#Frankly even hearing the name mentioned is like having something take over

[lawrence-songs]

An anon, meaning well: how does interacting with bendykins feel?

Me, attempting to restrain myself to the best of my ability: ahem. I mean. It's wonderful.

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that make you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[erwinsvow]

little sad bitchy!reader moment: her and rafe are at the country club with topper and kelce and some other friends of rafe and one of the guys starts saying how she would be a horrible wife and mother (bc of the way she is) and she honestly is so hurt by it and i think she would almost try to change the way she is around rafe a little just so he wouldn’t think that about her…

sobbing thinking about it and listening to this (https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLX2Pdcv/)

hi my love this was so amazing and wonderful to write! im sorry its kinda long, hope you like it ♡

in all honestly, you stopped caring what people said about you a long time ago. you weren't the way you were because it was funny, or to get a reaction out of others. that was just the way you've always been, and there was nothing you hated more than letting people walk all over you and get away it.

that must be why the comebacks would fly out of your mouth before you could stop them, if you even wanted to stop them. why you never stopped to think twice about the people who didn't want to talk to you again or the boys who didn't want a second date.

you weren't easy to handle, not that you wanted to be, but you knew you weren't.

it seemed easy enough for rafe though.

he never seemed to wish that you'd bite your tongue or tell you to act differently, behave a certain way. no, he'd laugh and fire back something, or agree with you and say something you remember to add to your collection of insults.

rafe liked you as you were. that's why he fought so long and hard to get you, something that you didn't take lightly. you were committed, and the more days that went by, you found yourself softening up more and more with him.

rafe knew a side of you that a select few had ever seen, much less engaged with. you liked it this way, having a boyfriend you could be yourself around and be a little soft around.

until you overhear a boy at the club talking about you. in all your years of life, you've never let a boy make you feel upset, and you didn't want to start now. a comeback brews the second he mentions your name—of course it's the idiot one, the one whose parents pay for his grades and doesn't know anything besides losing at pong and scaring away girls—but it dies in your throat when you hear the words that follow.

"i mean i get it, she's hot, but i don't know how cameron puts up with her."

"what're you talking about? she's just like him," kelce says, and you feel briefly grateful for him.

"dude, she's a bitch. i've never heard one nice thing come out of her mouth. totally untamed. you can't bring a girl like that home to your folks, they'd hate her. especially his folks. and don't even mention long-term. imagine coming home after working all day and your girl is bitching at you? i mean, no offense but what kind of kids is she gonna raise?"

you hear laughter, and when your face feels wet, and you're confused for a moment. you look up at the ceiling, wondering if there's a leak, when your eyes flood again and more tears fall down.

crying, and that too over what one of rafe's friends said about you. this isn't like you. frankly, it's pathetic. those idiotic boys don't know the first thing about you or your relationship with rafe—they don't know the conversations you have and all the things you both agree on and the way he laughs when you fire back at him.

but somehow, feet leading you outside and to your car, fingers texting rafe some excuse for why you went home early, you end up letting it affect you.

rafe comes over the next morning—he texted you something but you didn't reply. worried for a moment about something you've never been concerned with before, you think a nicer girl would have texted him back right away, that you should have texted him back.

he doesn't knock, never does. your parents aren't home but he has your spare key, letting himself in and up to your room. he stops at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"hey. what happened last night?" he asks it like he doesn't know what happened—which is good, you want it to stay that way. the thing you would have said yesterday bubbles up, coming to your lips. maybe if you'd gotten your head out of your ass, you'd see my text.

"wasn't feeling good. came home."

"you feelin' okay now?" he gets closer to you, and you look up at your boyfriend. i'd be fine but that asshole you already hate ruined my mood. will you run him over in your truck?

"better." you stop for a moment, you don't want him to think something's wrong. "how was your night?" he looks at you a little confused.

"it was fine. borin' without you. kelce asked where you went too."

"y'know i always liked kelce," you say, smiling again. you think you can get better at this.

rafe takes you out for lunch, and then you wanted to go shopping in the afternoon and get your nails done. it's a whole day, and you like spending it with him. you swallow down what your mind usually thinks and opt for being nice instead, polite questions and trepid commentary.

the waiter brings you the wrong drink—and though you're not so much of a bitch to hurl insults at teenager servers, you're normally annoyed enough to say something and get your correct drink. instead you sip it quietly, waiting for rafe to start the conversation. when you don't, he looks at you in that confused way again.

"you okay?"

"yeah. fine. you okay?"

if he thinks something's wrong, he doesn't say anything. at the mall, nothing looks how you want and even the things you like don't feel right. you'd let rafe buy you whatever you want, normally giving him a twirl in the dressing room and thanking him very sweetly.

"you want that dress?" rafe asks, his arm resting on a rack while you comb through mindlessly.

"no, it was too short."

"that's never been an issue before." ha-ha. pervert. looking up my skirt aren't you? knew you were desperately horny for me but this is down bad even for you.

"trying to dress better. and it'll be cold soon."

"hey, look at me." rafe uses his hands on your shoulders to turn you from the clothes, facing him. "you okay baby?"

fuck, you know you messed up. he only calls you that when he's being serious—the rest of the time it's princess, angel, sweetheart. all things that you are definitely not.

"i'm okay. i just don't want it. but thank you." you don't know it, but he thinks you're upset with him, spending the next hour in the nail salon racking his mind for the reason why.

your nails are fine, they look pretty enough. shorter than normal with a clean french manicure, you admire them from a distance. you suddenly feel like crying again, wondering why you didn't get the pink acrylics you like, rhinestones and bows and all the other things that were pretty to look at when you flipped people off.

in rafe's passenger seat after, you keep staring at your hands, feeling another tear slip down. rafe's not looking at you, he's looking ahead, still unsure what was going on.

"baby, if i did something you gotta tell me, i don't like seein' you like this-" when he turns his head to glance at you, you're looking back at him with your pouty face and wet cheeks—two things he's never seen before. "hey. what's wrong?"

you couldn't stop the downpour if you tried—tears falling quick and fast. you hate that anyone's seeing you like this, especially rafe.

rafe is nice to you, and you soften up around him. you didn't really realize that he softens up around you too. he wipes your tears away, keeps a hand on yours the whole time.

"can you talk to me? what's goin' on?"

"yesterday.. one of those guys said that i was a bitch-"

"which one? to your face? when? i'll fuckin' kill him-"

"no, he didn't know i was there. it's not that, i know i am. i don't care about that. he said that-" your voice cracks, something else you hate, that you don't want rafe hearing. "sorry. he said you couldn't bring me home. and that you would hate coming home to me-me being all mean. and that our kids would be mean too."

yes, you're mean. but rafe's mean too, and none of your friends have ever said anything like that about him. you like that he's mean, that he's like you—you think he's the closest thing to a soulmate you could ever find.

"don't fuckin' listen to any of them for a second, got it? they don't know anything."

"rafe, i-"

"no, seriously. they yap because i wasn't there to knock him out. and he says it when you're gone 'cause he knows you'd make him cry if you were there." you sniffle, though you already feel better.

"but i didn't. i started crying instead." you hate even thinking about it.

"s'okay, it happens. but don't believe a word of that shit. i wanna come home to you everyday. hear everything you say. i want all of it."

"really?" you ask him, wiping away your tears, appreciating the hand on your thigh and how sincerely he's looking at you. "i thought you'd be mean if i cried in front of you."

"it's hard enough to be mean to you."

"you're such a sap. should we go get ice cream and braid each others hair after this?" he laughs, and you laugh. "thanks rafey."

"no problem, kid."

"don't call me that." rafe groans, and you smile.

[thebestsetter]

He has never been afraid of dying.

Death doesn't fright him. He sees it as a natural part of the cycle of life. One must be born, live their life, possibly reproduce so their species can keep on existing and then die. All animals, be it a big magnificient whale or a little insignificant ant, have to do this too. This is what they all have in common (and honestly, it's beautiful how all animals have to experience this. It brings humans and animals closer).

Everyone dies, be it the sinner or the saint, the rich or the poor. Death doesn't discriminate people. It just comes and takes everyone (which is kinda funny, since people think that money or looks make them different from the other. They don't. We're all equal. The bullet that kills the powerful is also capable of killing the weak). And frankly, he's okay with that. He knows it'll happen.

Given his work condition, he knows he's more inclined to die than the average person. Everyday, he has to go out there and risk his life, saving hundreds of people he doesn't even know and sometimes not even getting a "thank you" back. It's frustrating, but it's not like he's giving up. Before he dies, he wants to make this world a little bit better. It probably won't be much, but he still wants to feel useful. He wants to feel like he did something good.

"Oh God! You're okay! You're really okay! I was so worried about you!"

He doesn't fear death. Which is why he doesn't understand why he feels like crying when you visit him at the hospital he was staying at after a mission that went wrong. Death doesn't scare him, so he's not quite sure why his hands tremble when they reach to pat your head. He shouldn't react like this. He's never reacted this way before

"Please, don't ever do that again! Never ever!" Your grip in his waist tightens to the point where his lungs are burning for air, but he still doesn't want you to let go.

"You have no idea how scared I was. When the hospital called me saying you were here, I felt like my mind was going a hundred per hour! Please, don't die..."

How can you ask him this? You both know it's impossible. He's going to die one day, it can't be helped. You can't escape death's claws. No one can escape their funeral. You're torturing him. You know he doesn't like to lie to you. He can't just say "I won't die" cause it's simply not true!

"Please don't die" you repeat, and his hands movement comes to a halt "Because I'll be lonely if you die. Don't leave me alone, please."

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still isn't afraid of dying. But suddenly, the mention of death leaves an itching feeling at the back of his throat. It makes him sick thinking about you going on with your life, possibly mourning over his death for a long time (he doesn't ever want you to be sad, especially not because of him. Strangely, a sick, twisted part of him wants you to cry when he dies. To be sad. To not move on fastly. He quickly supresses those thoughts though) and then completely forgetting him and starting a new family (this thought makes him sick to the stomach. He feels like a very bad guy when thinking about how he doesn't want you to find another man to replace him. You always said he was irreplaceable after all).

He will forever be someone who was, not someone who is. He'll be lost in time, a name you'll mention once or twice on a conversation while smiling and thinking about the good times you had together.

He'll never hear your laugh and your voice again, will never take you out on extravagant dates and have movie nights watching silly movies and laughing at the special effects. Leaving you alone in this dangerous world feels almost criminal.

Death doesn't make him feel bad. Having you forget him after he dies makes him feel like absolute shit.

And so, even though he can't promise you that he won't die, he can promise one thing. He grabs one of your hands in his, looking at you as serious as he can be.

"You won't ever be alone." He says, and you feel like crying. He then smiles weakly "I promise. I love you. Our love is too strong to be stopped by death." He kisses your hand and then quotes the same sentence he uttered at your wedding day "Remember? 'And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every other timeline.'"

And just like he did that day, he props up in the hospital bed and kisses you.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, ITADORI YUJI, Gojo Satoru, Inumaki Toge (or maybe I'm just a glazer ☹️), Nanami Kento (idk, I just feel like it fits him), TODOROKI SHOTO, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Ejirou, Izuku Midoriya, Aizawa Shota, HAWKS + any character you think fits this!!

~ A/N: this can be read as a sequel of another fic of mine. It also can be read on it's own though (but please, do check the other one if you're interested!!). Also, you can see some Hamilton songs' references here and there (cause I'm a theater kid 😔) AND this was inspired by a line in "Cowboy Beebop"

Masterlist

[mothhball]

Beneath me

Pairing || professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader

Warnings || 18+ SMUT, NON-CON, DUB-CON, forced breeding, fingering, p in v sex, housewife kink(?), humiliation, dumbification, misogyny, unprotected sex, age gap (professor and student, everyone’s an adult), brief dacryphilia, condescending use of petnames, jon is a prick in this but gets better towards the end (if you squint hard enough)

Summary || The professor suspects you cheated on your exam, but you’re determined to prove him wrong.

Words || 3.7k

Notes || First ever fic and it’s smut because I love suffering. English isn’t my first language, so I hope everything makes sense. Please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the warnings

Afternoon lectures. The bane of many students’ existence, yours included. You’d been on campus since 9 am, trying to catch up on homework and study material for the most dreaded class of the day. Abnormal Psychology, presented by none other than Professor Jonathan Crane. Crane with his smart suits and piercing eyes. Crane with his condescending remarks and off-handed insults. Crane with his ridiculously handsome face and –

“Are you even listening to me?” The man in question is now standing in front of you, staring you down with narrowed eyes as his lips pull down into a frown. Yes, right. It’s 5 pm now, almost the end of the lecture and time to get your exam results back. You shake yourself out of your stupor, glancing down at the paper he left on your desk. But instead of a grade, you only see a bold red question mark which takes up almost a fourth of the entire first page. Crane clears his throat impatiently, and his mood sours more and more the longer he has to stand next to your seat.

“I said, you will meet me in my office after class. Is that understood? And I’d suggest you get your head in order until then,” he hisses, icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Your heart sinks, and you can feel the blood leaving your face as you manage to nod rather stiffly.

“Of course… Professor Crane, “ you murmur in reply, and upon hearing that, the professor quickly resumes his round around the lecture hall, handing back grades to your fellow students. As the first people pack up their things and begin to file out of the room, you slowly pack up as well. Your hands are cold from anxiety as you zip up your bag and get up from your seat. Meeting Professor Crane in his office was the last thing you wanted to do right now. The plan was to go home, grab takeout on the way and curl up in bed with a movie starring this forty-something year old actor you have the hots for. But God forbit anyone in Gotham wants to have a nice time.

Soon enough, you find yourself in Crane’s office, taking the seat in front of his desk and folding your hands in your lap to keep from fidgeting. The professor runs a hand through his hair, looking you over with a skeptical glare before he straightens his posture and gets to the point.

“I’m disappointed, shocked and quite frankly, I feel personally insulted.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, he pulls out two stacks of paper, smacking them down on the desk. You quickly recognize one stack as a copy of your exam, but as you look over at the other, it feels like someone froze time for a moment. It’s someone else’s exam, but they wrote down the same answers. Not word for word, but in a way and structure that’s quite obviously plagiarized. Squinting at the name, you remember the guy sitting next to you, and anger bubbles up inside of your chest.

“He cheated off of me,” you mutter, trying to stay calm.

“Brennan said the same thing. Funny how that works, huh? And in case it went over your head, I don’t find it funny at all. But I will have to fail one of you. The question is, which one will it be?”

He takes his glasses off, gingerly setting the spectacles aside before he pinches the bridge of his nose. A little dramatic, but very much expected from him.

“Look, I’m not saying you were the one cheating off of Brennan,” He starts, sounding exhausted and absent at the same time. Like this is all beneath him. Like your future in his class has as much importance as the piece of lint he’s picking off of his sweater vest. “But there’s no real proof that he cheated off of you either. It’s a case of ‘he said, she said’. And it’s not like Brennan had much reason to cheat. He has had consistently good grades, whereas you-“

“I’ll prove it, “ you interrupt him without thinking, clenching your hands so tightly that your nails dig into the skin of your palms. Crane looks visibly taken aback, perplexed that you have the gall to intercept before he could expose your rather mediocre academic history in his class. You know you’re average. A face in the crowd; one of many names on an attendance sheet he barely pays attention to.

“I’ll prove it to you,” you repeat, swallowing dryly. Your mouth suddenly feels like you ate sand, and you really want to clear your throat, but you’ve done so thrice within the past five minutes, and you can tell it’s starting to piss him off. “Give me a chance, please. Please, Professor Crane. I know the material, I swear.”

Crane’s eyes briefly dart down to your lips, and his eyebrows furrow in thought before he nods slowly, thoughtfully. He’s making a show of it. Portraying himself as the generous teacher while you’re desperate for even the smallest chance of passing this goddamn class.

“Alright,” He sighs, and the weight seems to lift off of your shoulders. A smile begins to spread on your face, and –

 “Get out a pen. And paper. You’re going to write an essay.”

Eyebrows raised in confusion, you tilt your head a little. You almost feel stupid to ask.

“What, right now?”

“Of course, right now. At home, you’d get the chance to cheat again, wouldn’t you?”

Again. He’s still convinced you were the one to cheat on your exam. His tone is bitingly condescending and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he gets up from his chair to head over to the almost overflowing bookshelf next to his desk. You’re still sitting there, hands in your lap until he lets out an exasperated sigh, signaling for you to get a move on. Not wanting to incur even more of his wrath, you dig through your bag to get out a pen and some loose sheets of paper.

In the meantime, Crane has chosen a book from his shelf, and he’s wordlessly flipping through the pages until he lands on a fitting topic for an essay. He snaps the book shut and returns to his desk, fixing his tie as he nods to himself.

“Alright. I want 5 pages on fear conditioning. If you truly studied for the exam, this should be a piece of cake. If you didn’t, this will be an embarrassing little lecture you’re in dire need of learning.”

Your eyes widen, and you stammer for a moment, unable to find the words while staying respectful.

“That many? But it’s already –“

“Five-thirty pm? I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight. And you should be grateful that I don’t have plans either. I’m staying late for your sake. Because you convinced me to give you a chance. I don’t have to do this, you know? I could just fail you and go home. So, I think a little gratitude would be more than appropriate.” There’s an odd expression in his eyes. Halfway between hunger and conflict. He’s usually so composed. You must really be testing his patience.

“Thank you, Prof –“ “Thank me by getting to it already.”

You nod meekly, grabbing the pen and beginning to jot down the date and your name in the corner of the first page. While you’re focused on the introduction part of your essay, you miss the way that Crane folds his hands on the desk, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white. His icy gaze is focused on every twitch of your muscles, every swoop of your handwriting, every time you softly bite your lips in thought. If only you’d look up. You’d see the way his jaw is set and his pupils expand. You’d realize the situation you’re in. A bunny with its neck in the jaws of the wolf.

You’re about two thirds done with the first page when he wheels his chair around the desk, closer to yours. Once his arm brushes against you, you pause to lift your gaze, looking at him with equal parts confusion and curiosity.

“Uhm… professor? What are you doing?”

“Checking on your progress,” Is his curt reply, but he leans in even closer, staring down at your half-baked essay. “Eyes on the paper.”

You comply, getting back to writing after a short second of sorting your thoughts. It’s more difficult to write with him basically breathing down your neck, and your heart skips a beat when he scoots even closer. Despite this, you keep on writing. Until his hand lands on your thigh.

You tense, looking up at him. Your lips part, and you’re about to say something before he speaks first.

“Eyes. On. The. Paper. We’re going to simulate a stressful, distracting environment. Not unlike a lecture hall during an exam. If you can keep your cool, I’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“Or I could fail you right now, and you’ll prove me and my suspicions right.”

Back to writing it is. Your hand is a little shakier during the next few sentences while the warmth of his fingers seeps through the fabric of your skirt into your skin. But you get back into the motions, almost able to ignore him until his hand flexes and begins to wander. A shiver runs down your spine as his touch slips underneath your skirt, feeling the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“That’s it. Keep writing. Try to show me how smart you are.”

Crane’s voice is a snide whisper right next to your ear. His breath sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep your focus on the essay. Well, at least some of it. Once his fingers brush over the crotch of your panties, your breath hitches as heat builds in your core. But you can’t even get a word in.

“Run your mouth and your final grade drops to an F. You’re on my time now, understood? Not a fucking word to anyone or else a failed class will be the least of your worries.”

You’ve never heard him curse before. The man sitting beside you, the man with his hand under your skirt isn’t the professor you’ve known throughout the semester. No, at this point, the mask is slipping and the difference is startling. Crane pushes your skirt up with one hand and your legs apart with the other, letting out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of your wet panties.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through the lace, aren’t you? I didn’t even touch you yet… Are you always this easy? Almost adorable… Keep writing for me.”

His words make your ears burn with embarrassment, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as you get back to your essay. It’s getting harder to think. Especially once his fingers slip underneath your panties, running between your glistening folds. Crane quickly finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves for a deliciously brief moment before he moves his hand further down to your entrance.

“Now you’re being grateful, hm? Is this what you were thinking about while everyone else was making an effort during my lectures? While everyone else was busy doing their work… you were getting worked up in your seat thinking about me. Thinking about me playing with your little cunt.”

The corners of his lips pull up into a self-satisfied grin as he plunges a finger inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s not meeting any resistance from your sweet pussy, so he quickly adds a second one. The slick noises are obscene, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide your flushed face and focus on the essay, but it’s futile. You’re writing complete and utter nonsense at this point, and he knows it. Crane scoots his chair even closer, pressing up against your side as he works his fingers inside of you, caressing that spongy spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. As he looks over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your writing, he scoffs out a laugh.

“Goodness, sweetie. That’s what your pretty little head managed to come up with so far? All this talk about wanting to prove yourself, and you deliver this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more pathetic attempt at an essay in all my years of teaching.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the harshness of his words, and the sight of it makes Crane’s cock harden in his slacks. He licks his lips, curling his fingers inside of you with a little more urgency as he leans in to whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Let out those noises. I guarantee they’re worth more than every brainless contribution you’ve ever made in my class.”

It’s an order, not a request, and you find yourself unable to keep quiet anymore as his thumb comes up to rub your clit again. Your wetness is starting to drip down onto the seat below you while you let out a breathy moan, and you begin to doubt yourself. Maybe you really are as empty-headed as he says. To your dismay, this thought only causes the tension in your core to build up even faster.

“There we go. Close to cumming from being fingered by your professor. You’re so needy, so eager for the slightest bit of attention. A toy that needs to be played with 24/7. Aren’t you ashamed?”

You let out another moan of pleasure and humiliation, clenching around his digits as he stretches you open. When did you forget how to speak?

“Trying to play in the big leagues while you’re just a dumb little fuckpet for my enjoyment,” he hisses, before he sinks his teeth into your earlobe, causing you to squeak. It hurts. But that’s the point. You’re so close to the edge, toes curling inside of your shoes. And then suddenly, he withdraws his hand. You catch a glimpse of his glistening fingers, and you turn your head just in time to watch him lick your juices off of them. He lets out a groan, satisfied by your taste.

“Get up. Hands on the desk.”

You scramble to get up, standing on wobbly legs as you bend over Crane’s desk. The professor wastes no time, grabbing onto your sopping wet panties and ripping them off of you. The fabric shreds beneath his hands, leaving your skin stinging where it cut slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, exposing your rear to him, and he moans out another sound of appreciation. His hands come up to grab onto the meat of your ass, spreading them apart to allow him a perfect view of your dripping cunt.

“Lord knows you’re not made for higher education.”

Crane leans in, licking a stripe up between your folds, and you bite down on a knuckle to keep in the pathetic moan that hangs on your lips. Your body is desperately begging you to just let him take what he wants from you, but your mind clings onto the last shred of dignity you have. When the sound of his belt being undone tears you from your thoughts, you turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Wait –“ You start, suddenly struck by the reality of it all.

Crane chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed apprehension on your face.

“You’re not braindead already, are you? What did you think was going to be the logical conclusion of this? Of course, I’m going to bury my dick in you. Fuck, if you were this tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock….”

“No, I –“

“Shh, no need to worry. Judging by your essay, you don’t have the mental capacity anyway.”

Crane roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek meets the wooden surface of his desk while he hurriedly unzips his slacks. He’s painfully hard at this point, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a relieved hiss once he’s finally freed himself. He leans over you, pressing his weight into your back and aligning himself with your tight hole before he pushes his hips forward. You’re immobilized under him, squished against the desk as he fills you with his length. Crane’s lips find your pulse, licking and nibbling at your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, shuddering from the sensation of your plush walls around his cock.

“Good girl… you’re so wet. All for me, huh? Yes… just for me.” He moans through his teeth, leaning back a little to watch as your pussy stretches around him when he begins to slowly thrust into you. You let out a soft whine in response, not quite adjusted to him yet. But if you know anything about him at this point, it’s that he doesn’t care.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot. Just relax – shh, shh, that’s it. You feel so good, squeezing me like a proper toy. All obedient and sweet… you really were built for this.“

He lifts his hand, landing a smack on your ass before he pulls out all the way and pushes back in, letting out a condescending laugh at the way you shiver. You can feel how deep he reaches, hitting every spot while he stretches you out with calculated thrusts. His pace begins to speed up, and his other hand wraps around your throat to keep you close as he pounds into you. Coherent thought becomes difficult for you, and even if you did want to say something, it’s suddenly made impossible when Crane pushes two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Needy little thing. Bent over and babbling like a whore. But you -fuuuck - you take me so well, don’t you? All tight and sopping wet for my cock to stretch you out...”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, yanking you back by your hair to make you lift your torso up from the desk. The carefully crafted persona of a calm, reasonable Professor Dr. Jonathan Crane has completely slipped from his face now and shattered by his feet like Fine China. His hands move quickly, urgently as his rhythm begins to stutter. The fingers that are now soaked with your saliva make their way back between your legs to circle your clit while his other hand leaves your hair to tear open your blouse, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

His teeth find your neck again as he grabs at your chest, kneading your soft breasts as he marks you up. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. He leaves them behind to claim. To own. Your climax hits you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks you through your orgasm, not faltering for a second. Stars fill your vision for a moment, and you’re only vaguely aware of the kisses that he’s pressing to your cheek. Your walls are clenching him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

Crane swallows heavily, rasping into your ear between shallow breaths.

“Tell you what… No more thinking about essays. In fact, I don’t want you to think ever again. No more exams… no more studies. As if you’d ever be someone of importance in this field to begin with. No, no… I won’t let you waste your time on a silly little Bachelor’s anymore... Fuckpets like you only need to be bred. I’m gonna be generous and fuck a child into you.”

Your eyes snap wide open, and even with your cock-drunken brain, you realize just how serious he is about this. In an attempt to get away, you begin to struggle in his grasp, but he replies by kicking your legs further apart, forcing you down against the desk again. The wooden edge digs against your thighs, keeping your hips in place for him as he plows you into the piece of furniture. Your cheek is pressed up against your unfinished essay, reminding you of your failure on all accounts as you drool onto the paper.

Your hands are clawing at the desk, trying to find purchase when his own hands find yours, linking your fingers together in a frighteningly intimate gesture. Crane continues to moan your name, pressing his face into the crook of your neck before he pushes his cock as deep as he can into your poor cunt, filling you with his hot cum. He lazily rocks his hips back and forth a few more times, trying to push in his load as far as he can before he finally stills, panting against your skin. He stays on your back for another few moments, breathing in your scent and idly squeezing your hands with his.

Once his breathing has evened out once more, he straightens up, kissing the top of your head before he pulls out. Crane watches as his seed drips out of you, a glint of amusement and possessiveness in his eyes as he pushes it back into you with two fingers. You feel completely boneless, crumpled on the desk as you try to make sense of what happened and what will happen. The silence doesn’t last long before Crane speaks up again.

“In the morning, you’ll make me breakfast, and in the evening, you’ll cream on my cock. Like a proper little housewife. And I’ll get to see your tits swell and your belly expand as our kid grows inside of you,” He muses, running his hands over your shoulders and down your back, a gesture that’s more meant to ground himself than it is meant to soothe you.

His voice is soft, yet eerily determined. A man that’s planning the future out loud. Unbeknownst to you, he’s reaching into his suit pocket behind you, pulling out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“And if you get bored again and your mind starts to wander, I’ll knock you up again and again until you know your place. Face down, ass up. Beneath me.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 27] Moving Forward

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Shoko, can I help you?” You ask when you see the woman approach your desk. She looks nervous, and you can guess what she’s come to you about. You wait for her to speak though, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“Can we go out for lunch?” She finally spits out, and you take a long hard minute before answering. You haven’t had a proper conversation with Shoko in what feels like ages, and you haven’t been really willing to talk.

“Sure.” You end up shrugging, acting as if you couldn’t care enough. She’s about to say something else, but her words get caught up in her throat… Talking to you has suddenly become a hard task for her. She ends up deciding to keep quiet, turning on her heel to walk away, and just as she’s about to leave, Satoru calls out her name.

“Shoko! I need something from you, come into my office.” And she rolls her eyes before making her way to Satoru’s office. She goes in first, while he stays behind to have a word with you.

“Do you want to go out for lunch today?” Satoru asks, and while you’d agree, your schedule is filled up.

“I’m a busy woman today. I told Shoko I’d go to lunch with her.” You answer, and he raises one brow. That doesn’t make him change his mind though.

“I’ll join then.” He smiles at you, walking away before you can give him some sort of response. It’s come to the point where you enjoy having Satoru’s presence, especially when you know things are going to be awkward.

“This is a nice place… Is Shoko paying?” Satoru sits beside you, inspecting the restaurant’s menu. It’s pricey, though he shouldn’t worry about that detail since he has more than enough money to pay.

“No, you are.” You answer, and he sticks out his bottom lip. He really hasn’t changed over the past five years.

“Can someone treat me to dinner for once.” He complains, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You reach over to grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I’ll treat you to fast food tomorrow, deal?” There’s a mocking tone in your voice, and he picks up on it quickly. He lets out a sigh, putting down the menu on the table and crossing his arms.

“Why did she even invite you out to eat? Is she trying to sleep with you too? Or is that just with Sayo?” Satoru asks which nearly makes your jaw drop. The information isn’t new to you, it’s just weird to hear it from the man himself. You end up chuckling.

“Probably to apologize for the Ren situation.” You tell him, and he raises his brows. He’s confused, until he remembers that you were hiding Ren. It’s not something that Shoko should apologize for, he thinks but then he takes a moment to think about it. He’s glad that Shoko said something, but you obviously feel different.

“Oh right… That was a secret and all.” Satoru mentions and you hum in response. He still can’t help but ask,  “Do we really have to do this?”

“I mean I guess she did do the right thing but she also betrayed my trust. And for what?” You say, and Satoru bites down his lip. You do have a point, Shoko betrayed your trust even if it was the right thing to do.

“I guess yeah…” He can’t really argue any further. He’ll forever be grateful to Shoko for telling him, but he can understand why you’re upset. He can’t control your feelings nor tell you how to feel, so he’ll watch you resolve the issue. Maybe try to help you with your feelings.

You two begin to talk about something unrelated, something lighthearted. Satoru makes a couple of stupid jokes that earn a couple of laughs from you. Laughs that are louder than you’d like to admit. Time gets lost in each other’s presence, though your joyous conversation gets interrupted.

“What are you doing here?” Shoko asks, her eyes lingering on Satoru. The lunch was for the two of you to talk over some issues, and for her to apologize, frankly she doesn’t want Satoru here. 

“I invited myself.” Satoru answers, and Shoko rolls her eyes. She ultimately takes a seat across from you since she can’t do anything else.

“What are you going to order?” Shoko questions, not even bothering looking at the menu. She’s been here many times before, she knows exactly what she wants. You and Satoru look from the same menu even when you have two, and he’s telling you what he thinks sounds good.

Satoru suggests something that he thinks you’d like, and you end up getting it. Once all your food is ordered, Shoko bites down his lip, trying to figure out the right words to speak. But she feels as if she’s forgotten how to speak. 

“So I assume we’re here for a reason.” Satoru makes the first step, and Shoko clicks her tongue. It takes everything in Satoru not to laugh.

“You weren’t invited.” Shoko points out. She’s avoiding eye contact, her nerves getting the best of her. An awkward chuckle leaves her lips, saying, “You’re making this very expensive actually, you should be paying.”

“Invite a guy out for once.” Satoru says, and she rolls her eyes again. “Make it up to me for sleeping with my wife.”

“Weren’t you cheating on her?” Shoko quickly brings up, and you feel your face get warm. You knew that as well, it’s just weird to hear that Satoru was having sex with other women.

“I’ll kill you.” Satoru’s eyes are wide, his cheeks turning pink. She can point that out all she wants, but not when you’re sitting right next to him. He clears his throat and tries to act calm. “I was not cheating on her.”

“Oh right… Because you’re technically separated.” Shoko says, and Satoru takes a deep breath because Shoko is working him up. She’s fighting back a smirk before saying, “We aren’t here for this, anyway.”

“No way your mom didn’t have more kids… You two are like siblings.” You laugh, acting as if you hadn’t heard what just left Shoko’s lips. What Satoru does is none of your business. It has been none of your concern for the past five years. 

“I’m surprised you two don’t act like siblings.” Shoko answers, and you grimace. She chuckles, her sweaty hands going to her pants. She takes a deep breath before focusing on you. Why is apologizing so hard?

“I’m sorry for telling the dumbass about Ren.” Shoko spits out, and it’s not the right way to apologize but it earns a laugh from you. Satoru rolls his eyes, pursing his lips together. Maybe it was best for him to stay. “It wasn’t my place but hearing that he was in the hospital and knowing Satoru was clueless made me feel guilty.”

“Yeah…” You understand her point of view, but you still can’t help but feel frustrated. It wasn’t her secret, but you also get that she was unwillingly dragged into this whole mess. You understand she felt guilty, and it’s selfish of you to expect her silence at the cost of her sanity. You do understand, but you still feel weird about it all. You still feel like you can’t trust her. “I guess I get it.”

“But…?” She asks, feeling that you’re not quite convinced. There’s something more, she knows it. 

“I don’t think I can trust you.” You tell her, and she bites down her lip before nodding in response. She should’ve expected a similar response. 

Food gets to your table, killing any possibility of long awkward silence. You begin to eat, and for the rest of lunch, Satoru makes the conversation.

After lunch, you find yourself spinning around in Satoru’s chair. You wouldn’t have dreamt of this a couple of months back, but once you have a son with your boss you get certain privileges.

“Are you just being lazy?” Satoru asks, sitting across from you in one of the most uncomfortable chairs that his butt has ever touched. You hum in response, and he can’t help but laugh. He proceeds to mutter, “I need to get a new secretary.”

“Watch it.” You warn him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. He wasn’t serious with what he said, but once he takes a moment to think about it, he does consider it. When you stop spinning on his chair and get a good look at him, you notice. “Now what did I do!”

“You’re kind of a bad secretary.” He says, and you furrow your brows. He sticks up his hands defensively before claiming, “I was joking. Best secretary I’ve ever had.”

“Then why are you considering it?” You respond, and Satoru bites his tongue. He instead focuses back on his paperwork, and you sigh. You’re not going to pester him for answers, so instead you inch closer to his computer. “Can I snoop on your computer?”

“Knock yourself out.” He answers, not bothering to look up at you. You unlock the screen in no time, a password so easy to guess that you’re almost disappointed in him. 

Your heart melts at the background photo that he has set. A picture of him and Ren at the beach. You proceed to click on his photos, trying to see if he has anything incriminating in his computer. Perhaps a photo of one of his lady friends since you know that his phone and computer are connected.

You don’t find what you expect, most of his photos are either of your son or of food. He barely has pictures in his camera roll, so it only takes a few scrolls to go back to five years ago. You find photos that you’ve never seen of yourself. Photos that you consider ugly, photos that he’s cherished the past five years.

“Ew, I’m deleting these photos.” You announce, and you begin to handpick the ones that are the ugliest of the bunch. Satoru jumps up from his seat and rushes to your side to take the mouse from your hand. 

“You can snoop around but you can’t alter anything.” Satoru tells you, while he selects a picture of you sleeping. He hovers the cursor on your chin, a smirk on his face, “Aw, look at you drooling.”

“Why do you even have this in here?” You ask him, and he chooses to remain silent. Instead he closes the app and turns off the computer. He rolls your chair away from his computer, and puts you beside his seat for the day.

“Why do you want to even snoop? I promise you won’t find anything fun.” Satoru says, taking a seat right next to you.

“Want to see your lady friends, see if your taste has changed.” You answer, and Satoru shakes his head disappointedly as a chuckle leaves his lips. 

“My taste has not changed, you’re still the only woman that has my heart.” He tells you, and you swear your heart melts but you remain strong. You roll your eyes at him before pointing out,

“Is that why you were sleeping around?”

“Are you jealous?” Satoru asks, and you quickly shake your head. And he says something so insincere because if it were to happen, he’s sure he’d jump off the building, “If it makes you feel better, you can sleep with anyone you’d like.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” You reply. For some reason your words make him feel better, thinking that you’re not going to run off with some idiot in the end.

“On another note.” He clears his throat, and you raise your eyebrows. “What do you think about going back to school?”

“Huh? Where is this coming from?” You’re confused since you haven’t even mentioned going back to study.

“You don’t want to be my secretary forever, do you?” He makes a great point, though you don’t mind either. You get to goof off and Satoru doesn’t dare reprimand you anymore. Plus, pay is great. “You didn’t get to do what you wanted to do because I knocked you up, but now I’m here. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You know that it’s going to take a lot of time, effort and money for it.” You tell him, and he rolls his eyes. Bringing up money as if he didn’t just buy you a house. He has more than enough to support you financially.

“I’m here now, am I not?” He responds, and you have to take a deep breath. The words rest heavy on your chest, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You wouldn’t have imagined how three words have such an impact on you.

He sees you’re on the verge of crying, and he throws his arms over you, pulling you into a hug. He rubs your back in an attempt to comfort you, “If I had known that the mere suggestion of going back to school would make you cry, I wouldn’t have said a word.”

“No it’s– I’m fine.” You try to play it off. It just makes him hug you tighter. He’s nearly leaving you out of air, on the plus side, Satoru smells really good.

“If you want to be my lazy secretary forever, you’re more than welcome to. I’ll even give you a raise.” He reassures you, and you laugh. He loosens his grip before pressing a kiss on your temple. “I’ll support you no matter the journey you want to take. Even if it includes an ugly husband.”

“What makes you say my husband would be ugly?” You focus on the least important thing.

“Because if you don’t marry me, he’ll be ugly.” He answers, and you click your tongue. You hate that he’s doing things right.

“Then you’ll have to deal with me and my ugly husband.”

[borathae]

"You wake up in Jungkook's bed after a passionate night together."

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, domestic Fluff, hinted Smut

Warnings: casual nudity, Kookie shows off his muscles, he is a giggly cutie who just wants to be praised, they talk about last night's sex, she kisses his abs, he is so in love with her :(

Wordcount: 2k

a/n: i wanna give him the world. he is my babyboy :( also, i don't gotta mention by which live this was inspired. y'all KNOW fjadjfa. enjoy besties, i fucking love him 🤍

Something is tickling your face. Gently. Nicely. Warm. It feels warm. Fingers. You can make out the paths they draw. Over your forehead, tracing your brows, down your temples, along your cheeks and up your nose until the faintest touch feels up your closed eyelids. 

You know where you are. Jungkook’s wing. You stayed with him after the two of you went on a lovely movie date in town, followed by karaoke in his living room till late into the night. 

You had sex too. It was good sex. Amazing sex even. He made you see not only stars, but the entire galaxy. And in return you made him arch his back and whimper your name. It was amazing. It really, really was.

You still feel the afterglow of it. It became stronger again now that you are awake and actively take him in.

His soft scent lingers on the sheets and the warmth of his touch feels heavenly. You can’t stop your lips from curling into a sleepy smile. Quite frankly, you didn’t even try to stop them. Perhaps you even encouraged them to do so. 

“Mhm good morning. That feels amazing”, you mumble. 

“Good morning, my honey”, he answers you and cups your cheek to run his thumb along the tender skin under your eye. Once. Twice. 

Then you open your eyes to look at him. 

His face scrunches up into a giddy smile instantly. It starts off with his eyes before the rest of his face follows. You love the way he smiles. It is so precious and adorable that he always starts off with his eyes before anything else shows his happiness. It fits him so well. 

You retort his smile, feeling it grow when he scoots closer to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I’ve been awake for a little and I tried not to touch you, but you’re so pretty when you sleep”, he says, making your heart flutter. 

He scoots back again and touches your ear to massage it softly. 

“You didn’t wake me”, you assure him, tingling at the touch. 

“That’s good to hear. I hope you don’t mind that I looked at you”, he says and giggles, “I’m sorry, I just think that you’re so pretty.”

“I don’t mind”, you say and reach out to caress his naked chest, “you’re so cute, my honey.”

“Thank you, yeah”, he says and giggles. He is so cute when he is so happy. You hope that he never stops giggling. He shimmies back just enough that you can look at him comfortably. He gathers a bundle of his blanket and uses it to rest his chin on it. Like this, you have perfect view of his sculpted arms and tattoos. He didn’t bother to put on clothes last night and neither did you. He kept snuggling up to you throughout the night and whenever you noticed it, you felt yourself tingle. His skin felt like paradise against yours. It really did.

His eyes gaze at you with sparkles in them. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks. 

“Really well. Your bed’s so comfy.”

“Yeah? That’s good to hear”, he says and giggles once again. 

“And you?”

“I slept well too, yeah. I dreamed of you.”

“You did?” 

“Mh-hm. I dreamed of last night. It’s because I can’t stop thinking about it”, he giggles again, giving you the prettiest eye smile ever, “I think we had a really amazing date. I loved it a lot.”

“I loved it too”, you answer him and touch his arm to squeeze it lovingly, “you’re so cute.”

“Heh”, he lets out and blushes, “and I think that the sex was amazing”, he sounds shy all of a sudden, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile and agree with a nod of your head, “I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“Do your knees still hurt?” he makes sure. You finished him off by riding him and you went at it with such passion that your knees ached afterwards.

“No, they don’t. I told you, they were just tired.”

“You did it so hard”, he says and giggles with his nose scrunching up. He snuggles the blanket, even going so far as to rub his cheek against it, “I couldn’t stop moaning.”

“I couldn’t tell at all”, you joke and snicker.

He snickers as well, nodding his head, “I know, I was so loud. I can’t help it because you’re so, so good.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m the same when you touch me.”

“Yeah, I know”, he says, glancing down at your body just once, “you sounded really sexy. I think.”

“Thank you, baby. You sounded really sexy too.”

“Yeah, I liked it”, he says, “I’ve been able to make love to you without danger for such a long time already, but I still feel so excited by it. So it always feels epic and, and”, he stops himself, glancing at you shyly, “I hope I’m not annoying you with this already.”

“Kookie, come on”, you say sternly and nudge his chest, “don’t you dare say that. I feel as excited as you do, sweets. You deserve to feel this way.”

“Thank you. It means a lot that you share those feelings with me.”

“Of course, baby. I mean it.”

He smiles and reaches out to touch your face. Your cheek, your brow and temple until he ends it with a soft brush over your lips. And as he makes sure that your face is actually as beautiful as he thinks it is, his sparkly eyes race over your features without wanting to stop. They finally land on your lips and the way they look so pretty in the morning lights.

“I uhm”, he begins and lets out a shy giggle, meeting your gaze. You retort the chuckle, caressing the inside of his wrist.

“Mhm?”

“I think you’re beautiful”, he says, making your heart flutter.

“Thank you so much”, you whisper giddily, “you’re beautiful too.”

“Thank you”, he says and sits up just a little, “hey ___? I was thinking”, he begins.

“What were you thinking?” you ask him, expecting the most profound revelation ever.

“My arms look really strong today. What do you think?” he says, showing off by flexing his arm. His muscles tense and bulge, capturing your attention. 

You stifle a snicker. You did not expect for the conversation to go this way. He is such a wonderful person.

“Look at this”, he points at the most sculpted parts, “can you see the lines there and, and how big it looks there?”

“I can”, you tell him, melting in fondness. He is so adorable when he shows off because you know for a fact that he believes that this is the most impressive thing he could do. Not being loving and gentle, neither being the best listener and sweetest person ever. No, in his eyes showing off his muscles is the most impressive thing about him. Which, don’t misunderstand, is very impressive, but it is still very adorable as well because of how randomly he decided to do it. 

“Can you see how strong I am?” he asks, flexing even harder. 

“I can”, you reach out and touch his arm. It is rockhard, “wow, Kookie your muscles are so hard.”

“Right? It’s because I’m so strong”, he says.

“Mhm, of course you are. You’re such a strong man, this is so impressive”, you praise him, squeezing his arm gently, “wow, so strong.”

“Yeah, right?” he agrees and then sticks his head under the blanket for a second. You watch him with fondness bubbling in your tummy, “and check this out”, he says, reappearing again and tugging the blanket down his torso just enough that the first hint of his pubes gets revealed. He is resting on his back, propped up on his elbow and with his abs flexed. He runs his fingers down the lines of them, “look.”

You roll to your tummy and prop yourself up on your elbows. Like this, you could easily rest your chin on his stomach if you wanted to.

“Wow Kookie, your abs looks so strong”, you gasp.

“Right? It’s because I used them so much last night”, he says, making your chest flutter. He wasn’t lying. He did use them a lot as he was making you see galaxies.

“Mhm of course you did”, you say, “can I touch?”

“Of course.”

You reach out and trace his muscles with your fingertips. Jungkook watches you with his breathing just a little quickened. Goosebumps cover his skin wherever you touch. You finish your explorations by shimmying closer and draping your arm over his lap just so you can lower your lips to his stomach and kiss it.

Jungkook gasps when that happens, shivering like crazy. You nuzzle your nose into his faint happy trail and inhale his scent. He smells like warm nights, good sex and clean skin. It’s addictive, really, and for just a short moment you play with the desire to lick him until he shivers.

You lift your head, meeting his droopy gaze.

“My strong man”, you say, flashing him a loving grin.

Jungkook breaks into a fit of happy giggles, picking you up in his strong arms to hug you against his chest. 

“Thank you ___, I’m your strong man”, he says, wiggling you from side to side. 

“Yes you are”, you tell him, snaking your arm around his waist, “I feel very safe in your arms.”

“Wow really?” he gasps and giggles, “wow, thank you. This means so much to me.”

He lies down with you in his arms, which results in your finding your new resting spot sprawled halfway on top of him and with your face buried in the crook of his neck. You grunt at the impact, before a fond chuckle shakes your shoulders.

“Careful”, you tell him.

“I’m sorry”, he slips his arms from you, “did I hurt you?”

“No, you just surprised me. That’s all”, you say, climbing on top of him and sitting down on his lap. Just below his dick and with your hands feeling up his pecs. Like this, the blanket covers you until your hips while the rest of your body was exposed to the cool air. Goosebumps cover your skin instantly, but Jungkook touches don’t allow your body to feel cold. He runs his hands all over your body, leaving out the most intimate spots for respect reasons and massaging the parts which he thinks are so incredibly soft.

“My strong man, mhm?” you say.

He nods his head vigorously, pressing out a shaky, “yeah.” He is just so excited to be with you and to be your strong man! He is your man! That’s awesome!

You run your hands to his shoulders before placing them in the pillow beside his head. Like this, you can look down at his pretty face while Jungkook feels up your back and the beginning of your buttocks.

“Should we check out this café we passed last night?”

You drove by a café on your way to the cinema yesterday. Back then, it had already closed for the day, but it promised fresh breakfast everyday in the café window. You talked about going there one day and trying out the menu.

“I love this idea”, he says, “I’m really hungry already”, he tells you and adds a quick, “not that kind of hungry though, don’t worry.”

You laugh, “I wasn’t thinking that”, you assure him, pecking his lips. 

Jungkook hums and hooks his arms behind your head. With one expert movement, he has your positions flipped, kissing your lips as happy purrs rumble in his chest.

“Kookie, wait”, you giggle, fighting him off with minimal effort, “the breakfast.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me then”, he mumbles, chasing your kiss.

“It was a peck, you’re the one deepening it”, you complain with a racing heart.

“Mhm no”, he answers you, making you laugh.

“Come on, baby”, you snicker, turning your head so he is kissing your cheek instead.

“Hmpf fine”, he huffs out air, rubbing his nose against you slowly, “first shower, then breakfast, then I’ll buy you flowers and then I’ll show you what kissing me all naked gets you.”

“Sounds like a deal”, you say, feeling oh so giddy that you could burst.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Sweet Delights

Peeta Mellark x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a slow work day in District 12. With rain pouring down outside, who can blame you for wanting to indulge a little? Everything's fine so long as no one walks in... right?

Tags: Pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, pet names, reader has AFAB body/female pronouns, switch!Peeta, switch!Reader, edging, female fingering, teasing, count down, orgasm denial, blow job, face fucking, public sex, someone walks in, dirty talk, Peeta's a freak but he's sweet about it, praise kink if you squint, mentions of eating out, cum swallowing, cursing, post-Mockingjay but that's not really relevant, no reader orgasm this time around. Once again, I'm probably forgetting something.

Notes: I have to say, I did not expect Peeta to win the poll! And not to worry for everyone else, I'll get to all those characters eventually. (Derek girlies, I see you and I love you.) Thank you for your support on the last one, I hope you like this one too! Bon ABBA teeth.

•°《▪︎♡▪︎》°•

Peeta loves surprises.

Giving them, receiving them. If it's unexpected, Peeta is practically bouncing off his chair to figure out what to do with it.

It made everyday life sweeter. Slipping a note into his apron pocket when he wasn't looking for him to discover, finding a million more hidden in my apron. Little drawings hidden amongst everyday things, like the wildflowes Peeta likes to draw and place next to my powders and perfumes. But best of all surprises were the little pastries we would make when the days were slow and the other was watching the front of the bakery. Usually using scraps, because Peeta detests wasting food, but always delicious nonetheless.

The best innocent surprise, I should say.

Today was an especially slow day. Rain pounding down in District 12, making the roads thick with mud. It's a blessing for the hot ovens that fight against the cold seeping through the front windows. Although they're helping me more than Peeta, who's up front perched at the counter, insistent as always that someone needs to be watching the shop. "We won't hear the bell over the rain," he'd said.

I knew better than that. There were tells when Peeta wanted a surprise. He'd never just ask for something, always fearing rejection. Of course the minute I opened my mouth he was ready to do whatever I had even intrusively dreamed of so long as it meant love and praise. But to ask for himself? It's a whole different matter. So when he is insistent I work alone in the back, I understand that this is his own silent way of asking for some sort of surprise. And with the way his broad shoulders look in that pale yellow knit sweater, who am I to deny him?

I'm not one to deny him anything, quite frankly.

The best surprises of all are when we sneak up behind the other, always starting so innocently. Maybe while one of us is baking, maybe while one of us is simply dressing. With the quick slip of a hand, it doesn't take long before the other is panting and begging for release. Not that we always give it to each other.

Peeta liked sneaking up on me in private. Usually when I was in the back baking.

"What are you working on?" He'd usually ask.

"Custom order," I may answer with a smile. He liked my smiles, always said so.

"What are the details?" He'd ask. He'd put his hands on my lower back, rubbing soft enough to not disturb me while still working out some knots.

Then I'd prattle off details. This one is for so-and-so down on whatever-street-or-corner, they'd like a cake.

"For the Harvest Festival?" He'd ask. I'd nod, still focused on my task. "How many orders do we have for the Festival?"

"A good bit, it's our busiest time," I'd always say with a bright, soft tone to my voice. He'd chuckle, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck and pressing his hips against mine from behind, usually revealing his hard on.

"So, how many orders this year?" He'd ask. His hands would work at a knot, his breath hot on my neck, and his hips would roll ever so slowly against mine, taking his time to build both of us up.

"Ah, I think- I think 12?" I'd say, trying to focus on both him and whatever I was making. Cake. Right. Stir.

"12?" He'd ask. His cock would be deliciously hard, grinding against my clothed cunt just a bit harder as his hands would return to my hips, steadying me against him. "That's pretty good."

"Double digits," I'd say brightly, my voice breathy as I struggle more to focus. Cake. Stir. Hands, not hips.

But I'd always do hips instead, leaning back and tilting my head ever so slightly so he can see my enjoyment.

"You need to stir," Peeta would gently guide in my ear. My back would press against his front, his chin now resting on my shoulder.

"I know," I'd say softly. I didn't know shit.

He'd chuckle, one hand slipping to my front to cup one of my breasts.

"Need to get those orders out," he'd remind me. "You always seem so stressed about being on time."

"One of us has to be," I'd say. His hand on my hip would find the band of my pants, slipping past them and teasing me, sliding his fingers against my wet folds.

"Pick up the whisk," he'd instruct. My hands would shake as they obeyed, moving from being splayed across the marble counter to resume my task.

"Stir slowly," he'd say. His large fingers would slip over my entrance, coating himself in the thick lube now dripping from me. "You want to make sure the texture's correct."

It took such mental energy to balance the two things. Especially when he would finally sink in his middle finger, always going knuckle deep and twirling it around inside of me, making sure to leave no spot untouched. His other hand would pinch and pull at my breast, giving special care to make his fingers replicate the feeling of his soft lips wrapped around my sensitive nipples.

"What's the next order?" He'd ask. I could feel myself dripping down his hand, and I knew he loved this. Peeta would do whatever he could to make sure I was wet, even when he wouldn't go any further than simple teasing. I think he liked the idea of me always being ready. Not that he would assume. He always started out slow, and if I ever said no it was never a big deal. He'd simply continue talking to me and go on with his day perfectly fine. But if I was willing, he'd always massage or do whatever until he could feel my arousal himself. I think it's why he likes eating out best. Especially when I'd talk him through it, usually promising to cum down his throat while tugging his soft blond hair. His eyes would grow wide and soft at that, his whimpers increasing as he'd fuck me quicker with his tongue, grinding himself against whatever. It was a beautiful mess he'd turn himself into, desperate and begging silently as he clutched my hips.

"The what?" I'd ask breathlessly. I was tight around him, focused on how slow and sweet he was pumping in and out, twirling and wiggling his finger inside of me. His other hand slipping under my shirt, and his lips sucking gently at my neck, careful not to leave bruises.

"The orders, sweetheart," he'd gently remind me. "What's the next one?"

My lips would part, eyes fluttering shut as I tried to remember. His middle finger would pump out and then pump back in with the addition of his pointer finger, tearing a soft moan from my throat.

"Shh," he'd gently whisper. "We're at work."

He liked this little game. Ramping me up, forcing me to behave a certain way so to not tip off customers. If Peeta wouldn't immediately be arrested for it, something tells me he'd simply fuck me in the front room, bent over the register counter during business hours and just act like it's a normal thing. Such a sweet boy.

"I- ah- need to look at the book," I'd say. He'd roll my nipple between his two fingers, his other two fingers pumping slightly faster as his lips suck at the spot just under my ear.

"You have such a good memory though," he'd say. "You can remember. Just think."

That's a lie. I have a horrible memory and we both know it. But if I say I can't, he'll pull away. Sweet and gentle, he'll go get the book and place a million kisses on my cheek before leaving me to my work and dizziness.

Next order. Next order. That's easy. It's a tart with cream on top. Cream. God, I'd like his cock in my mouth right now.

"Next order. Come on, pretty girl. I know you know it," he'd softly encourage.

"I know it," I'd moan, my head tilted back and resting on his shoulder, fucking his fingers instead of working on the cake. He feels so good, so warm and protecting. Simply smelling the traces of dill and cinnamon baked into his skin made my mind shut off, my eyes growing tired from the feeling of safety.

"I know you know it," he'd say so sweetly. "You're smart, pretty. And you've got a delicious cunt I'd love to fuck over and over if I could," he'd say softly, placing warm kisses on my neck between each point. I was panting openly now, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to remember who ordered what.

His fingers curled inside of me, making rapid 'come hither' motions fast enough to steal a soft, sudden cry fron my lips. Peetas mouth found mine, swallowing my moans and giving me some of his own.

"I may have to count down, sweet girl," he'd warn me. His fingers had found my g spot, hitting and rubbing it at rapid speed. The cuff of his sweater is soaked from me, his hand sticky and coated. I shake my head quickly, moaning and gripping the counter as best I could to keep myself standing.

"I can remember," I whimpered. Peeta laughed softly.

"I know you can, sweet girl. But look at you, you're a total mess." His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes taking in my current state. "I can't have you all dumb back here during work hours."

He's sweet but he's cruel. God, he's cruel!

"I think there's berries in it," I stammered.

"Ten," he's start patiently, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"N-no, wait! There's- There's berries and there's..." I'm completely making this up. I have no clue what's next.

"Nine," he continued, knowing this.

"That's not fair, you started low on purpose!" I whined.

"Eight." He wouldn't argue. I was right.

"It's got- got cottage cheese frosting." I'm so close, so awfully close. I can feel myself clenching around him rapidly, my pussy swallowing his fingers quicker and quicker as I climbed closer towards the edge.

"Seven." Oh, God. This motherfucker.

"Six. Come on, good girl. You can do this," he'd encourage sweetly, kissing my cheek and trailing to my collarbone with said kisses.

"They wanted flowers on the top. Violets, I remember that!" That detail is actually true, surprisingly. The candy violets were always easy to remember because I loved them so much.

"Five." His other hand kneeded my breast, admiring the soft flesh and running his thumb over my stiff, aching nipple repeatedly. "Four."

"You're speeding up," I whined. "This isn't fair."

He let out a soft 'aw,' apologizing and speeding his hands to bring me closer to the edge.

"If you can come before one, I'll fuck you right here," he promised. "You can come before one, can't you?"

I nodded stupidly, moaning and panting as I sped up my hips, slamming down on his hand repeatedly. Cake details be damned, this is my mission now.

"Three." I'm so impossibly close.

"Two."

"Wait a minute, slow down-"

"One."

With one final, cruel, hard thrust of his hand he slips away, leaving me to almost crumple to the ground and opening my eyes to blink stupidly, trying to process what just happened.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dry hand cupping my cheek and looking at me carefully with his sweet, hazel eyes.

A long, soft whine escaped me, batting my lashes as I lean against him and whisper as many 'please's as I can, pressing a dozen kisses all over him. He laughed softly, returning the kisses with whispered 'I love you's.

"Let me go get that book," he'd said. And that was that until that evening when he made up for it like he always did.

Now I was carefully removing a tiny apple pie made from leftovers meant specifically for Peeta. The rain was as bad as ever as I entered the front room, Peeta leaning on the palm of his hand while he struggled not to doze off. His long lashes flutter softly, his lips pressing against each other and his jaw a bit tight.

"Hi sleepyhead," I whisper, sneaking up behind him. He started a little, turning to look at me with the sweetest smile he has.

"Hi," he says cheerily, his voice just a touch gravely. His eyes glance down to the small treat in my hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is," I say, placing it in front of him. "Figured you could use something to warm you up. It's freezing up here."

He chuckles. "It's not that cold," he says as he picks up the fork I'd placed next to the tiny pie and began scooping some up.

"Liar," I teased. "You're shivering."

He shifts in his seat slightly. "Not from that," he says, a small blush growing on his cheeks. He takes the first bite, then another, smiling and leaning his head against my shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," he says softly. He leans in for a kiss to which I happily oblige, cupping his jaw with my left hand. His lips taste sweet, the sticky apple and cinnamon tasting delicious on him. I swipe my tongue across his lips, stealing a soft moan from him as he allows my tongue access to his mouth, melting in my hands. His hand dropped the fork, accidently missing the pan and instead hitting the counter, but neither of us care. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to silently ask me for more.

My other hand trails down to his lap, finding one of his hands already there, palming his stiff, clothed cock through his pants.

"Is this what you were doing when I came up?" I ask softly, pulling away from the kiss only a bit. He chases me, biting at my bottom lip to drag me back to him. That's a yes, then.

My tongue explores his warm mouth, tasting him while my hand traces the outline of his dick, pressing and flicking against the tip. He whines, bucking softly into my hand, desperate for more.

"Can you stay quiet?" I ask him, pulling away again. This time my hand on the back of his neck grabs his golden locks, holding him still as I look into his eyes. His cheeks are red as well as his lips, kiss swollen and damp. His breathing is heavy, his eyes blown out. Barely touched and already a beautiful mess.

"Huh?" He asks, his voice higher than usual as he tries to focus. His hand grasping my wrist, making sure to keep my hand where he can buck against it.

"If I asked you to, would you stay quiet?" I repeat gently, teasing him with kisses by leaning forward and pulling away. We both liked this.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Anything?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Anything."

Alright.

I press a quick, admittedly sloppy kiss to his lips once more before dropping to my knees and slipping under the counter. His brows furrow in confusion before he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't!" He whispers frantically. "What if someone walks in?"

"That's why I asked if you could stay quiet," I say patiently. "Can you?"

He bites his lip, obviously unsure. His eyes dart between me and the shop door, thinking.

"We can wait," I offer genuinely. This seems to be the deciding factor.

"I'll be quiet," he promises eagerly. "I've got a pie I can shove in my mouth if I can't, right?" He jokes, his smile crooked and eager as his hands work quickly to begin freeing himself. He's excited alright.

"Right," I say, taking his hands away and undoing the buttons on his pants myself. "Just keep watch of the shop, alright sweet boy?" He nods, placing his arms on the counter and trying to resume his position.

I slip his cock from the confines of his clothes, pressing a soft wet kiss to the underside along a thick vein. A quiet whine escapes him, his hand covering his mouth. I'm not truly worried about him being quiet, no one is going to come in here during such bad weather. It's just an edge to help work him into a frenzy, knowing full well he never stays quiet. I'd thought I was vocal when we started our relationship, but Peeta easily takes the cake.

His cock is warm, half hard against my lips that trail his veins. My tongue slides from his tip to his base, barely any pressure on his skin. Grazing always works best to start out with. When I reach his base I lap at his skin, blowing soft, cold air against the wet spots to make him squirm in his chair. I focus on his base for a while, sucking, licking, blowing. Ever so gently I even bite just the tiniest bit, enough for him to notice the edges of my teeth along his red, pulsing cock. His voice is soft, panting quietly.

My tongue trails slowly up his cock, exploring different ridges and spots that make him whimper quietly, working my way back to his tip which is soaked with thick, warm precum. I wrap my lips around him, swiping the moisture away with my tongue in one round sweep. I relish in the cry it tears from his throat, the dozen little apologies he whimpers immediately after. His hand covers his mouth, and the other trails down to gently cup the back of my head. I smile around him, swirling my spit around his tip as I suck gently, pressing my tongue against the underside of his dick.

His fingers play with my hair, unintentionally tugging it and apologizing as he does. I simply squeeze his thighs and begin lowering myself, taking him until his tip hits the back of my throat, taking deep, even breaths to fight off the gags that threaten to escape me.

It's when my nose buries in his soft, curly hair at his base that the bell of the front door rings.

"Hi!" Peeta says a little too quickly, a little too brightly. "Welcome to Mellarks Bakery. How may we- I help you today?"

I'm frozen, his hand gripping my hair out of anxiety. If I pull away, we'll be done. If I stay here, Peeta may very well have to make good on his promise.

Although, acting has never been a challenge for him, has it?

The customer is describing a custom tart she wants made, then pulling out a long list and prattling about this, that, and the other thing. Her accent clearly shows her as a Capitol transfer, and these orders always take forever given that they still have a hard time releasing the concept of not over indulging. But this time I don't plan on complaining.

My tongue begins to move slowly, rubbing carefully along the bottom of his cock while I watch his face carefully. He's smiling at the woman who's still going down the list, his eyes glancing at me to confirm this is what we're doing. With a small nod from me, his hand casually covers his mouth once more and he resumes focus on the woman, his other hand now guiding my head slowly, carefully.

He pulls me to the tip of his dick, working me back and forth slowly on just that spot. My tongue works quickly, my lips wrapping around him tightly to help create proper suction around him while I suck.

"Do you have pumpkin?" The woman asks.

"W- what?" Peeta asks, clearing his throat. "Oh, pumpkin. I'll admit I'm running a little low, it's been a popular request since we don't grow them locally. I've requested more but I don't know if they'll be in in time, so if you want something that uses it you'll have to get it-" his voice cracks as I deepthroat him again, swallowing around him quickly before returning myself to his tip. He clears his throat. "You'll have to reserve it right now," he finishes. I can see him quickly scoop up some of the pie, shoving it in his mouth and trying to hide his blush. It's lucky for us how oblivious Capitol born citizens are.

His hand guides me faster, focusing on fucking his tip near the back of my throat since we both know full well how hitting the back of my throat isn't an option. We can't risk any noise gagging may cause since it may not be covered up by the soft music playing on the shop speakers, a gift from Beetee for the reopening.

His pace is fast, faster than it should be. He's close, smiling at the woman and acting as though everything is normal. His large vein throbs, precum spilling out of him with each new thrust into my mouth. My hand reaches to press two digits against the soft spot behind his balls, a sensitive spot that makes him cry and squirm.

His jaw tightens as I do this, his eyes darting down daggers quickly. I can hear coins on the counter, Peeta accepting the list and opening the register. With the loud 'clank' springing forth from the older device, he takes the chance to slam my face down fully on his cock, his fingers making the coins loudly shift around as he gives the customer her change. Tears spring to my eyes from the sudden force, swallowing around him as I focus on my breathing to recover. He promises the woman he'll do what he can and wishes her a good day, and she coos sweetly. She reaches across the counter, patting his cheek and calling him a sweet boy before turning and walking out of the bakery, the bell chiming at her exit.

Peeta looks down at me, smiling brightly. "Hi," he says with a newfound excitement.

I moan around his cock. He gets it.

"You okay?" He asks, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. I make an affirming noise, trying to smile. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks, his thumbs swiping away the small tears dangling from my bottom lashes. I shake my head, swallowing around him. He moans softly, his grip tightening.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you like it when I am, don't you?" He asks, beginning to slowly pump his dick in and out of the back of my throat. I moan happily, taking him as easily as I can.

"You know how hard it was not coming down your throat with that lady in here?" He asks. "I had to edge myself so that it wouldn't become known how much I like fucking your throat."

My cunt throbs at his words, his closeness making him willing to be more rough. He starts fucking my face in earnest, tearing noises from both of our throats as he loses himself.

"Can't do that again," he pants. "Next time I'm just taking you. I don't care who walks in." He's moaning openly now, his cock abusing me. I can feel him throbbing, twitching. There's enough precum it's all I can do to focus on swallowing and breathing.

"Show this whole District how much I love you," he babbles. "I'll eat you out on this fucking counter, I don't give a fuck."

I press my heel against my clit, grinding into it to relieve some friction as my hands steady my body against his thighs. The chair underneath of him creeks horribly. If anyone walked in now, I don't even think we'd have a small second to hide what we're doing.

"I love your fucking pussy," he rambles, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Love your fucking mouth. You take me so well. So eagerly."

I moan around him, spit dribbling from my mouth, hair stuck to my face. His balls slam against my chin, his wet curls pressing against my nose as he face fucks me like a rabid animal.

"I'm gonna cum down your throat," he announces. "Then you're gonna cum down mine. Again," thrust. "And again," thrust. "Until we don't even have to make dinner from how full we'll be." Goddamn, he's close.

His hands are rough, gripping my face. "Rub your tongue harder," he commands. I do, putting as much pressure as I can on his throbbing vein. He moans loudly, leaning forward and clutching my head.

"I'm coming," he pants, his voice high and tired. "Fuck, I'm coming-!"

His warm, thick load shoots down my throat, filling my mouth so much I cant breathe if I want to swallow it all.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises. "So sweet and good, eager to make me cum." His face is pressed against the cool counter, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. His thumbs stroke my cheeks at different paces, small whimpers escaping him as I milk him dry with my mouth, making sure not a drop is left behind. When he's fully softened, I place a small kiss on his tip before tucking him back in, rebuttoning his clothes and patting his thighs one more time.

It takes a moment for me to rise, my joints stiff and my mind scrambled from the abuse it had just suffered. I stumble a little as I stand, Peeta's weak arms collecting my body and bringing me into a warm embrace.

"You're wonderful," he whispers, resting his head against my chest. I chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his messy hair.

"So are you," I say.

He looks up at me, flushed and smiling at me with the most wonderful, lazy look on his face.

"Your turn," he says, finding a new wave of surprising strength and placing me on the counter.

"Peeta, we're still open," I giggle, batting his hands away.

"I know," he says. "Did you think I was joking?"

He stares at me, smiling and eager as he begins to part my legs.

This is going to be a long night.

•《♡》•

Whoever gets second place on the poll is who I'm writing next. Feel free to send in requests for characters/scenarios! See you next time, you degenerates <3

Masterlist

[melodic-haze]

alright think about this jealous sex with arlecchino. Maybe she’s been hanging out with columbina too much.

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Thr briefest mention of petplay, rough sex ig, that's basically it 🤷‍♀️

Ohhhhmygod the way Arlecchino talks of her so very fondly too like it's VERY easy to be jealous I think. Like I'm not really a jealous or a possessive person but even then I'd give like a slight side eye

The Knave was just spending a BIT too much time with Columbina for your tastes. You ask if you could hang out w her, she tells you she has a prior engagement with the other Harbinger. You go to talk to her, she's already talking with Damselette. Frankly, she's acc taking the piss❗️❗️❗️

It just. Drives you up the FUCKING WALL but yk. "Do unto others what you want done to you" or smth like that idk the saying

"I-- I'm going to--"

"You are not doing anything unless I tell you to."

You feel her hands grip onto your hair as you practically abused her cunt with your fingers. If you weren't pinning her to the wall and holding her up, you were sure that as formidable as she was, her legs would've buckled down from the overwhelming stimulation and the lack of release whenever she reached her very peak.

(With the strength of her grip, youu also thanked archons above that despite everything, she was careful enough to not claw at your scalp. That wasn't the most important thing right now, though.)

"You know," you idly mused—taunted, even—as you curled your digits within her, "we could've been doing something better. We could've been having tea, tending to your children, having so much more fun than this. And yet what do you do?"

You pulled your fingers away, slick glistening and forming a faintly connecting line before snapping, and you hear a desperate whimper that you pointedly ignore, "You pass all that up for your fellow Harbinger."

"But she can't make you feel good like I do, can she?" You slapped her thigh harshly, to which you ignore her surprised gasp too—you knew she could handle much more anyway, "Nobody else can have you all pliant and breathless like this. Not her, not anyone."

Arlecchino actually makes a move to nod instead of standing there all dumb, "Only.. Only for you.. my love, I--"

"Only for me?"

"Yes..!"

Answering like an over-eager dog. Actually hilarious.

You stand up and press your fingers harshly inside of her, and just when she feels utter delight in tbe thought of you finally granting mercy on a sinner such as her?

"Move."

"..What?"

"You heard me, my love," the affectionate pet name overshadowed by your mocking tone, "if you want to get off, then move. Surely you can manage such a simple task, right?"

It's unsaid that you want her to move on her own to show her dedication to you...

But either she caught on or she was desperate for the feeling of you inside her, for she leaned her head and started to grind her pussy onto your offered hand.

Only you were allowed to command her like this.

Need to constantly alternate between edging her and overstimming her, both to such UNBEARABLE levels bc SURELY she can handle it 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Absolutely use her in ANY way you could think of; by this point she's a hole for you to use and vent your jealousy to, all while repeating some kinda mantra about how Columbina could never do the things you do to her

Remind her that only YOU could make her feel the things she does, remind her that only YOU could have her bend to your will, both literally and metaphorically. Doesn't matter to you how powerful she is!! Could be an eldrich horror and you don't gaf

At the end of the day, you have utterly corrupted her—trained her—in the ways that she (or anyone) had never imagined. You've absolutely ruined her for everyone else

You just. Need to remind her with a LOT of torture 🥰 break this supposed monster all over again, make her remember just who, exactly, tamed her 🥰🥰🥰

Whether it's by stuffing her with so many toys all in the lowest settings or absolutely filling her up over and over and over and OVER until all traces of the angel-like Harbinger is completely fucked out of her mind 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[bosbas]

Chapter 3: best believe I'm still bejeweled

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You're struggling to find someone you're as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

May 19, 1814 - Today marks not only the birthday of our illustrious Queen Charlotte but also the grand event eagerly awaited by all of London's high society: the splendid Queen Charlotte's Ball.

The air is thick with excitement as the ton awaits the debut of our beautiful new bachelorettes for the season. Rest assured, dear readers, this author shall be your eyes and ears throughout the evening, ensuring you are privy to every scandal, dance, and whispered secret that unfolds at this momentous celebration.

The air was, as Lady Whistledown had said, thick with something, although you weren't quite sure it was excitement. Your stomach was tied in a complete tangle of knots, and said knots were doing cartwheels all over the dressing room you were currently in. Looking over at Cass and Eloise eating biscuits and giggling together on the other side of the room, you desperately wished you could stay with them rather than go to the ball.

Until this morning, you had been cautiously optimistic about the whole affair, excited about being courted despite your strong reservations about marriage, knowing it would most likely be a significant loss of your freedom. But at least in the beginning, when you didn't have to immediately think about the greater implications of courting, you could pretend that getting to know people and dancing and receiving flowers could be just fun. But now, with your mother and Lady Violet excitedly chattering around you as your lady's maids rushed to and fro, grabbing your makeup and jewelry, you were less than ecstatic.

Just as the claustrophobia was getting to be a bit much and you were quite ready to jump out of the window into the garden and take off running, Daphne entered the dressing room. Shooing the lady's maids away momentarily, Daphne offered a sympathetic look and sat beside you. You shot her a grateful smile, immediately letting out a breath, slumping your shoulders, and resting your chin on your gloved hand.

"Oh dear, I know that look very well," Daphne laughed. "It's not all bad, I promise."

Rubbing your temples, you confessed, "I know. I was excited until this morning. It's all rather overwhelming now that I'm actually experiencing it, though. What do you even talk about when you're dancing? What if no one wants to speak to me at all?"

Upon hearing the distress in your voice, Daphne quickly interjected. "Honestly, I was much more of a wreck than you were and I am frankly impressed by how well you're holding it together. My best advice would be to not think about it too much. It's harder to do in your position, I know, but you are so brilliant in every way, and everyone is dying to get to know you. It's a wonderful advantage to have. You get to be selective. So just be yourself the best way you know how and try to seek out the ones who make you feel the most comfortable."

You responded with a small laugh, "I guess it's a good thing Ben isn't here then; otherwise, I'd be spending the whole evening with him."

An indecipherable look took over Daphne's features. "It truly is beyond me why he would miss such an important day. Men being men, I suppose. But it's alright. You have the entire Bridgerton clan in his stead, not to mention your family. And speaking of Benedict, he did leave a note with me he wanted me to give you today." Daphne handed you a small rectangular envelope with your name in Benedict's scrawl across the front. Daphne reached over and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "you look absolutely stunning. You have nothing to worry about."

Giving her friend a final kiss on the cheek, Daphne stood up and joined the excited mothers on the other side of the room, allowing you a moment to carefully open the envelope in your hands.

Y/I (your initial), 

Hopefully, Daphne will manage to deliver this on time. I'm dreadfully sad I can't be there with you today, but I know you will impress absolutely everyone in attendance. Send Lady Danbury my regards. Or perhaps don't. Whichever makes it less likely I have to dance with her at the next ball I attend!

Yours, B

Smiling to yourself, you felt just a tad more prepared to face the queen in a short time, Ben's note filling you with confidence and Daphne's reassuring words soothing your anxieties.

---

An earlier conversation with Hyacinth had left you terrified of falling flat on your face tonight, so you were intently focused on completing each step as smoothly as possible. As the last debutante to be presented to the queen, your goal was to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you found the opposite. The room hushed as you entered, which you were worried about until you saw everyone's warm smiles and eager gazes. Newly filled with confidence, you gracefully completed your journey to the throne, where you curtseyed before Queen Charlotte.

Upon receiving the queen's enthusiastic approval, you heaved a sigh of relief. Now, you could enjoy the ball and take in all the new experiences of being out in society. The ballroom was a dazzling display of candlelight, silk gowns, and a polished dance floor as the orchestra played a lively tune. However, the moment of peace was quickly interrupted by many people rushing to talk to you at once. Gracefully moving from one conversation to another, you were enjoying the whirlwind of your debut. Invigorated by your earlier conversation with Daphne, you embraced the attention, excitedly introducing yourself and exchanging pleasantries as you attempted to move toward your mother a few yards away.

After talking to quite a few eligible bachelors and a not-insignificant amount of their mothers, you reached Countess Beaumont and the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. "Oh, Y/N, your dance card seems to be full! Not even five minutes after you've been presented, no less! That's quite wonderful. I was worried I'd have to send Colin and Anthony to dance with you," your mother exclaimed, cheekily winking at you.

Violet laughed and shook her head. "They should be so lucky! All everyone is talking about is how beautiful you look, dear. Not news to us, obviously, but it's nice to see other people recognizing it."

Truthfully, you were over the moon. You loved to dance, after all, and looking out toward the ballroom, you could see all three of your brothers, your father, Anthony, Colin, and Daphne, scattered throughout. You felt oddly comfortable being in such a new environment, and perhaps Daphne was correct: you could be selective. You had even turned away a few gentlemen who asked you to dance before your card was full, opting to wait for the ones with kind smiles and kinder words.

Just then, Lord Marcus Thornfield approached you, having already been one of the people on your dance card, and you were once again taken aback by his piercing blue eyes. He bowed elegantly and offered a boyish smile and his gloved hand. "It's lovely to see you again, Miss Beaumont, still looking completely stunning. Would you do me the honor of sharing this dance with me?"

You could feel your face getting a tad hot, overwhelmed by the flattery, but at the same time soaking it in thoroughly. You curtsied slightly and placed your gloved hand in his. "Mr. Thornfield, I would be delighted," you replied.

Then, addressing the other two women in the trio, Lord Thornfield said, "If you don't mind, I'd love to borrow Lady Beaumont for a dance."

Thrilled about your first dance at a ball, your mother and Lady Bridgerton enthusiastically assented, clasping their hands together and waving at the pair of you as you approached the dance floor. Sporting a broad smile, you allowed Marcus to escort you away.

As you glided through the dance floor with Marcus, making soft and sometimes flirtatious conversation, you found that you much preferred him before speaking to him in depth. Although he was a complete gentleman, you often found his conversation topics tedious at best and boring at worst. Of course, it was unreasonable for you to expect in-depth and completely captivating conversations like the ones you had with Benedict, but you felt like the chat with Marcus could have at least been engaging. You could not recall a single question he had asked you throughout your interaction, opting instead to talk about himself and occasionally compliment your appearance that night. Surely, there was more to life than hearing a man drone on endlessly about his own life. Toward the end of the dance, you were glad to reach your mother once again, practically begging for an excuse to slip away from Marcus.

Your next dance was better but by a slim margin. The man, Earl Ashton, was nice enough, but you didn't quite feel a connection with him as strong as you would have liked. The following two dances and three conversations that did not involve dancing were mostly the same. The most common question you received, which often was the only one you were asked in the entire interaction, was the reasoning behind your delay in coming out. You took this opportunity to talk about literature, sometimes delving into your latest read. However, save for two or three of them, most of the bachelors you spoke with were not interested in further discussing your studies. After yet another boy refused to engage in real conversation, opting to talk about his upcoming hunting trip, you saw your mother raising her eyebrows at Violet and casting an inconspicuous disapproving look toward the man you were speaking with.

A tad frustrated by your experience, but not enough to dim the glow you were feeling, you decided to take respite at the refreshment table. You were sipping on lemonade and attempting to decipher what was missing from your previous interactions. Partially, you recognized that you were to blame for having set such high standards with Benedict. You knew meeting someone and getting to know them was not the same as speaking with your best friend since childhood, but it seemed instinctual to compare the two. Most of the men you talked to were leagues better than Marcus Thornfield, though, who, you noticed amusedly, was speaking with another debutante who looked positively disinterested.

You were brought out of your musings by the familiar voices of Colin and Anthony. "Well, hello, Miss Y/N Beaumont, diamond of the season and center of the ton's attention who is looking absolutely radiant tonight, according to possibly every single person I have spoken to tonight," called Anthony, reaching your side in a few strides.

Laughing into your cup, you smiled up at the boys. "Well, if it isn't the two most eligible bachelors here tonight, according to every eager mama. How has the ball been for you?"

Colin feigned offense, putting his hand to his chest, "For us? Who cares about us? How has the night been for you?!"

As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, Lord Reginald Harrington bounded over to your group and bowed. Very courteous, Lord Harrington asked you for a dance. Still, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, after seeing Harrington very pointedly staring at another debutante's bosom instead of her eyes while having a conversation), you did not have any space left on your dance card. Anthony barely had time to throw out a good-natured joke about the ton's demand for you before another young man approached the trio. Quite unfortunately, Mr Geoffrey Huntington was on your dance card, so you let yourself be guided to the dance floor. As you spun and twirled with Mr Huntington, you once again yearned for something more. You did not know what, exactly. But a pleasant conversation (he asked questions about you and even made you laugh a few times!) still did not completely satisfy you.

Off to the side, Colin and Anthony were intently observing the dance between you and Geoffrey. "She doesn't quite look like that when she's talking to Ben, though, does she?" Anthony observed.

"Well, clearly not, but I do rather think she's having an alright time of it with Geoff, nevertheless. I've heard he's one of the better ones, actually showing interest in the girls." Colin responded, recounting gossip he had heard through Cass and Pen, though heavens knew where the girls had gotten that information.

Anthony looked on thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I suppose that's alright, then. I'm still going to make fun of her when she returns," he grinned. "As much as I love poking fun at her, though, I wonder how Ben would feel about Y/N getting this much attention. I still can't believe he missed her debut. I can't believe Mother let him!"

"Oh, I can. I really can believe it. Surely you see it, too? The way he looks at her? I've no doubt he'd be fuming in the corner right about now. Seeing his best friend talk to someone else would send him spiraling," Colin responded, sending a pointed look his brother's way.

Before Anthony could respond, you had returned to them, looking slightly winded. "Well, that was quite the dance," you laughed.

Immediately upon seeing you free to talk, or at least free from anyone that wasn't your immediate family or the Bridgertons, another young man approached you at the refreshments table, handing you a glass of lemonade. Slightly annoyed but able to keep your composure, you gracefully took the glass. "Oh, Mr. Howard, you are too kind. Unfortunately, my dance card is full for tonight, but I would love the opportunity to dance with you at a later ball if that's a possibility."

Mr. Howard, for his part, was left with his mouth agape. "Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, Miss Beaumont. Thank you very much, and I look forward to speaking to you then," he responded, swiftly turning away in search of another young woman who had space left on her dance card, or at least the desire to speak to him at all, really.

Colin and Anthony could barely contain their laughter, leaving you slightly embarrassed by how forward you had been but happy to have some time without speaking to potential future husbands, nonetheless. At that moment, you would have taken Colin and Anthony's teasing ten times over talking to another man hoping to woo you.

---

In the early morning quietude of your room, you took up your quill and parchment, eager to recount the whirlwind of the previous night for Hyacinth. Of course, you could only accept when the young girl earnestly asked for a detailed recounting of every ball you attended, so you were putting in as much detail as you could remember, including but not limited to your mind-numbing dance with Marcus, as well as Bastian's comical near-fall when trying to escape a potential dance with Lady Danbury.

A knock on your door interrupted your writing, and you saw your father and Cass poke their heads in. "Good morning, darling. You've got a congregation of callers downstairs, quite the assembly. Shall I send them away?" your father inquired with a hint of exasperation. "I'd prefer not to entertain a throng of young men with no discernible connection to the Beaumont or Bridgerton names this early in the day."

You interjected swiftly, "No, Father. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll go downstairs to meet them."

With a nod, Earl Beaumont withdrew, muttering under his breath, while Cassandra, bubbling with excitement, seized your hands. "You have callers! A whole bunch of them! Y/n, this is so wonderful! Who do you expect to see downstairs?"

A tad flustered, you were scrambling to put away your half-written account of the night and making sure you had no ink stains on your hands. "Truthfully, I was not expecting this so early on. Oh, Cass, I'm dreadfully unprepared. I really didn't think I had that good of a connection with anyone last night, let alone as many people as Father said!"

Cass rolled her eyes and responded, "Obviously you didn't think you had a good connection with anyone. But if you were to forget that Ben existed for about three seconds, would that alter your perception?"

Groaning, you replied, "Cass, I don't need this from you today. Yes, maybe I compared these gentlemen to my best friend initially, but I promise I moved beyond that. Most men, like us, have ambitious mamas keen on securing advantageous matches, which might explain their early-morning presence."

"Well, perhaps. But you are in high demand either way," your sister declared, gently ushering you out of your room and toward the grand staircase. "Y/N Beaumont, if you do not hurry up and get downstairs, I swear I will start to talk to these gentlemen myself," Cass threatened, earning a laugh from you as you made your way to confront the eager line of callers awaiting your presence.

---

Amid the afternoon light filtering through the drawing room curtains, you found yourself the center of attention. The room was adorned with fresh flowers, their sweet fragrance lingering. Seated gracefully on a chaise, your vibrant eyes sparkled with curiosity and trepidation as you faced the seemingly endless line of suitors vying for your favor. You were enjoying seeing suitors more than you had enjoyed the previous night, even though you had loved dancing at the ball. Today's tête-à-têtes seemed to unfold more leisurely, offering you the luxury of time and a touch more intimacy, save for Lady Primrose and Cass' discreet presence. You discovered a certain joy in these extended conversations, different from the hurried introductions of the ball, giving you the tiniest glimmer of hope once again.

Currently, you were listening to Mr. Archibald Roxbury recite a poem he had written that had been, in his own words, inspired by your radiance at the ball, and he couldn't resist putting his sentiments into verse. The poem was sweet and not half bad, but you had been seeing suitors for several hours and were now quite exhausted.

Your brothers had been out for most of the day, but you could hear their loud voices echoing through the halls past the open door of the drawing room, questioning the queue of suitors inside their home. You almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when Alex stepped into the room, directing his attention toward you. "Y/N, a word?"

Offering a brief apology to Mr. Roxbury, you eagerly followed Alex's lead. Leaning down, Alex spoke lowly, "Quite popular this afternoon, aren't you?"

"I guess so. It's been hours! I can't believe there are people still here. I'm so tired, Alex; I need a cup of tea or something! I can't keep doing this right now," came your exasperated response.

"Y/N, these men are here for you, not the other way around. I can make them leave whenever you would like," he responded with a hand on your shoulder, surveying the amount of people in the Beaumont home.

You followed his gaze, remembering the vast number of people you would still have to speak with if you were to talk to every single young man in your home that day. "You're right. I suppose it would be nice to have a bit of a break from it all," you said, uncertain.

Wasting no time, Alex left the room, and you returned to your previous spot, where Archibald continued his recital. You wondered when your afternoon would be over. Thankfully, you did not have to wait long. A few minutes later, all three of your brothers and your father entered the drawing room. Clearing his throat, Earl Beaumont addressed the crowd of young men in their home, "Thank you all very much for coming today, but Miss Beaumont will no longer be seeing any suitors today. You are welcome to come back another time."

Amidst the disappointed faces of your suitors, you saw Theo wink at you. You played your part, gracefully feigning disappointment, thanking the remaining suitors for their gifts, and bidding them adieu. Truthfully, you just wanted to leave the drawing room and have a few moments to yourself, but etiquette called for you to wait until all the guests had left your home.

You skipped over to your father once the last suit-clad man had exited. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I thought it would never end," you said gratefully. The earl chuckled at your theatrics but agreed, "I had been waiting the whole day to send them away. Far too many people in my house!"

Ever the comedian, Theo suggested, "Perhaps try being a tad more unpleasant next time, Y/N." Chiming in, Bastian added, "Or maybe don't put as much effort into your appearance at the next ball; that way, we won't have to deal with this again."

"Great suggestions, as ever, boys," you responded sarcastically. "Now, if I may be excused, I need to not see anyone for the next three years."

---

A candle lit your room softly as you leaned against your door, relishing the memories of the lively afternoon. Your fingers traced the edges of the letters, flowers, and tokens scattered across your dressing table—a testament to the whirlwind of introductions and pleasant conversations you had the first day after your debut.

Yet, a shadow flickered in your eyes as you settled into a more contemplative mood. A silent ache enveloped you as you remembered Benedict, whose absence cast a subtle but palpable pall over the festivities. Amid all the excitement, you found yourself yearning for the comfort of his presence, the familiar cadence of his voice, and the reassuring touch of his hand. You were lost between the allure of newfound admirers and the unspoken yearning for someone who already knew you like the back of his hand.

Confusion crept in as you internalized your feelings. Even if Ben had not gone to the countryside at the same time as you were due to make your debut, he wouldn't have been present when you saw suitors, only the night before at the ball. So why did you miss him when he wouldn't have been there logistically? Lost in contemplation, you gazed out the window, the night sky adorned with stars that had no answer to your question.

---

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[kisskiss-slashslash]

Hey 🙂

Really enjoying your writings.

May I request the slashers - the usual suspects (Jason/Michael/Sinclairs/Thomas) and anyone else if you want, mistaking their fem s.o for being romantic with someone else (like the situation with this other person looks totally sketch and could be construed for something not so innocent but its absolutely innocent - s.o would never cheat).

How would the slashers initially react and how would they feel and go about the situation.

❤

Warnings: Implied sexual harassment

Slashers and mistaking their s/o for being romantic with someone else

Jason Voorhees

He sees you holding a male camper’s hand as you walk away from the camp, and finds his heart breaking. Is he not enough? And if he isn’t, why would *that one* be?

Jason follows the two of you quietly, trying to see where this is going. He does not want to believe that you would truly cheat on him. But you give that camper sultry looks, and every time you do, Jason’s heart breaks a little more.

Finally, you arrive at a small clearing, far away from the camp.

“Now come on, honey, let daddy have some sugar”, the guy says, making grabby hands in the general direction of your chest.

“Oh I’ll let you have *something*, alright”, you say with a grin and, in one fluid motion, pull the small knife from your pocket and bury the blade in his throat.

“Shhh, no screaming, we don’t want to alert the others now, do we?”, you coo in a faux-comforting tone while his yellow camp shirt slowly turns red.

Jason comes out from between the trees and looks at you, bewildered.

You give him an apologetic smile. “There you are, love. Did you see all of that? Sorry. But this one was so gross that I just had to kill him myself.”

Now Jason just feels silly for ever doubting you.

Vincent Sinclair

He finally leaves his workshop for the day and wants to spend the rest of it with you, only to find you on the couch, with Lester leaning on you. It definitely looks like you’re cuddling.

Vincent feels like someone pulled the rug from under him. If you were to ever leave him, he would expect it to maybe be for Bo, but for Lester?

You and Lester both look up, and now Vincent notices that his youngest brother looks, quite frankly, miserable.

“Lester isn’t feeling well”, you tell Vincent in a soft voice. “Bo just left to the next town over, to get some meds, and asked me to take care of him until then.”

Lester coughs heavily. “Sorry, Bro. Didn’t mean to hog your girl.”

With his jealously forgotten, his protective older sibling instincts kick in, and he quickly sits down on Lester’s other side, putting his hand on his forehead. The youngest Sinclair is definitely running a decently high fever.

“If you let him lean on you for a bit, I can get up and make him some tea”, you say, and Vincent immediately agrees.

Freddy Krueger

He does not like you cozying up to other people, and being stuck in your subconscious, unable to do anything unless you fall asleep, sure isn’t helping.

Why are you watching horror movies with this loser? Why are you laughing so much? There you are, even casually mentioning Freddy by name, that should be enough of an indicator that you are unavailable, so why is this idiot still here?!

Once you fall asleep, Freddy confronts you about it. “I’ve killed significant others for less petty reasons before, bitch.”

“Okay? Sorry that I was trying to help you, I guess.”

“Help me?”

“Uhm, yeah? Did you not hear me tell him about you? Take a wild guess who the guy is gonna be thinking about when he goes to sleep tonight, and how those thoughts are gonna make him feel.”

Freddy presses his lips together. “...Fine, I guess. But next time, find a way to tell people about me without whoring yourself out to them, got it?”

Brahms Heelshire

You are getting just a tad to friendly with the new grocery delivery guy, and Brahms does not like that. It gives him flashbacks to Greta. So he tries to keep your attention away from the guy as well as he can. He unplugs the phone every time he calls, he demands your full attention during the times the man would be there and just generally tries to keep your eyes where they should be.

Finally, you have enough.

“Brahms, what is going on?!”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the ground. “Do you love him?”

“Huh?”

“The delivery man. Do you love him?”

“Wha- Oh. Is this what this is about?” You sit down on Brahms’ bed and gesture for him to do the same.

“That man is my cousin”, you finally tell him. “Kinda distant though. I found out when I did one of those genetics tests you can order from the internet for fun.”

“So… You’re not gonna leave with him?”

“Hell no. I told him I got a great thing going here. But he’s also the only blood related family I have any real access to here, so I’m trying to maintain a good relationship with him.”

“Oh… okay, I think I understand.”

Bubba Sawyer

Subtle flirting is kind of part of business, especially when dealing with customers as a woman. You explained as much to Bubba when Drayton had the idea of you earning your keep by helping out with peddling his chili to people. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. In the rare cases where he gets to watch from afar as you charm the customers into getting seconds, he finds himself irritatedly fiddling with his chainsaw.

One night, you come home, pull the hair net from your head and heavily sit down next to Bubba.

“What a day”, you grumble. “I swear, some of these people think they can treat me however they like just because they pay some chump change for Drayton’s chili.”

Now that catches Bubba’s attention. He looks at you, confused.

“What, you didn’t think that I *like* getting hit on by randos every day, did you?”, you say. “I want to tell them that I am married, but Drayton doesn’t want me to. Says they’re paying for the view and that feeling like they’re encroaching on another guy’s territory is going to scare them away.”

Now Bubba coos empathetically and begins rubbing small circles on your back, to help you relax. Now that he knows that you don’t like it, he feels a lot better about it.

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.12

Summary: In an attempt to stop you from being alone during spring break, Wednesday invites you to the Addams Mansion for the week. Her parents take a liking to you, grandmama turns you into an accomplice, Pugsley steals your attention, and you're constantly trying to fight Lurch. A typical week for the Addams family.

Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, threats of violence, sword fights, mentions of trauma and abuse, anxious habits Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Everyone But Her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn-backup @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever

You sat too far away for Wednesday’s liking. Instead of sitting at the table with her, Enid, Yoko, and Divina, you were now sitting across the quad with Ajax. She could hear the echo of your laughter, but the spot beside her was cold. It was off putting to not be able to feel your pinky linked with hers. You were turning her soft, but at the moment, she didn’t really care.

“What are your plans for spring break, Wednesday?” At the mention of her name, her eyes snapped back to Yoko who was looking far too smug about something.

“I will be heading home,” Wednesday answered. Her scowl only grew when she heard you laugh yet again. What could be so funny?

“You should invite her.” She followed the direction of Enid’s gaze to where you were now sitting on top of the table. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Wednesday watched your interactions with everyone around you. There was a nonchalance that radiated off of you, something inviting and disarming. Maybe it was your smile that she was becoming more drawn to with each passing day, or how easy it was to just be in your presence.

But she could see something darker. She could see the slight slump of your shoulders or the occasional shake of your hands. The finger splints were finally gone but you still had a bit of gauze wrapped around your knuckles. Yes, you were easy to be around, but did none of them see the pain behind your eyes?

With a sigh, she realised Enid was right. She should ask you to go with her for spring break. It was far too soon after what Enid had officially dubbed your “Mayweather breakdown” (whatever that meant) and even though she hadn’t spent much time with you after that, she knew you shouldn’t be alone. You had been left alone for only moments and had done that much damage; Wednesday could be forgiven for not trusting you.

She ignored the smiles on the three girls’ faces when she stood up and made her way over to you. Everyone paused their conversation only for a second before continuing, giving you space to focus on Wednesday. An unusual reaction from them, but she supposed she would keep her mouth shut this time. From your spot on the table you towered over everyone even more than normal.

“You’re staying here over break,” she said simply. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “The kids aren’t out for a few more weeks so there’s no point in going home.”

“Come back with me.” She shouldn’t have blurted it out the way she did, but there was no other option. If she didn’t ask now, she was going to talk herself out of it.

“Yeah, sure,” you said around a humourless chuckle. 

Your head turned back to everyone else at the table, but Wednesday didn't move. It was dismissive and, quite frankly, beneath you, but she would keep her mouth shut for the moment. She just stood there and looked at you until eventually, finally you turned back around. Your brows furrowed in disbelief and your head tilted slight. It almost made Wednesday smile.

"Wait, really?"

—---

With the way you and Wednesday were sitting on complete opposite sides of the car, Morticia would have thought you hated each other. You had seemed hesitant enough before leaving Nevermore, but now you seemed curled in on yourself with your seatbelt fastened tight. She had tried to tell you it wasn’t necessary, but you gave her such a look of panic and terror that she held her tongue and simply helped you find the dusty, stiff buckle.

She and Gomez sat opposite you and Wednesday, and the difference was like night and day. While she and Gomez were sitting as close as possible with as much physical contact as they could manage to get, Wednesday was practically pushing herself against the door. Every now and then you would look at her out of the corner of your eyes, give a strained smile, and look back down at your hands that were now holding a deathgrip on the seatbelt.

“Darling,” Morticia said softly. She waited for you to look up and realise yes, she was talking to you. “Are your parents alright with you staying with us for the week?”

“Oh,” you sat up a little straighter. “Yeah, they’re cool. They actually want to send you something as thanks.”

“That’s not necessary, little bird,” Gomez said. The blush on your cheeks (and surprisingly Wednesday’s) at the pet name was telling and Morticia had to stop a smile.

“They insist,” you shrug. “It’s their love language.”

Morticia took note of the way Wednesday sat up a little straighter, her eyes still gazing out the window as if you weren’t even in the car. It was an unusual reaction, one she only displayed when she was feeling some sort of positive emotion. A curious reaction when the cause was your words.

As the car ride continued, Morticia and Gomez kept up a conversation with you. Unlike her daughter, you were rather eager to talk. A bit too much, she would admit, but there was an excitement on your face. You weren’t rigid in your answers, rather displaying facial expressions, body movements, quite a lot of hand gestures. The gauze around your hands and a few fingers was misleading, but it didn’t seem to slow you down.

It was truly curious, Morticia thought, to see Wednesday finally look at you when you were distracted with the conversation. Only when you were distracted would she watch you, and not in her usual manner. Morticia knew her daughter, and she knew Wednesday only ever looked at people as if they were prey caught in her trap. This, surprisingly enough, was nothing like that.

Wednesday watched you talk and move and ramble with nothing less than what Morticia would describe as pure adoration. Once or twice she almost swore there was the slightest smile on Wednesday’s face when you would giggle as you talked. The only remnant of her predatory personality was the way she eyed you from top to bottom.

Oh, Morticia knew that look. She sat back in her seat and continued to watch the both of you with sheer amusement.

This was going to be an exciting week.

—---

Gomez liked you. Oh yes, he liked you a lot. He had liked you on the car ride over, and how you had somehow captured Wednesday’s attention (whether for better or worse). And the complete lack of fear or intimidation with the house (aside from how big it was) was always a good look.

But he put you to the test, and you passed with flying colours.

Like any true gentleman, he had let you get settled in your room first and let you explore the house. Wednesday, of course, had taken you on the tour and showed you all the Addams history that littered the halls. The look of awe on your face had nearly brought him to tears; it had been a long while since anyone had been amazed with the Addams family.

“How do you perform under pressure?” He asked once everyone was settling in for a quiet afternoon. You choked on your tea while Wednesday gave you the slightest look of concern.

“I-,” you cleared your throat once, “I perform just fine.”

“Is that so?” He asked with a smile that you didn’t see in time.

“Yeah, I think- shit!”

Gomez tossed the sword at you without warning. The teacup in your lap fell as you reached out, spilling tea on the rug underneath your feet. He reached for his own foil beside the chair as you fumbled, doing your best to keep the sword from hitting the floor.

“Good!” Gomez shouted as he got into his stance, eyes locked on your form as you scrambled to stand up. “Prove it!”

Wednesday just rolled her eyes and went back to her book. At least that’s what she wanted everyone else to think, but both Gomez, Morticia, and Grandmama noticed how her eyes kept flickering up to where you were standing.

He lunged right as you finally grasped the sword in your left hand. You parried at just the right moment; it was impressive. However, he had an advantage over you and used it, quickly sweeping your feet out from under you. You hit the ground with an “oof” and the clang of the sword. 

“Shoddy footwork,” Gomez teased.

“Precisely what I said,” Wednesday chimed in without looking up from her book.

Gomez watched with an amused smile as you scoffed and rolled your eyes, looking in Wednesday’s direction. Were you going to say something back? A witty retort, perhaps? An expletive? He was curious, but not so curious as to stop his attack. With your head turned, he attacked again, bringing the foil down in an arc.

And just like that, you brought the sword back up to stop him. 

“Splendid!” You had done precisely as he had hoped you would. “There’s hope for you yet.”

“For now,” Wednesday finished. She clearly didn’t see the frown you sent her way.

Oh yes, Gomez liked you.

—---

Before the end of the first evening, Morticia was convinced of two things: one, you were one of the most genuine souls she had ever met. Two, Wednesday was irrevocably attached to you. The first was simply an observation that she was eager to discover further.

The second. Well, that was just something she would need to continue to observe.

You were all sat at the table for dinner, and you looked thoroughly exhausted. Gomez had made it his personal goal to keep you on your toes, challenging you to duels at any point. So far, you had been successful in keeping yourself safe. There were only one or two new knicks on your arms, and one on your thigh. If Morticia had noticed the concern in Wednesday’s eyes at the knowledge, she kept it to herself.

But now you were faced with the next test of the Addams family; Grandmama’s food. Most guests would politely decline the conventionally unusual food before finding something else to eat. And for a moment, Morticia was worried you would be the same when you looked cautiously at the plate set in front of you. You looked down and tilted your head slightly.

“Have you never had-”

“-Don’t tell me!” You interrupted, immediately shrinking back down into your seat when everyone got quiet.

“Are you sure?” Pugsley asked. “It’s… different.”

“My family has a rule,” you said quietly, “never ask what it is before trying it.” Everyone was still looking at you curiously, waiting for you to continue. “It stops us from convincing ourselves it’s bad.”

And as everyone waited with bated breath as you tried it and gave an encouraging little nod to yourself before continuing to eat, Morticia couldn’t stop herself from smiling down at her own plate. Ah, she thought, this is what she sees in you. It was how genuine and open you were even under what most would consider to be unusual circumstances.

“Darling,” Morticia said once everyone had gathered in the common room for the evening. You looked up from your book with wide eyes and the hint of a smile. “You can remove the harness.”

Everyone paused, just for a moment, before thankfully going back to what they were doing. No one had talked about it beforehand, not officially, but Wednesday had mentioned your wings once or twice. Particularly how you kept them put away for whatever reason. The Addams house was supposed to be a welcoming place, somewhere anyone could feel at home, and Morticia was going to do her best to make sure you knew that.

“I- they’re big,” you said in a hushed voice. “They knock things over.”

“Things can be replaced,” Gomez said reassuringly.

You looked at them with uncertainty; did you not believe them? Nothing in the house was irreplaceable, even if they just had to put it back together. Your comfort, on the other hand, was top priority. With an inaudible sigh, you nodded and gave them a forced smile before looking back down at your book.

The next morning, you came downstairs with your wings tucked tight around your shoulders. Morticia and Gomez shared a secret smile at not only your newfound freedom, but also at the way Wednesday couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. Well, while you weren’t paying attention, anyway.

It certainly was going to be an exciting week.

—---

Pugsley was suspicious of you at first. Not because of anything you had said or done, but anyone that his sister was friends with was bound to be trouble in some way. You had come into their home with wrapped hands and a gentle smile, and that was weird. Your stature, your height, the wings. It was intimidating, and he could only imagine you had the potential to be just like his bullies at school.

But you were nice to him, he wouldn’t deny that. You always managed to stop Wednesday before she could have her fun and even though he missed the torture, he knew you meant well. Thankfully you didn’t stop Wednesday every time otherwise then he would have a problem.

Although at the moment, he sincerely wished you were around because Wednesday was stalking through the halls with a crossbow. He loved the attention from her but he wasn’t particularly in a “get impaled by an arrow” kind of mood at the moment. But the more he ran and hid, the more Wednesday enjoyed it. He just needed to find somewhere she couldn’t find him.

Something slammed into the doorframe beside his head when he turned a corner. He let out a scream that he quickly cut off when he saw you sitting against the wall, sword in your lap and arm outstretched. To his right, lodged deep in the wood, was a dagger.

“Dammit, Pugsley,” you whisper-shouted as you pushed yourself to your feet. Very silently, he noticed. “I could’ve killed you!”

Maybe that’s why my sister likes you, he thought but decided to keep it to himself.

“Are you hiding from dad?” He asked when he took in your stiff shoulders and frantic eyes.

“No,” you scoffed. A pause. “Yes.” Then a suspicious look at him. “Are you hiding from Wednesday?”

“No,” he said. A pause. “Yes.”

You looked him up and down for what felt like an awkwardly long period, but then a smile pulled at the corner of your lips and you laughed quietly. It was a nice sound. Pugsley usually only ever heard his dad laugh, so to hear someone else’s was kind of nice. His hand accidentally brushed your wing when you went to grab the dagger, and it shook all the way down to your spine. He heard you inhale sharply, but you quickly regained focus.

“Come on,” you said as you patted him on the shoulder. “We can hide together.”

Pugsley let you lead the way, but quickly sat down beside you with your backs against the wall. It gave the perfect position to see the door, but could still stay out of sight. His shoulder rubbed against your arm; you were awfully warm. In an anxiety-inducing silence, you both sat there and kept your eyes trained on the doorway.

You were still far too big, but something about being around you was comforting. Maybe it was the occasional ruffle of your feathers breaking the monotonous silence. Or how you towered over him, not in a domineering way, but in a protective way. Almost like you would keep him safe if it came down to it. Maybe you would. Was that what Wednesday liked about you?

“Does she scare you sometimes?” You finally asked after what was probably a solid 10 minutes of silence. “Because she absolutely scares me sometimes.”

“Wednesday?” Pugsley asked. You nodded. “No.”

“Really?” You asked and turned your head to look at him. He kept his eyes on the doorway. “Not even a little bit?”

“Addamses don’t get scared,” he answered.

“They’re never scared?” You tried to clarify. He was young, but he could tell your tone had changed.

“Nope,” he shrugged. “Never.”

You fell silent and slowly turned your head back to the doorway. What were you thinking, he wondered. It was like you weren’t convinced he wasn’t scared. And he wasn’t. Why would he be when he knew, deep down, his family would die and kill for him? Sure, Wednesday tortured him, but that was how she showed her love. And he enjoyed it, he liked making her happy. Maybe he had stretched the truth a little bit, but he knew he didn’t have to be scared.

“I’m scared of cars,” you said softly. It was an unusual statement, and he turned his head slowly to look at you. You were staring off into the distance.

“You’re scared of cars?” Pugsley asked. You nodded slowly.

“Terrified,” you said. “My uh-” you inhaled shakily, “my brother and I got in a- a pretty bad car accident a few years ago.” A sad smile pulled at your lips. “So I don’t get in cars anymore.”

“But,” Pugsley looked down at his lap. “But we picked you up in a car.”

“Yeah you did,” you said with a nervous chuckle. “You absolutely did.”

“Did that scare you?” He certainly hoped not.

“Shitless,” you replied instantly. But your smile turned less sad as you looked down at him once again. No one was watching the doorway. “But I trusted you guys and, what do you know,” you shrugged, “we made it safe and sound.”

Pugsley nodded to himself along with his thoughts , looking back down at his lap. They had scared you, but you still trusted them to keep you safe. It was how he felt with Wednesday. Sure, he had told you she didn’t scare him, but she did just a little bit. It was hard not to be scared of her when she hunted him with a crossbow or tried to electrocute him.

Could he trust you the same way? Clearly you wouldn’t hunt him for sport, it didn’t seem to be your personality. If you were anything like everyone else, you would have a normal love language. But could he trust you? Truly trust you? The wind from your ruffling feathers tickled his nose and brought a smile to his face.

Yeah, he thought. I can trust you.

“I’m scared of the football team,” Pugsley said softly. He didn’t look up, but he could feel your eyes staring into the side of his head.

“The football team?” You asked quizzically.

“Ever since Wednesday left, they started bullying me again,” he explained. Your feathers ruffled and puffed out a little. It tickled.

“All of them?” You asked through what sounded like clenched teeth.

“Mainly the quarterback and his two friends,” Pugsley said. His eyes widened when he realised what he was admitting to you. “Don’t tell Wednesday,” he whisper-shouted as he turned to look at you.

The evident anger in your eyes softened the longer you looked at him. He could see the way you were still clenching your jaw. You inhaled, held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled slowly before offering him a forced smile.

“I won’t tell,” you said. “Our secret.”

You held out a fist with your pinky sticking out. He looked at it for a moment in confusion before realising what you were doing. It was childish, he thought, but he reached out and linked his own pinky with yours. The gauze was rough against his knuckles when you squeezed once before pulling back and leaning against the wall once again.

“We should probably be brave and face them,” you said with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Pugsley agreed. “We should.”

Neither one of you moved to get up. But Pugsley felt your arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer, and he saw the dagger hanging from loose fingers. He was much more accustomed to physical contact, but from someone outside the Addams family? It was unusual. He liked it.

This was what his sister liked about you.

—---

Grandmama Addams was having the time of her life watching you try to navigate through life as an Addams. It had taken you only two days to learn about their food customs (you still refused to learn what it was; you said you didn’t want it to impact your opinion). On the other hand, you still weren’t entirely prepared for all of Gomez’s attempts on your life.

At least you were getting better at defending yourself.

You were still getting used to Lurch. Well, she should correct that, Lurch was still getting used to you. Grandmama was finding more than enough entertainment in watching you try again and again to fight him. You always eyed him suspiciously when he was around, analysing his every move. More than once, Wednesday had stopped you mid-swing before you could actually start a fight.

He had indulged you once in an arm wrestle.

“Oh come on,” you grunted as you stood up, pushing against his hand with both of yours. “You’ve gotta budge eventually.”

“Give it up,” Wednesday said as she watched on in utter disappointment.

“Just move,” you continued. Grandmama swore that if you continued, you would pop the blood vessel in your head. “You stubborn, pea-pickin’ bastard, just move!”

It took only a second. Lurch gave you one look before slamming his hand down, throwing you through the table as you let out a mangled scream. He stood up and dusted his suit off while Grandmama cackled and Wednesday’s face filled with fear for a fraction of a second. If Grandmama hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed it.

“You’re an idiot,” Wednesday told you as she helped you up and started picking the splinters from your arm and neck.

“I- ouch- I could’ve beat him,” you argued, wincing with each piece Wednesday grabbed. “I want a rematch.”

“Do it again,” Wednesday said as she pulled another splinter out from the bottom of your jaw, “and I’ll stick these splinters in your eyes.”

“How endearing,” you said. She gave you her usual death glare before pulling a splinter from your neck for emphasis.

All while Grandmama watched in complete satisfaction. No one was saying anything, but everyone could see how Wednesday adored you. It was in the little things; her lingering gaze when you weren’t looking, or her hand brushing against yours if you were both sitting on the couch and reading. It was in her bringing you a cup of tea if you were focused on something and helping you keep your wings from knocking things over.

It was in the slightest blush every time you would smile at her and tell her “thank you.”

So Grandmama would admit she was a little surprised when, on the third night of break, she was heading to the kitchen (as she so often did during the Witching Hour) and heard the front door close softly. She almost ignored it; if anyone was brave enough to break into the Addams house, she would give them a fair chance. But curiosity got the better of her when she heard the footsteps echo through the parlor and into the dining room.

Slowly, she made her way into the dining room as well and watched a tall, winged, hooded being hanging a sword back on the wall. Gently, quietly, as if it was something sacred before stepping back and admiring their handiwork. They lifted a hand and pushed the hood back as they turned around, a skeleton mask covering the bottom half of their face.

And then you froze, hand still on your head, eyes wide when you realised you had been caught.

You stood there in complete silence and evident shock. While Grandmama just smiled and watched you. She wanted to see if you were going to finally say anything, try to explain what you were doing up so late. In a hooded cloak. With a sword.

“Late night?” She asked, not even bothering to hide her smile.

“I-” you yanked the mask down and let it rest around your neck, “-I can explain.”

You looked terrified; at having been caught, no doubt. What you had been doing, she didn’t need to know. You appeared to be safe (aside from the bandages from the splinters) and that was truly all that mattered. There was no need to be scared, not here. Not with her family.

She moved slowly so as not to scare you again (much like a bird, she thought) and brought her finger up to her lips. Shush, she gestured. Your brows furrowed before they slowly relaxed and your mouth fell closed. Slowly you did the same, bringing your own finger to your lips that now held a small smile.

“Tea and poker?” Grandmama asked as she brought her hand back down.

You didn’t reply, just nodded and followed after her. She sat you down at the table and tossed you the pack of cards while she made the tea. As you had previously requested, she didn’t dare tell you what was in it. When she turned around, you were shuffling the cards with pure concentration.

The black cloak and eyeshadow around your eyes made you look just like an Addams.

—---

An unexpected knock on the front door was a rare occurrence. Morticia went to the door and opened it, fully expecting to see some poor child who had been dared to approach. But oh, she realised her misconception when she was greeted by a policeman who looked like he was too tired to even bother with whatever he was doing.

“Good morning, Mrs. Addams,” he said, and Morticia realised it was officer Vinny. She always adored him.

“Good morning, Vinny,” she said with a polite smile. “How can I help you today?”

“Do you have a guest staying with you this week?” He asked. “Tall with black wings?”

Morticia was going to deny your presence; Vinny was a good man, but officers only darkened her doorstep when someone was in trouble. Or killed. But as soon as she opened her mouth, you stumbled down the stairs still in your pyjamas and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Wednesday was fast behind you, already dressed for the day and looking far more awake, and Pugsley was last, slightly more tired than Wednesday, but more put-together than you.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Vinny called out, and you froze, all the sleep magically disappearing from your eyes. “Where were you last night?”

There was no doubt everyone could feel the atmosphere in the room change. Wednesday’s demeanor darkened as she stared at Vinny, and you seemed to be catatonic. Your eyes went every direction, stopping on every person as if you were searching for what to say.

“What is this about, officer?” Gomez asked, cutting through the near-painful silence.

“A couple ‘a high school boys filed a report last night that some, uh,” he pulled a piece of paper out of his front pocket, “they said some “winged grim reaper” threatened them.”

“What kind of threats?” Morticia asked.

“Uh, they said, and I quote,” he looked at his page again, “if you so much as breathe in Pugsley Addams’ direction, I will rip your heart out through your throat and feed it to you on a platter.” He folded the paper and put it back in his chest pocket.

Everyone froze, only their eyes turning to look at where you were standing. You were looking up in faux thought, your face contorting as you pretended to consider the officer’s words. Wednesday, however, was looking at you as if you had hung the moon in the sky. Never in her life had Morticia seen Wednesday look so completely enamoured. If given half the chance, she probably would have no doubt her daughter would have dragged you off to her room for the rest of the day.

“Listen kid,” Vinny said when it was clear no one was going to say anything. “I just gotta know where you were last night.”

“She was with me,” Grandmama said, finally coming into the entry for the first time. She walked up and stood directly beside you; the size difference between you, Grandmama, and Wednesday was rather comical.

“All night?” Vinny asked.

“We played poker over some tea,” she said with a smile.

“You any good?” Vinny asked you after a pause; your shoulders slumped.

“Apparently not,” you grumbled, to which Grandmama cackled.

Vinny looked at each and every one of them, stopping on each person for a few seconds before moving on. Wednesday still had her eyes glued to you, her gaze softened. Pugsley was looking at you with pure admiration, a small smile on his face. Oh how Morticia loved to see his smile, it always brightened her day.

“Alright,” Vinny finally said, and everyone let out a collective sigh. “I won’t take up any more of your day.”

“Thank you, Vinny,” Morticia said. She attempted to close the door, but Vinny put his hand out and stopped her.

“Hey kid,” he called out, and you met his eyes. “Remove the eyeshadow next time.”

Your eyes went wide as Vinny bade farewell and walked off. With a gasp, you started rubbing at your eyes, pulling your hands away to show the smeared eyeshadow all over your skin. Grandmama laughed at you once again and patted you on the shoulder before walking away. Pugsley and Wednesday grabbed your hands and drug you to the kitchen to get cleaned up.

“She’s turning into one of us, cara mia,” Gomez said as he pulled Morticia into his arms. She sighed and melted into his embrace.

“It calls for a celebration,” she said with a smile. The kiss left behind her ear was confirmation enough.

—---

“Mr. Addams?”

At the knock on his office door, Gomez looked up from his paperwork to see you standing there awkwardly, your wings wrapped tightly around your shoulders. He set his papers down and leaned back, his eyes taking you in. What made you so sheepish at all times? It had been four days, were you still not comfortable yet?

“Come in, little bird,” he finally said, ushering for you to enter the office. You shuffled in and shut the door behind you. “What can I do for you?”

“You mentioned a ball at the end of the week,” you started. Why were you avoiding his gaze? Timid thing.

“Indeed, the Addams Family Ball. Quite the party,” he said with pride. “Lots of dancing and laughter.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” you said, finally looking up but still not meeting his eyes. “Wednesday said you and Mrs. Addams are amazing dancers and, I mean, I can’t dance to save my life, so I just-” you inhaled deeply. “I was hoping you could teach me.”

Gomez sat there and watched you as you tried to catch your breath from your rapid talking. Truly, he was honored that you would ask him to teach you. Yes, he liked to consider himself an excellent dancer, and Morticia certainly was. But Wednesday was also an exceptional dancer.

“Would you not prefer Wednesday to teach you?” He asked. The sigh you let out was comical.

“She said I’m a lost cause,” you grumbled. But your face softened as you continued, “I want to surprise her.”

Ah, there it was. The real reason you had asked for his assistance. There was an uncertainty in your stature, but Gomez knew your intent. He had seen it since you had gotten into the car at Nevermore. You were completely dedicated to Wednesday, and as he had suspected, you were willing to do anything for her.

He had figured that out when you had scared off Pugsley’s bullies.

“Morticia and I would be honoured to teach you,” Gomez finally said, taking great joy in the surprised smile you gave him.

He very quickly discovered why Wednesday had called you a lost cause.

While you had been improving greatly with your swordsmanship footwork, they were starting from ground zero with your dancing. But he and Morticia both knew better than to tease you for it; the pure frustration on your face was enough. As the song ended, you groaned and let your head fall back.

“I’m going to kill myself,” you mumbled as you brought your hands up to rub your face.

“You’re improving, darling,” Morticia said, resting her hand on your shoulder. They slumped under her touch. “Dancing takes practice.”

“I don’t have time for practice,” you sighed. “The ball is in three days.”

Morticia looked at Gomez while you wandered off in the ballroom. You let yourself fall against the wall as your wings wrapped around you. With the fluidness of a habit, your fingers started to pick at the little feathers on the bone while you looked off into the distance.

They didn’t have to say anything to know what the other was thinking. Such a gentle child, worried half to death over your ability to dance. Surely you couldn’t really think Wednesday would see you differently if you couldn’t dance. It wasn’t the end of the world, the Addams certainly set a high standard.

But it was clear you did worry about it. It hurt Gomez’s heart to see you so concerned over something he would have considered trivial. There must be something he could do to help you. Learning all the dances would be too much for three days, of course he knew that.

They shared one last look before Gomez walked over to where you were and sat down beside you. Your fingers stilled their picking for a moment before slowly falling back into your lap. Were you embarrassed about the habit? He picked up one of the small feathers you had left on the ground and rubbed it between his fingers; it was incredibly soft.

“You wish for Wednesday to like you,” Gomez said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” you said softly. Horrifically soft.

“And you wish to impress her.”

“Yes.” Just as soft.

“Because you adore her?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said, a little bolder.

“You wish to protect her?” He continued. You straightened up a bit.

“Yes,” you answered definitively.

“Because you love her?”

“Ye-” you stopped yourself before you could finish the word, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat. 

But he got his answer nonetheless.

“Aha,” he exclaimed before getting to his feet. “I have a solution for our dancing problem.”

You gave him a confused look, but quickly took his hand when he stretched it toward you. As he pulled you up he noticed the slightest bald patch on the joint of your right wing. Never mind that, he thought because he had a way to help.

“It’s no use,” you said as he led you back over to Morticia. You took her hand and rested your other on her waist anyway.

“We shall teach you one dance,” Gomez said with a smile. “One dance is all you need to completely woo Wednesday.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, but you squared your shoulders and stood tall.

“Absolutely,” Gomez said as she shared a smile with Morticia.

This was going to work splendidly.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Reader’s Cooking is Worse Than Lilia’s?! -Heartslabyul & Grim

Somehow, your cooking is worse than Lilia’s. Was it always like this, or did travelling to TWST change it?

Characters: Grim, Riddle Rosehearts, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Trey Clover & Cater Diamond

Content: platonic, crack, gender neutral reader

Find the Rest of the Series: Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia

Author’s Note; As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

Grim

There is another reason why Grim insists on having canned tuna, he doesn’t want to meet an early death via Y/N’s cooking.

He is not above intentionally keeping you out of the kitchen.

What’s this? The stove isn’t working? All of the knives are missing? Looks like you and Grim will have to eat elsewhere! He heard Mostro Lounge had this delicious tuna dish tonight! Totally doesn’t consider making a contract in exchange for you staying out of the kitchen, nooooo

If that doesn’t work, he tries to burn the kitchen to the ground and then tries to hide hang out with Ace and Deuce for the night but he still has nightmares of your cooking. No one in Heartslabyul asks why the three of them are crying, quite frankly they don’t want to know for their own sake.

Riddle Rosehearts

He catches on pretty quickly to avoid your cooking due to Ace and Deuce’s grovelling and Grim crashing at Heartslabyul for the night. He is shocked when you show up there later that night, soot covering you, demanding to know where Grim is.

Grim… burned down your kitchen?! Instantly all three of the moronic trio had his magic-cancelling collars on and had to go back and help you clean up the mess! 

A few days later you hand him a pretty box with a note; Take these as a thank you! -Y/N. He opens the box and he now understands why they were grovelling. Perhaps he was too harsh…

He discreetly gets rid of whatever it is that you cooked for him or his fellow dorm mates, he doesn’t want anyone getting food poisoning or dying on his hands due to the Ramshackle Prefect’s treats.

Ace Trappola

He somehow disappears whenever you mention food. One minute he’s there, the next there’s a flash of red hair running as fast as possible away from Ramshackle. Yeah, he abandons Deuce without any hesitation. Blah, blah, blah, he’s a terrible friend! He values his life more.

Teams up with Grim to keep any kind of kitchen and cooking utensil out of your grasp. This is a self-preservation tactic, don’t get it twisted. He wants to live another day.

He will tell you that he would rather be squeezed by Floyd and be in a collar by Riddle than eat your cooking. He would even rather deal with an overblot! Okay, maybe not overblot level but still! It’s probably similar agony!!!!

Tries to make a deal with Azul to improve your cooking, which may or may not work.

Deuce Spade

He starts sweating bullets when he hears that you’re in the kitchen. He turns to look at Ace but that traitor is gone?! He looks for Grim, and that traitor is gone too?! He really considers what kinds of friends he keeps as company.

He now eats before going over to Ramshackle so that he can politely avoid your cooking. He doesn’t have the heart though to not bring home the leftovers.

Trey finds him starring at a wall one night in Heartslabyul and a box of something sitting on the other side of the room with a dark aura. Trey has to physically get him out of the room before Deuce comes to his senses.

Also tries making a deal with Azul, but unlike Ace, he tries to stop Grim from burning down the kitchen.

Trey Clover

He looks at the box with the dark aura that Deuce was cowering from earlier. Is this some kind of cursed object? …it’s Y/N’s cooking?! How in the Seven’s name can your cooking be worse than Lilia’s?! LILIA’S?!

Now, he would never say that out loud or to your face. His face did take on a green hue and he started sweating just by looking at it though. He thought Lilia’s cooking was horrendous, but somehow you made it look somewhat appetizing!

How are you not dead?! Have you always cooked like this? Are you okay?! 

He will offer to teach you how to cook if you mention that you want to improve, for the sake of everyone who has to eat what you make. Hopefully, no one dies in the process… Why is the kitchen on fire?! GRIM?! 

Cater Diamond

Oh, hey Prefect! What do you have there? Ooo, some treats for the unbirthday party! He wants to take some photos before they’re ruined! When you uncover them though he stops smiling and instead looks like he’s seen a ghost.

He starts rambling that he forgot to paint the roses and runs off like he was being hunted down by an angry Riddle. How did you make something like that?! He vents to Trey about it, but all Trey does is look down in shame.

Seems like he’s the last one to find out how the Prefect is a cursed cook. He does admit that it is kinda cute but terrifying at the same time, that they try so hard to make something they think their friends would like yet come out with that.

Whenever they mention their cooking, he says he’s on a diet. Sure thing, Cater.

[leupagus]

Please note that this fic is going to take the better part of 2024 and probably 2025

(and given my track record might never be done):

Sansa

"Do you like the taste?" asked Littlefinger, watching her closely as she tried the wine. He always watched her closely.

They had stopped at the Inn at the Crossroads; she hadn't wanted to, but she would have had to explain to Littlefinger why. So she had choked down a meal and refused to think about the last time she had come through this way, where the first member of her family had been murdered in the stable while Joffrey had sniveled and lied and shown her, for the first time, who he really was.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she answered. "Why do men love it so much?"

Littlefinger shrugged. "It gives some men courage."

"Does it give you courage?"

He smiled, the way he did when she had stung him. He would take his revenge on her somehow, she knew. He was nothing like Joffrey, but there was a smallness to him that reminded her of the king.

The dead king, now.

A flash of armor to her right made her look up; a familiar woman, tall and broad of shoulder in a suit of armor, had approached their table. "Lord Baelish. Lady Sansa. My name is Brienne of Tarth."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, to tell her she knew who she was, of course she knew. Tyrion had mentioned her often, usually after rebuffing yet another request by the lady of Tarth for an audience with Sansa. I hope you don't mind, and Jaime vouches for her, but Cersei has made it clear she's to go nowhere near you and frankly this giantess makes me a bit nervy. He'd been glad to recount the tale of Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, traipsing through the Riverlands on their way to King's Landing.

Before Sansa could speak a word, Littlefinger had made some cutting remark, the sort he was so good at. She'd yet to be on the receiving end of any of them but she flinched all the same, watching Brienne's face. Littlefinger was something like Joffrey — and something like herself, too, when she'd been young and pleased at her own wit. Looking back, she knew now that she had only ever been cruel.

Lady Brienne seemed not even to hear Littlefinger; as though he were no more than a gnat to be tolerated until such moment as he could be swatted. She knelt, awkward but not clumsy, and looked earnestly up at her. "Lady Sansa. Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for you if needs be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Would she have given the answering vow? She would never know, because once again Littlefinger was talking, sliding his glance over to Sansa to see what remarks might prompt a reaction. Sansa stayed still and watched as Lady Brienne's attention was at least drawn away, glaring at Littlefinger.

"Strange," Littlefinger was saying. "I knew Cat since the time we were children. She never mentioned you."

"It was after Renly's murder," said Lady Brienne, direct and blunt. She and Sandor would get along well, Sansa thought suddenly. Pity they had never met.

"Ah, yes," said Littlefinger. "You were accused of killing him."

Lady Brienne blushed, a splotchy red spreading across her cheeks. Shame, Sansa thought, but not guilt. "I tried to save him," she spat out. She did not glance over, to see if Sansa would believe her.

"But you were accused."

"By men who did not see what happened."

"And what did happen?"

"He was murdered by a shadow. A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

"A shadow? With a face?" Littlefinger turned to Sansa, and that was when she knew whatever he was about to say was a lie. "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He smirked up at Lady Brienne. "Why would I want somebody with your history of failure guarding Lady Sansa?"

Lady Brienne made a face. "Why would you have any say in her affairs?"

"Because I am her uncle. I married her Aunt Lysa shortly before my beloved's untimely death. We're family now. And you are an outsider. Forgive me, Lady Brienne. But experience has made me wary of outsiders."

She gaped at him, then looked back at Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she said, and paused, as though at a loss for how to convince her. "If we can have a word alone?"

"Yes." Sansa rose, knocking into the table. The goblet of wine spilled and ran down her dress, but she was on her feet at last. The sellswords Littlefinger had brought with him moved in, one of them putting a hand on Lady Brienne's shoulder. She tensed and in just a few seconds there would be bloodshed, there would be someone dead on the floor and it would be her fault.

"Uncle Petyr," she said loudly, her heart rabbiting out of her chest, "Thank you very much for understanding. I will speak with Lady Brienne as you suggest, and then we shall resume our journey."

The sounds of eating and talking died out as faces turned toward her. A round-faced boy came bustling up, a wide, customer-friendly smile pasted on his face. "Is there anything I can help with, milord?" he chirruped.

"A room for the ladies," said Littlefinger, still watching her. She nodded very slightly and his mouth twitched.

"Have you anything on the floor above?" she added, addressing the boy with a nervous glance toward Lady Brienne.

"Er," came the reply, "Yes? Right this way, milady. Miladies."

Sansa leaned toward Littlefinger. He smelled of wine and the oils he used on his hair. "Could some of the guards watch the door?" she whispered. "And some near the stairs. Just…in case."

"Of course," he said, though his eyes were on her mouth.

The way Littlefinger had spoken of her mother, there had been a great rivalry between himself and Ned Stark; and before that a rivalry between himself and her uncle Brandon, who'd been betrothed to Catelyn before his murder. Littlefinger had always sounded like the defeated lover, the man who had nearly won his beloved's hand.

Mother had never mentioned Littlefinger. Father had, once they were in King's Landing and he'd been forced to admit an acquaintance. He'd sounded irritated more than angry; her mother had never loved him, had hardly ever thought of him. Her parents had lived and loved each other and all the while Littlefinger had stewed in his own curdled affections, imagining a love story that had never existed.

She could never decide what had moved her to kiss him on the cheek. Perhaps it had been a clever ploy to distract him, or a way to tell him she would return. She would have liked to have been that clever. But in the moment she could remember only how sorry she felt for him. "I'll just be a few moments," she promised him, lying.

Minutes later she was in a small bedchamber, with two dirty windows on each outside wall and the ominous creak of leather and metal just outside the door, signaling that Littlefinger's sellswords had taken up position. Lady Brienne, for her part, looked as uncomfortable as she had downstairs. "Thank you for speaking with me, my lady," she said.

"Can you fight them all?" Sansa asked her, keeping her voice down. They would need to be overheard soon, but they had a few seconds. Enough time, perhaps enough time. "If there's four in the corridor, and four downstairs."

"What? Yes, of course," said Lady Brienne, expression torn between confusion and offense. She fought off a bear once, Tyrion had told her with glee. Even beat my dear brother in a sword fight. When he still had both hands.

Sansa went to the first window. A long drop onto hard ground, and it faced the road as well as the hitching posts. The second was more promising: hay bales stacked haphazardly next to the wall, and the wood only twenty hards away.

"Start talking," she hissed at Lady Brienne.

She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Sansa mimed opening the window. "Start talking. About anything. Honor or duty or what my mother was like. Whatever you'd say if you were trying to convince me."

Lady Brienne's eyes widened in understanding. "I…am not much for speeches, my lady," she said slowly, then more loudly as Sansa pulled open the window slowly, mindful of any squeaking. "But I found your mother an honorable woman, and your brother too. I brought Ser Jaime Lannister back to King's Landing at her request, so that you might be returned to your mother in exchange."

It would never have worked; she'd known that even then. The Lannisters did not understand the notion of letting go of an advantage, once they'd sunk their teeth into one. Even Tyrion had never offered to take her to her family once they'd been married. He'd had his reasons, and they had been good ones, but she'd learned another lesson that day. "So you sacrificed your oath to protect my mother for an oath to protect me?" she asked, making sure her voice carried as she swung her legs over the sill. "How can I know you'll not abandon me, too?"

It was important not to think. If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it.

She held her breath, put her hands over her mouth, and fell.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Creature of the Night

Task Force 141 X Platonic!Reader

While that was always true, there was something about the situation you couldn’t shake. You knew better than to poke a sleeping bear, even if Price was only a bear figuratively.

A/N: hi! I've had this idea stuck in my head for a few days, and thanks to @gaylemonshark for always fueling my ideas I finally had ambition to sit down and write, so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none really, maybe mentions of wounds(nothing graphic, just a small accident)

You’d only recently joined the task force, Kate being the reason your file had ended in the hands of one John Price. You were thankful, not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, however you were also skeptical of some things. While the Captain, as well as the other recruits, were friendly and treated you well, they seemed…odd. They would leave on missions at the most random times, never calling you into briefing. More often than not it was strictly the four of them heading off, assuring you it would only be a couple weeks before they came back. While that was always true, there was something about the situation you couldn’t shake. You knew better than to poke a sleeping bear, even if Price was only a bear figuratively.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m telling you, there’s something going on and I’m going to figure it out,” You huffed softly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You think they’re selling secrets to the enemy?” Private Johnson was a newcomer, fresh faced and barely old enough to even legally be in the army.

“No, John’s too ‘fuck the enemy’ to willingly sell information,” It was one of the theories you’d had, but after writing up reports it was pretty clear that wasn’t the case.

So what would the case be if they weren’t running off to the enemy to spill secrets, and none of them had secret families, not that you could find at least. You’d done all the research you could, slightly illegal at times you were sure, but curiosity had gotten the better of you. Johnny was the middle child between two sisters. Gaz was the oldest, a younger brother and sister he often visited when able. Simon was a lot harder to figure out, his file was almost entirely blank except for his name, age, and birth date. John’s didn’t surprise you at all, oldest brother of six kids(jesus)and had joined the day he turned eighteen. His father had been a general before he passed away, it seemed so fitting.

Your eyes locked on Gaz and Johnny as they walked into the mess hall, Johnny’s accent thicker than a bowl of oatmeal in the middle of winter. No one could understand a word he said whenever he got excited, or angry, or stressed. Frankly, most of the time no one could really understand the Scot. He did his best around you to keep his words clearer, considering Simon’s accent tended to get thicker whenever he was pissed off.

“You look like you’re thinking real hard,” Johnson leaned closer, whispering softly so no one could hear your conversation.

“I swore that Soap shaved this morning, but he’s already got a five o’ clock shadow going,” Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the other man.

The stubble on his cheeks was darker than this morning, you were absolutely positive of that, but how would that even be possible? You’d walked in on him shaving, he had the razor against the skin of his neck, the sound of thick hair being shaved off. So, how in the actual fuck was he sporting stubble dark enough it was mere days away from a beard?!

“Maybe his facial hair just grows fast, I’ve seen it happen before,” Johnson shrugged, as if your words were nonsense.

“There’s no way in hell it grows that fast. I’ll eat my left shoe if that’s true,” Okay, maybe that was taking things a step too far.

Suddenly, as if some higher power had called the man’s name from your direction, Johnny’s eyes landed on you and Johnson. Your heart plummeted, eyes widening as you immediately turned to face Johnson and pretend you weren’t staring down the other man.

“So, have you talked to that recruit you have a crush on?” You needed to change the subject lest Soap realize you were talking about him originally.

Johnson’s eyes widened, jaw dropping open as you suddenly called him out on the secret he’d drunkenly whispered to you only a few days prior. Was it a risky move bringing up something like that out of the blue? Maybe, but you were desperate.

“No, I haven’t had the chance to talk to her yet,” His cheeks flushed a light pink, it was kind of cute if he wasn’t so young, and dumb.

“Aye, what’re we talkin’ about over ‘ere?” Soap slapped his hands down onto the table in front of you, a smirk pulling up his lips.

“Sorry, my lips are sealed MacTavish,” You mimed locking your lips and throwing away the key as you smiled up at the other man.

He laughed loudly, a deep belly laugh as he threw his head back. Gaz watched with a raised eyebrow, though you could see a faint smile on his own face. It made you happy knowing that you could make your teammates laugh, though sometimes you wondered if it was genuine at times.

Okay! No more depressive thoughts at the dinner table.

“I’m sure they are, but Gaz ‘n I have to head out soon,” Johnny nodded over to where Gaz was standing.

“Oh? Where are you guys heading to?” Would he admit the truth? Or would you be wondering once again?

His lips parted as if he was about to answer before Gaz’s hand landed on his shoulder, grip tight as he whispered lowly into the other man’s ear. Johnny’s eyes widened almost comically before he straightened up suddenly.

“Sorry, duty calls.” Johnny didn’t wait for you or Johnson to say anything before he and Gaz were heading off.

You were definitely more curious now, what was so important that Johnny couldn’t even tell you whatsoever? You guys told each other everything, at least most of the time he actually bothered to come around. Maybe…maybe you just weren’t as close friends as you suddenly thought.

“Do you think they don’t like me?” Your voice was much softer, an edge of hurt at the mere thought the people you saw as friends saw you as nothing more than a nuisance.

“They definitely like you, the missions probably got them stressed and they’re doing their best not to worry you,” Johnson shrugged his shoulders, lower lip pushed out in a playful pout.

Your mind was racing with a million and one different thoughts, surely if any of them were truly stressed out they would come to you, right?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Okay, so maybe things hadn’t really gone back to normal once Gaz and Johnny came back from that last mission, but they were talking to you again! Price had even taken you on a mission with him, except now you were beyond sore and could barely get out of bed. An enemy had managed to sneak up when you’d had your back turned. Hell, the only reason you were even alive right now was because of your tac vest, their blade barely piercing the thick material.

“Sergeant, how’re you feeling?” Simon’s face wasn’t something you saw often, the man preferred keeping his personal life private, so seeing him in your room was a surprise.

“Like shit, didn’t think falling nearly two stories would hurt so much,” You chuckled weakly, wincing as pain shot up through your side.

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Simon shook his head with a soft sigh, stepping over to your bedside before gently lifting your gown.

It was nothing more than a large bruise, the very center of it nearly black from how hard you’d hit the concrete. He hummed softly under his breath as he laid a gentle hand against the surprisingly large bruise. You groaned loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists as the heat from Simon’s hands seeped into your skin. Jesus, why the fuck was he so hot?(pun intended).

“I knew about the dangers of war when I signed up, falling out buildings wasn’t on that roster,” The heat of his palms slowly soothed the throbbing ache in your side.

“Accidents can happen, you know that better than any of us. Johnny nearly lost his head trying to disarm a bomb,” You weren’t entirely surprised by that, the man was insanely smart, but sometimes the enemy was just a little bit smarter.

You both sat in silence for a few more moments until Simon pulled his hand away from your skin, laying the gown back down so it covered your mottled skin. There was a slight tension filling the room, the urge to understand who your Lt. actually was.

“Try and get better, we need you in top shape,” Simon didn’t wait for your response before leaving the room quickly.

Your mind was suddenly racing, his skin felt like fire against your own, and while you’d spent a lot of time around a lot of different people, there was no way that was normal. No, that’s stupid to be thinking about, he was just a normal guy who tended to run hotter than the average guy. Nothing more than some silly thoughts.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were exhausted but couldn’t sleep as usual, so what’s better than sneaking out of your room and heading down to the mess hall to get a bite to eat? They wouldn’t care as long as everything was cleaned up afterwards, and you never left a mess anyway. Sighing softly you slipped on a pair of slippers and pulled a hoodie on to keep the chill out. As you slowly and quietly made your way down to the mess hall you realized there were more people inside. Who else would be awake this late at night?

“C’mon! I’m starvin’,” The voice was muffled by the door, the only light being the one they were using by their table.

You pushed the door open slowly, seeing Johnny, Gaz, Simon, and Captain Price all sitting around the largest table in the mess hall. The table was loaded with food, a slightly smaller pile of trash at the opposite end. Gaz was stuffing his face with what looked to be a burger and fries, while Johnny was stuffing his own with…garlic bread? To each their own.

“Hey,” You mumbled as you walked inside, heading straight for the freezer to see if your pizza rolls were still in there. 

You had threatened everyone on base that if they ate your food there would be hell on earth, mainly because getting into town to buy food wasn’t easy. Johnny’s head whipped around to stare over at you, almost as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to drop in on them. Then again, it was nearly one in the morning and they were all stuffing their faces as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Come to think of it, they almost always have appetites like this, keeping the fridge stocked is nearly impossible at times.

Getting a plate and your pizza rolls out of the freezer you pour a few onto the plate before placing it into the microwave. The boys were nearly silent as you waited for your food to cook, murmuring amongst themselves. Reaching to stop the microwave from beeping loudly as it hit End you pulled the plate out. Thanks to the many calluses on your thumb you could barely feel the heat from the plate.

“Have a good night boys,” You nodded quickly before heading down to your room to eat in peace.

You could have easily sat down with everyone and eaten, but there was something off about the way they stared over at you, as if they were watching you like predators. No, you weren’t going to sit here and assume your friends were secretly out to get you, that’s weird. With a soft grunt you plopped down onto your bed, pulling open your laptop to turn on a movie. Your eyes caught on a title you hadn’t watched in years. Twilight. Snickering you turned it on, picking up a pizza roll to see if it was actually cooled enough to eat. Not that that ever stopped you of course, but maybe this time would be different.

Normally you would eat your snack and fall asleep within a few minutes, tonight however was going to be a nightmare. You were absolutely hooked into the terrible movie, clicking onto the next one, and the next, and of course you couldn’t not finish the saga. Suddenly it was morning and you were shocked to see the sun, well now you were definitely going to be in trouble. Groaning you turned off your laptop and pulled your blanket up and over your head, exhaustion seeping into your bones like a weight.

By the time you opened your eyes again it was dark outside, the sky lit up with stars as you groaned. You were half tempted to go back to sleep, your body still aching for those few precious minutes. Unfortunately your stomach was rumbling, and your bladder was nearly bursting from being in bed for so long.

Pushing up and out of bed you headed into the bathroom to do your business and brush your teeth. After you’d done everything that was urgent you grabbed the plate from the night before and headed back down to the mess hall. As you headed into the mostly dark area you could see the boys all sitting together. They were eating again. This time though it looked like they had gotten take out from one of the Italian restaurants nearby. God, what you wouldn’t give to have a big plate of spaghetti ragu.

Shaking your head you ran over to the sink to wash your plate and make yourself some more pizza rolls. You didn’t have much energy to actually cook something proper, so something easy would have to be the way you went for the night. Price was staring over at you, waiting to see if you would make your way over to their table. Considering you hadn’t the night before the other three didn’t think you would bother.

The microwave beeped loudly, indicating your food had finished cooking while you were daydreaming about future missions. You quickly grabbed your plate and headed over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Have a good night, boys,” You nodded towards them before heading back to your room.

Your shoulders were sagging with exhaustion when you made it back to your room, carefully setting the plate and water down before sitting in bed. Instead of turning on a movie, knowing it could keep you up, you turned on a show. It was mainly background noise as you quickly ate your dinner, sipping your water every now and then. Once your plate was empty, and your belly full, you scooted down into bed. Your eyes slipped closed, unable to keep them open a minute longer as you fell asleep. Dreams plagued with different werewolves and vampires, though they seemed so…similar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The entire base was in full swing, everyone letting loose with good food, and enough beer to drown an entire village. It was a way to thank the soldiers that were risking their lives daily, and it felt damn good. You’d had your fair share of drinks, laughing at Johnson’s jokes when his crush wasn’t around so she didn’t get the wrong idea. You made it clear to everyone on base that you had no romantic intentions for anyone, refusing to ruin a good thing. Johnson had wandered off, following Ashley, Amanda, Amber? Shit, maybe you were way more drunk than you’d realized if you couldn’t even remember her name.

“Gonna get some fresh air.” You mumbled to no one in particular, heading outside to see if the chilly air could help sober you up.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, goosebumps rising as you stared up at the full moon. It gave off a beautiful light, the stars that surrounded it twinkling in the inky blackness. You’d always been fascinated by space, and getting to actually see the stars meant a lot. Your body had a mind of it’s own, turning and stumbling off towards the barracks. As you kept walking you soon realized you weren’t in the barracks at all, in fact you weren’t on the base anymore. Shit, were you going to get lost in the woods and have to have someone find you? That’s beyond embarrassing.

A deep rumbling growl stopped you in your tracks, heart racing as you slowly turned to face the noise. If it was a bear you could possibly manage to outrun it, but being as drunk as you were there was a chance you’d just get killed. Two bright glowing eyes stared back at you, lips pulled back into a snarl as your heart dropped and you took off into a sprint. Branches tore at your skin, the scent of blood permeating the air as you pushed your legs to run even faster. You were thankful you’d worn your boots, not wanting to ruin a pair of nicer shoes.

Your feet came to a grinding halt as suddenly you were surrounded by what could only be described as giant wolves. You knew they were big, having seen the comparisons to a regular Siberian husky, but these? They’d be able to kill you with one swipe of their giant paws.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna die, this is how I die,” Your heart was racing, eyes comically wide as you watched the three wolves and…oh god were those mountain lions?!

“Y/N! It’s us!” Gaz’s voice echoed around you, the trees swaying slightly as the wind whipped around you.

Your throat closed up slowly as the rest of the task force and both Rudy and Alejandro walked over to where you’d stopped. How were they all here if you had just been surrounded by wolves and mountain-

“I fucking knew it!” You pointed an accusatory finger at each and every person standing around you.

Simon’s jaw dropped open, did you just say that you knew about the secret they’d tried so hard to keep hidden?! Are you serious right now?!

“How the fuck did you know?” Simon was almost angry, though he wasn’t sure if he was angry at you or because you somehow knew?

“You guys run off whenever there’s a full moon, you eat way more than everyone else, your skin nearly burned me when I fell out of that building…also I may have watched Twilight and found some similarities.” You admitted sheepishly.

Price was shocked and also affronted that you’d found out their hidden secret because of a movie made for teenagers?! Jesus, maybe he really was getting too old to deal with any of this shit. 

“So, are there more of you guys?” Your curiosity was piqued now, if your friends were werewolves and werecats, could there be more?

“Yes, but it’s not our place to say so when the time comes we’ll let them tell you, alright?” Price wanted to get back to the compound and sleep for the next few days if he could.

You were excited at the idea of meeting more people like your team, but you were also nervous they wouldn’t like you knowing who they truly were.

Sometimes real life is even stranger than fiction.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mr. Chicken

Debut: Rhythm Heaven Megamix

The year is unknown. The world as we know it is unrecognizable. Ocean now covers nearly all of the planet's surface, and the remaining landmasses jut sharply upward, connected only by brittle stone bridges, if anything. And yet, despite all this...

This chicken bought himself an electric car, and he's ready to take it for a ride!

Mr. Chicken is the star of Charging Chicken, which is a game of chicken! You know, like, trying to get as close as possible to something without going over? I don't actually know why that's called chicken. Hold on, I have to look something up.

Ah! It is called that because the original game of chicken involved two drivers driving right toward each other, where one or both must swerve away, or risk crashing. If only one swerves, that driver is the Chicken, in the "coward" sense of the word. I would not call avoiding a car crash cowardly, but I cannot speak for people who would intentionally drive toward each other in cars! This does not help the reputation of the humble chicken.

Thankfully, Mr. Chicken is not driving into head-on traffic. Unfortunately, he is driving toward a landmass only a few feet wide, with a drop straight down into the ocean on the other side. Why is he doing this? Is he stupid? Yeah, I think so.

I don't know if Mr. Chicken is a terrible driver, his car is terribly designed, or both! The moment it finishes charging, it immediately zooms straight at full speed, so either it drives recklessly on its own until it runs out of fuel, or this chicken has the gas pedal slammed down to the floor at ALL times. I would not put it past him.

All this is bad enough, and that's without even mentioning that chickens barely have any depth perception! That's why they (and other prey birds) bob their heads while they walk- the things that they see will appear to move at different speeds depending on how far from the eyes they are! Delightfully, Mr. Chicken DOES indeed bob his head rapidly while driving, so at least he's trying, I guess. But if there is anything you take from this post, I hope it is that a chicken would not be good at driving a car.

Nevertheless, THIS chicken has his driver's license, somehow. And we get to hear his own thoughts about it!

"I've been driving for almost three years now. I get pulled over all the time, and I keep expecting a police officer to comment on my license picture--I look so good!"

I am happy he is proud of his photo. I'm sure it looks great, I always love looking at a photo of a chicken. I even included one in this post! They are so fun to look at. But getting pulled over all the time? I am disappointed in him! I don't feel comfortable with such a reckless driver on the road! If only he would change his ways, but that is surely too much to expect...

"When my safe driving record got me the gold driver's license, I asked if I could keep my same picture. It's such a cute picture of me!"

Wow! He changed his ways, despite me not having faith in him! It turns out even a digital chicken has the capacity to change. I am proud of him! This is now a chicken who all drivers should aspire to be like, in terms of both safety and self-love!

The non-Japanese versions of the game feature this, quite frankly, sick mural of Mr. Chicken and his car at the end of Machine Remix! I don't think this is his own garage, since there is a whole Car Guy character that this stage is hosted by, so maybe he's a beloved customer, and became a sort of mascot. He probably crashes enough cars to keep a repair shop in business!

There is even more to Mr. Chicken but I don't feel like writing anymore! Check out this official comic if you want to see some rooster heterosexuality.