining room off to the side that was practically empty.

As you scanned the menu, your eyes immediately caught a glimpse of The Wayne under the sandwich header.

"Wayne as in...Uncle Wayne?" you asked with a laugh, and Eddie couldn't have looked any prouder if he tried.

"Yup," he puffed out his chest. "Nothing amazing ever happens in Hawkins, but if you can guess the Super Bowl winner accurately at the beginning of the season for 5 years in a row, you get a sandwich named after you at a bar."

"Shut up," you laughed. "He did not."

"Swear on my mother's grave," Eddie leaned forward and challenged you.

You both ended up ordering the Wayne, and Eddie spent most of dinner telling you Wayne's Scientific Method to choosing the winners, and then the way the winning streak broke.

"He put twenty dollars in a pool at the plant," he explained. "Figured he'd been guessing right at the Hideaway for so long without getting anything more than a free dinner out of it, he might as well try to win a little cash. Turns out fate only meant for him to win a hearty chicken dinner and nothing more, so he didn't try to tempt the Gods again lest he incur their wrath."

The sandwich was delicious, the company even better. And you held hands across the table pretty much the entire time.

---

Back and forth, back and forth the cootie catcher went, and you groaned when you saw the outcome.

Bowling.

"I'm not good at it Eddie," you tried to persuade him to choose again. "I'm gonna embarrass myself."

"Too bad, I'm not good at it either. We'll both look like idiots together."

"I'm wearing a dress Eddie."

"This is our destiny!" He exclaimed with a tone of finality, hand on the gearshift to put the van into drive. "And before you try to fight me on it, I'll even let my chivalry take a hit and let you pay for the first round of beer."

Knowing that a win was a win, you agreed.

Reluctantly.

The Roane County Bowlarama was something out of a time capsule, though, and that in and of itself was a novelty. Casino carpet and funky modular chairs and a neon light that sat over the pristinely waxed hardwood lanes in a very kitschy style that proudly advertised the Bowlarama's foundation in 1960.

It certainly smelled like nostalgia in here.

Eddie went to get your shoes while you meandered to the little concessions counter to get two solo cups of cheap beer and a soft pretzel with plastic cheese for the two of you to share.

As you got your score cards written up, you confided in Eddie that the only time you'd ever been bowling was for a birthday party for a classmate when you were in the 7th grade.

He just laughed and told you it had been the same for him too.

He pointed down to one of the lanes where a family was happily bowling with their two small children.

"If you go over there, I'm sure you'll still see the dent in the floor where I dropped the ball," he whispered. "It was too heavy and I went to go bowl and it dropped out of my hand and almost cracked the hardwood. And I vowed never again."

"Then why did you put it on the Cootie Catcher?" you asked incredulously.

"Well, we've gotta look stupid in front of each other sometime, right?" he reasoned.

“As though we haven’t done that already.” You shook your head. "Eddie Munson, you are something else."

"I know." He bowed proudly and then went to take his turn.

At the end of ten frames, you turned in your scorecards and your shoes at the counter, all the while snickering as the attendant read out your abysmal scores.

You'd beaten Eddie, sure...but it wasn't hard to beat a zero.

Was he really that bad at bowling or had he let you win? You’d never know.

---

It had been a great night but it was getting late by the time you got back out to the van.

Normally, you wouldn't mind a longer Sunday night out with Eddie, even if you had work and he had school in the morning. Honestly, you couldn't quite give a shit if you were tired for a Monday morning call with your boss or to unpack shipment boxes.

Still, you stopped Eddie before he could fish the Cootie Catcher out of the cupholder on the console.

"What's wrong?" he frowned. "You getting tired? Too tired for a late night snack? I put Dairy Queen for ice cream and Bradley's for a mystery snack adventure as options."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, trying to entice you into letting fate take you once again.

The thing was...ending the night wasn't really the thought on your mind. It had been a great night out, reminiscent of those few early Sunday nights, cruising around Hawkins and finding someplace new you hadn't been yet.

But part of the fun of some other not dates with Eddie were the times you got to spend alone. Even recently, as you started cuddling and making out on the couch or stealing kisses in the food court at the little table hidden closer to the JCPenney entrance while sharing cheese fries, it was the intimacy and closeness you cherished. Those times spent together were spent in a world just for the two of you.

And as the night went on and you came to that realization, Mindy's words echoed through your head: Horizontal Tango.

God, ok, that was not the way you wanted to think of it, but it did get your mind on that night. The last time things had started getting heated between the two of you, the night you thought everything had been ruined before you both realized that there were some actual feelings deeper than friendship there.

That had been...nice.

Sure you'd been high, but laughing and groping and kissing and grinding...

Yeah it was more fun to do all of that with someone than to take care of things on your own with your imagination or one of the bodice rippers you secretly bought at Waldenbooks at your disposal.

One of the bodice-rippers with a love interest that your brain had started to fill in with a certain metalhead that was your then-crush and now-boyfriend.

Suddenly the more you thought about it--actively thought about it--sitting here in the van with Eddie, surrounded by the scent of his cigarettes and his Old Spice cologne, having just had probably the best date you could ask for...you realized that you wanted more too. With him.

More than a quick fuck at a party or a romp on a couch.

You wanted Eddie.

First date be damned.

"Sweetheart?" Eddie pulled you from your thoughts. "We can call it if you want. If you're too tired to drive, I can take you home now and...I'll pick you up for work tomorrow before I go to class."

"Uh." You worried your bottom lip, at a loss for words, as your hand still gripped the top of his over the center console. He was being so kind, so chivalrous, so thoughtful with this whole date, all of these sweet plans...you didn’t want to undercut the effort he’d put in.

How did one just ask their boyfriend to have sex with them?

"Do you wanna have sex?"

The words escaped your mouth as though you were on autopilot, and both you and Eddie stared at each other dumbfounded as the question hung heavily between you.

Well that was one way to do it.

"Wha...whe...like? Here? Now?" He stared at you wide-eyed as he questioned. There was a beat and then he shook his head and stared down at your hands in silence.

What you wouldn't have given at that very moment to hear the thoughts that were clearly racing through his head, as he visibly tried to compute the situation you were both in.

You felt your chest get tighter and your heart raced.

See? First date, no fooling around. You should have trusted your instincts.

"I mean...yes,” Eddie finally blurted out. “But it wasn’t on the cootie catcher.”

It was silent for another moment, then you both broke down in hysterical laughter.

Unintelligible words were shared as you both relived the last few tense moments with intense clarity—basking in the silliness that could only be shared between the two of you—and then you both seemed to have a lightbulb moment. Eddie turned in his seat to grab something from the back of the van while you dug for something in your bag.

It was a race to see who could get there first, and Eddie won as he fell back into the driver's seat with a sharpie held in the air like his ultimate prized possession. You abandoned your own search and began carefully unfolding the cootie catcher and before long, on the inner most flaps, new adventures for the night were written.

Blizzards at DQ was soon scribbled out in favor of Your Place.

And Mystery Snacks from Bradley’s replaced by My Place.

Eddie started situating the fortune teller over the tips of his fingers when you grabbed his wrist.

“What if we don’t end up getting either place?” You asked a little stupidly.

“Well then I guess we’re gonna head to the civic center and play Boggle with Gareth’s mom and dad, Sweetheart,” he snarked. “Pick a number.”

Back and forth the cootie catcher went as you called out numbers.

Until Your Place sat proudly on display between you.

“Alright then,” Eddie placed the cootie catcher back into the cup holder and then clapped his hands. “Your place it is.”

---

For as bold as you both had been in the van, it was unexpectedly awkward when you got into your apartment.

It was a moment of being in a place you'd both been a hundred times together before, but the implication of why you were there made it difficult to simply begin.

You both ended up on the couch for a while, watching some late night reruns and sharing a pint of Rum Raisin until you were calm and comfortable enough to share tentative kisses and touches in front of the glow of the tv.

"This isn't..." Eddie chuckled when you found yourself horizontal on the couch and he kissed his way down your neck and across your décolletage. "This isn't like a porno."

You both broke down in laughter again and he admitted that that thought had been on his mind all night, along with the possibility that this would be waiting for the two of you at the end of the date.

"I had that thought," he continued once the laughter had subsided. "Last time we were like this. That's...do you remember I...god did I honk your boob?"

"You did," you remembered fondly, even though the outcome of that encounter was anything but a fond memory.

"I think that's why I did it," he ran a finger along the neckline of your dress, which caused goosebumps to erupt along your arms as you shivered with anticipation. "I don't need to be anything with you except myself. I don't have to be the...hot boyfriend or the hunky pizza guy or anything. I'm just me, and you're just you."

"You can't make me cry before we fuck," you told him matter-of-factly, and dragged him back up so you could kiss him again.

"Actually," he broke away again and his brows shot up into his bangs. "That's another kind of porno. We can add that to the list for next time ok?"

That set the pace and the expectation for the rest of the night: intimate moments punctuated by words and laughter.

There was no rush, so you took your time to explore one another's bodies. You moved from the couch to the bed and clothes came off one piece at a time, including socks which both of you agreed was the least seductive piece of clothing to remove.

"But I did read about this thing with tights once," you bit your lip in too-little-too-late realization, after you'd chucked your pantyhose into the corner of your bedroom. "It was kind of hot."

"I'm making notes," Eddie tapped his temple twice. "Don't worry. Next time."

And if you ever had the impression that Eddie was a bad student, all of that doubt vanished because he was incredibly studious when it came to your body. Both of you were as you licked and kissed and groped. You took the time to find spots that were sensitive or ticklish, that generated moans or giggles.

Boy, did you find out how much he liked to giggle.

You traced along the hazy ink of his tattoos with the tip of your tongue, in awe of the imagination that he'd put into each piece of artwork permanently etched on his body as he stammered out a brief story of each one. He told you about something he wanted along his ribcage, and when you went to kiss along the proposed path, he burst into a fit of laughter that almost rocketed him off the bed.

Soon there were more panting breaths than breathy laughter. As Eddie took his time worshipping you, committing every dip and curve and crease of you to memory--just like all the other things that he seemed to take note of--and the way you hiccuped and moaned as he lavished you with attention.

You both became teachers, showing one another just how you found pleasure alone--Eddie quick to admit that his solitary ministrations might have been done to the thought of you--before tonight. You were both happy to oblige each other's desires with your hands and mouths.

You quickly realized how much you liked the way that he stuttered your name as you suckled the head of his cock, and he seemed to take that as a challenge when he kissed and sucked your clit in return, the first partner you'd ever had to think to do so and not just fumble with zero thought or coordination.

"I'm a sex god," he boasted, chin resting smugly on your mound after you'd finished riding the crest of your first orgasm. "What can I say?"

"You're so full of it," you scoffed. "But you can say whatever you want if you just promise me you'll do that again."

"Oooh, gonna especially take note of that one," he said mischievously as he walked his fingers up the length of your body and then took your hand in his, both of you ready for the pièce de résistance of the night.

It was a lazy kind of fucking, even though the two of you were as wound up as you were; however, considering that you'd both had an entire day of work and then a lengthy date and foreplay, neither of you could complain.

You could have headboard-banging, heart rate-climbing, frenzied, nasty sex anytime you wanted for however long you'd be together.

"Hopefully forever," Eddie whispered against your mouth after you'd reassured him of just that, as he sank into you and realized that he was more comfortable in the cradle of your arms and thighs than stiffly knelt above you. "You promise?"

"Hopeless romantic," you muttered in return. You moaned as he slowly bucked into you and created a delicious drag of his fingers on your clit again. "But yeah, I promise."

There were very few words after that, just sounds. Pants and sighs and sucking kisses; a few swears as you both found the peaks of your pleasure, and finally an "is there any more of that ice cream" once Eddie collapsed beside you when it was all over.

You both couldn't help but brag how great it had all been come morning, when he drove you back to the mall for work.

Or when you showed up at his place the following night to do it all over again.

Next Chapter: Longevity