#Quick Dip Powder

[designyourfashion]

Vegan Refried Beans - Beans and Peas

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Besotted

♡ featuring: yandere!ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: the love of your life knows you without asking, selfless and caring. however, you're slowly starting to realize the man you loved was a mask of the truth hiding underneath. wc: 12.5k+

♡ cw/tw: modern au, mentions of violence/blood, mentions of suicide, stalking, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, rough sex, sideways sex, cockwarming, mating press, cunnilingus, drugging, overstimulation, praise, pet names (lots of them tbh)

notes: im so sorry i know it took me a long time but my time has been consumed by exams and its finals week soon so ahhhh. it's going to take me a little longer than usual until my semester is over, forgive me!! art by jam8366_dday on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

“Caramel macchiato for… Katheryne?” Your quiet voice deadens among the bustling crowd of businessmen, secretaries, and construction workers alike conversing through their morning wake-up. It’s incomparable to the serene appeal of a corner coffee shop—piled high with board games and books, the nooks and crannies decorated with some sort of trinket or knickknack you collected along the way, baubles that brought you joy and spread some to anyone that entered the cozy hole in the wall—“The Mad Hatter”. People are free to add stickers to the cash register, so convoluted with color similar to graffiti, including the pink-hatted cat Lyney glued to the top. Coffee tables share space with buoyant sofas, opposite of the display case viewing a multitude of extra sweet desserts and breakfast sandwiches. At night, the fairy lights bordering the wide veiled windows glimmered a dim hue that made feathery snow sparkle like stars during winter. You set the coffee under warm lights dotting the ceiling, emanating above the wooden interior. No one is finicky for your tastes; you are happy to see the familiar cheerful or grumpy faces entering the shop. You remember names, faces, and minute personal details they’d forgotten they shared over a steaming cup of latte left to warm because the art was too pretty to drink. They’re busy, but patient; they've acquainted you long enough to not be angry at the wait, and most times come to your defense against unruly customers. 

It's the worst—or for you, the best—in the afternoons, swarming crowds waiting for an afternoon pick-me-up. You and Lyney work to the best of your ability, serving up group orders with a quickness unparalleled by nearby chain coffeehouse’s. You regard it as your passion, although your parents were disappointed when you told them you and Lyney would be buying and renovating an abandoned property states over all for coffee; your delectable drinks have the potential to form long lasting relationships between you and other customers, and there’s a certain creative merit you relish whenever a guest takes pictures of the swan-like artistry foaming on the surface. The taste of bitter beans sparks moments of merriment, longing, and love—in some cases, it’s the best form of intimacy.  

Your best memories live in this shop; the ground powder that scattered everywhere and painted Lyney like a chocolate sculpture when he tried to push the inventory to the highest shelf or staying up after close in the middle of a blizzard to make flimsy homemade decorations for the grand opening with help from Lynette. 

It’s extra special that the very place you stand is where you found the love of your life. You met him at the register, loose curls dipped in autumn tones spilling over his long lashes. The void in his eyes motionless like the ocean before a low tide. You both stared at each other for a moment, taking in the lines and details of your flustering faces. You must’ve been staring for too long, as Lyney tapped your shoulder with a side eye that alerted you to the awkward silence and line heading out the door. You fumbled for apologies and took his order; the ginger boy chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck—Ajax—such a rugged name for a pretty guy. You prepared the Frappuccino with a drizzle of affection bespoken for him. When you gave him the drink, his hand grazed against yours, a kiss without lips. It left you breathless, and with an airy coyness he said, “I didn’t get your name?” You told him, and he tried out the sound on his tongue. You wished he’d say it over and over. With a rosy wash across his cheeks, “A fitting name for your beauty. Have a good day, (Y/N)” was all he said before he walked away, leaving you stunned and smitten. Lyney was the unfortunate victim that dealt with your wearisome fantasizing about Ajax. 

But Ajax already knew your name. And address, and friends.  

How could he not? When he saw you hanging lights in the windows on a particularly sunny morning that made your glowing face shine with pure radiance unrivaled by deities, he sunk endlessly. He vowed to walk at a distance at that same time every day to ogle your lustrous hair, your soft skin that didn’t break a sweat, the curve of your lips. You soon became an itch he couldn’t scratch, a plaguing thought that wiggled in the wrinkles of his brain and made it hard to sleep or work. You, you, you. Is your laugh a heavy snort or more lighthearted, do you have the same sense of humor as him? You’ll like what he likes, think what he thinks. 

You were constantly on his mind, he wondered if you were eating when he ate or how good you were sleeping as he drifted off to his. It’s not his fault that he snapped discrete pictures of your smiling face, you were too adorable to ignore. He valued coming home to kneel at the little shrine he made of your printed gaiety, surrounded by consistently fresh roses and citrus candles he thought you’d smell like. If he stood close enough, it was like you were right in front of him. The apron tied around your waist was a vibrant crimson—his favorite color. It's fate, the way the stars aligned and sent angels down to bless you with a pinafore of his approval. You had to know he was out there; he was already imagining returning to a cheerful home, and your swaying hips as you whipped up a glacé delight. He’d kiss you on the cheek, and you’d pop a tart blueberry in his mouth. Yes—it had to be this way, it must be what you wanted, too. 

Ajax coincidentally found himself rummaging through trash cans in the vicinity for an inkling of receipts from the shop. He stumbled upon it, of course—it’s not like he waited out until nightfall right before garbage day to have the highest chances of finding identification. The jagged fragment of a receipt led to your family, social media, and blogs you dedicated to your baking progress. And he’d monitor the sites on different screens with multiple tabs, an infatuated glaze over those dull eyes that kept him glued to the updates for hours. He made many accounts, liking your posts fervently with flimsy justifications of encouragement. You became reachable day by day. 

The day Ajax decided to pursue you upfront, it was a dream he hoped never to wake. He’d rehearsed it obsessively until the moment he stood in front of the glass door, a tremble in his restless legs at the thought of looking ridiculous. Seeing you up close felt like a special occasion. His heart was beating off-kilter in his quaking chest, as if jumping free fall out of a plane, and he held his breath until it opened. The confidence he mustered up before he got to the register did little to suppress the giddiness rolling in his veins. His pulse paced the closer he got. Two more orders and there you were; the center of his universe, and you didn’t know it yet. Pictures didn’t do you justice—no, he needed to see your grace preserved in museums depicted in rich Renaissance paintings onlookers could only fantasize holding or loving, but you’d be for him, and him alone. He drew a blank. “May I get your name for the order?” His eyes flickered with a brand-new luster, it melded certainty and delusion.  

She wants...my name.  

My name.  

The sweet harmony of your words lulled Ajax to an addicting turbid spiral that swept fondness through the tempest and scattered infatuation in its aftermath. A feeling too tenacious, it must be love. The incessant burn urged him to protect and guide you to him. You need him. Now he watched compulsively with a winded jaw, your smile to other men who couldn't compare to his devotion. They don’t know you like he does. He could map out the corners of your house from the slim backgrounds of your blog posts or name every club you’ve participated in since middle school. Hunger spread where his fists craved contact, like sunfire corroding the taught skin on his knuckles. They’ve breathed your air and existed in your presence. It’s undeserved, they’re unworthy. 

How fucking dare they. 

How lost you must be without him, led astray by intruding greed; he selflessly assumed his responsibility. You are his, after all. So, he stalked behind cars shadowed by harsh streetlamps to ensure you got home safe and intercepted your packages to check for threatening substances. The accomplishment he felt whenever he completed his—in his words, “duties”—instilled exultation beyond any memory. Within the envelopes, he’d leave an elegant note embellished with hearts hinting at his infatuation and the care he put in to maintain your safety. One letter turned to two, then five, to the point where you’d receive a sleeve stuffed with increasingly unhinged letters from your secret admirer that fanned out when you tipped it. 

On Christmas Eve, a limitless cloak of frozen stardust decided to flurry right before your shift ended. You covered Lyney’s shift so he’d have time to spend with Lynette and Freminent; it wasn’t like you had anything to do afterwards. You counted the flakes of the storm through frosted glass, thinking about the wellbeing of your family back home. Mailed gifts couldn't console the grief you felt during the holidays. A knock on the door turned your attention to the silhouette of a man wearing a slouched beanie with a pompom on top. You unlocked the door, and it swung open from the whirling heft of wind and smattered white across the wood from empty streets. 

“Sorry, we just closed-” You looked up, no time to register the freckled face from months ago, that stole your heart with a smile. Icy grains kissed his cheeks, as red as apples, and fused to the wool scarf draped around his trench coat. “Oh! Hello, again.” You tried to play it off, but the crack in your voice teetered. You were suddenly nervous. Ajax grinned hard and shuffled slightly inwards to escape the chill.  

“Hi (Y/N)! I was really hoping you weren’t closed, it’s a good day to grab a hot chocolate, y’know?” 

“It is. You’re probably freezing, please come in.” You should’ve been home by now, but for Ajax, you could spare a few minutes. He unraveled his winter attire to reveal a tightly fitted turtleneck and took a seat at the chair closest to you. You wrap around the counter and start the kettle, struggling with what to do next at the gaze gripping your mind. “One hot chocolate, coming up.” 

“How much I owe ya?” he chirped, arms resting on the table while he watched you grab two mugs. “No worries, it’s on the house. Consider it your Christmas present.” 

“I appreciate that, thank you. You really are kind...Lyney left you by yourself tonight?” You wondered how he knew Lyney’s name when they hadn’t met, but quickly brushed it off. 

“Yeah, I wanted him to spend time with his family.” 

“And you don’t have any here?” You didn’t retain your usual weariness towards acquaintances. On this lonely night Ajax didn’t feel like much of a stranger. 

“Nah, moved away to start this.” Your hands gestured to the quaint interior. Ajax scanned his surroundings, marveling at the scenery before he spoke. “What you’ve done with this, it’s lovely. Your ambition and dedication are apparent from the way you treat the customers, I can tell you’re passionate about what you do.” Your body flared like summer and succeeded in hushing the breeze. You poured a cup full of thick cocoa and plopped a dollop of whipped cream on both. “It’s not much, but-” the mugs settled on the table, and you sat across from him. “It smells amazing, (Y/N). You’re an expert at this” he interrupted. You traced the rim with your finger and rested your head on the other hand. 

“Thanks...I assume you don’t have family here, either? Think you’d be ripping open gifts by now if you did.” He took another sip. “Yup, they live in a different country. I should visit them soon” he sighed and glanced at the jumbled wool scarf. “Did a sibling make that for you?” you asked. 

“Yeah, my sister. A parting gift.” 

“It’s beautiful, she’s very talented” you remarked, admiring the delicate fleece. The bittersweet smile in response stuck to your heartstrings. “She is.” 

You both drank in silence and occasionally met each other's eyes, only to turn away. Something unsaid hung in the air. "Winter has a way of making us reminisce. It’s so depressing” you confided. You hadn’t told Lyney, but you were terribly lonely these past months. You replaced your emotions with extra shifts, but they came crashing down in the darkness of your bedroom. Ajax gazed at you like he could see through you. 

“The sky appears magnificent under the snow's embrace. Its purity is like the moon's gentle radiance. I don’t think there’s anything like a world covered in snow" he soothed. His words flustered you, and you homed in on the white trails dancing in your lukewarm cup. 

“I’ve never thought of it like that. I used to hate snow. It feels...intruding, I guess.” 

“But if we don’t allow ourselves to be intruded, how will we love?” he blurted. It was comforting to hear in the moment, and you returned his smile. 

“Is the hot chocolate good?” you asked. 

“It’s perfect.... you’re perfect.” You chuckled at the notion, mistaking it for pity. “I’m not perfect.” 

“But you are. The way you carry yourself, your intelligence, your courtesy. You’re flawless, gorgeous inside and out and you don’t even notice.” The way Ajax looked at you, on the verge of his seat and studying your face, lips, and hair. You couldn’t deny the flattery that drowned you and dragged you the more he persisted. “How would you know from one encounter?” His mouth fixed to say it, the truth, but he tight-lipped and reached into his coat pocket instead. He grabbed a blue velvet box and slid it to you. 

“I wanted to give you this. Ever since I saw you.” It felt expensive under your fingertips. You unclasped the front, and it opened to a twinkling pendant. It was a cable chain dangling an oval sapphire gem, with 18 karat white-gold halo sunbursts surrounding it. It’s breathtaking, as if stolen from the tomb of a goddess. 

“Wow, this is...stunning. Ajax, I can’t accept this; it’s too much” you pressured. You’ve never received a gift of this caliber from anyone, it didn’t feel right to look at it. 

“Consider it your Christmas present” he repeated. You shook your head and held up the box to hand it back to him. “I can’t, I shouldn’t-” 

“Please” he pleaded. He clasped your hands, a reassuring thumb gently caressing yours. You were so focused on its extravagance that you didn’t notice the note stuck to the roof of the box. Refined script dotted with hearts; the same style as the hundreds in your closet. Your mouth gaped. 

“This letter...you...have you been the one sending me all those love letters?” You should've had your suspicions, or the urge to back away, but you weren’t afraid. You tried to string together his ability to find your address or mail, or how he knew Lyney, but your brain couldn’t clear the fog of feeling loved after so many years. It’s a warm hug to the blood that instinctively ran cold. Your heartbeat’s fast, half with anxiety and the other with desire. 

Ajax solemnly hung his head and retracted his hands. He fidgeted with his thumbs. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I thought about being upfront, but I was so scared of your response and I didn’t want you to hate me, so I thought maybe if I sent them anonymously you could start liking the person behind it or if I played my cards right you’d find out who it was...but that doesn’t make any sense now that I’m thinking about it, I just wanted to be near you. You’re so amazing and smart and beautiful, I just...s-sorry…I’m rambling. I hope you can understand; I-I didn’t mean to harm I just want to make sure you’re safe” he choked. The strained words tumbled over one another and broke in places, where they traveled off at the end. Ajax averted your eyes, pools of tears threatening to fall from the corners. The sudden mood change took you off guard, and you reached for his guilty hands. You were on the verge of divulging your entirety for him, be it the isolation of the big city or lack of attention. He didn’t seem like a bad guy; he might have been misguided. What’s the harm in giving him a chance? 

“It’s okay, Ajax. I’m not upset, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered” you giggled. “The letters are sweet, I read all of them. They make me feel a little better about living in a shithole apartment. Thank you.” He looked at you, bottomless intensity searching for more. “I’m interested in you, too” you added. 

“Then you’ll be my girlfriend?” It was phrased as a question but arrived as a proclamation. “...I would love that.” 

Ajax moved around the table. You rose to wrap your arms around his neck while he squeezed your waist with his head lying on your shoulder. The duping tears vanished like they didn’t exist, and his shameful expression morphed into a conniving smirk stretching unnaturally in his triumph. Your authentic touch, the smell of perfume wafting in his nose. It’s not citrus, but it’s you. You, everything is you. This is how things were meant to be. His eyes curved like arches from sheer elation, biting his lip to stifle the cackle. You’re together, at last. 

The snow stopped some time ago, but the blizzard was just beginning. 

Your relationship with Ajax progressed fast after that day. A weariness dulled within you after you came to your senses from your prior confession, and you weren’t sure about the stability of his neurotic nature. However, when Ajax showed up with a bouquet of the loveliest flowers you’ve ever laid eyes on during an exhausting shift, it shined above all else. He showers you with consistent love and attention and worships the ground you walk on with doting devotion. He's clingy and somewhat suffocating, but his sick adoration blesses you with rose-colored glasses; you’re divinity on a golden pedestal in his eyes, and if he fell hard, you fell harder. The considerate, caring, good listener he is makes the small hiccups go over your head. In the first few months you were unequivocally enamored, the kind that tied your universe to his. You patter about him to Lynette, who gives you half-concerned approval at the story of how you met and the “little things” you cherish.  

Like when he allowed you to move in without a second thought. The paint chipped around dodgy windowsills and fraying carpets, and your landlord wouldn’t pay for the fixes. Unfortunately, you needed a place to stay and couldn’t afford to speak up about the horrible conditions. You were used to your slumlord at that point, but the absence of working heat and busted appliances led you to the arms of your boyfriend, sobbing about the stress your landlord subjected you to. He scooped you like fragile glass as you faltered through shaky breaths grating your lungs and hushed your distress. Kissing your head, he rubbed your back and mumbled into your hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it...I’ll take care of everything.”  

A week later you’d found out that your landlord died from a gruesome suicide, and all tenants had to leave the auctioned duplex. Ajax took you in, and you began adapting to his midtown townhouse. Though you felt like a mooch at first, the welcoming interior had you snuggling between his downy bedding in no time. He shouldered your burden, accepted your genuine self and lavished generous replacements of the items you couldn’t carry. You don’t lift a finger around him, and he readily cooks and cleans for your comfort. 

You’ve gotten accustomed to his presence. When you wake, he’s either watching you sleep silently or preparing food for you to take to work. Ajax follows you around like an obedient pet, smoothing your hair and highlighting how beautiful you look in your rough post-morning wake-up state. He’ll try to kiss you before toothpaste, and you playfully mush his disappointed face off to get dressed. He compensates by kissing in other places, your clothed knee as he ties your shoes or your hands when they interlock. Prior to departing, he attaches that sapphire elegance to your neck. You grab your tidy lunchbox and stroll together in the early hours of the morning for your opening shift. “Have a good day, baby” he says, and places sugary smooches from your lips to your forehead and back again. You’d stand there forever, embracing his warmth if your alarm didn’t notify you to start prepping.  

When Ajax isn’t around, and you’re busy piping frosting onto cakes, there’s a profound hole in your happiness that can’t be filled with buttercream. The way his nose scrunches when he laughs hard, and those hot honey strands tickling your cheeks when you sleep because his face is directly on top of yours make you crave his sight and touch. Sometimes you ponder what you’ve done to deserve someone so over the moon for you. Hell, you’d give him the moon if that’s what he wanted; it’d barely cover a fraction of the benevolence he’s evinced. For now, you blink distraction away, and there's spread sloppily piled over the cakes and countertop. You simper to yourself; such a handsome, tender handful. 

Your daydreams carry you through close, and you and Lyney remain as you wipe down tacky tables with rags lathered in disinfectant. You’re circling surfaces with vigor, quick to move to the next. You hear him laugh from another table. “Okay, speed cleaner. Missing your house husband?” he teases. You roll your eyes and pretend to throw the rag at him. “Hurry up, I wanna go home.” He fake cowers and throws his hands up in surrender. “Yes ma’am. Don’t waste all your strength, Lynette will be upset if you can’t dance with her tomorrow.”  

“I’m not some old woman, Lyn. I can party.” You force away the memory of sleeping on Lyney’s shoulder in the lounge area of a booming club. 

“Sure, grandma. Don’t forget your cane when I pick you up” he jokes. You chortle, and actually throw the rag this time. Too bad his agile form dodges it. “I gotta let Ajax know.”  

“...Right.” Lyney loses momentum and stares at the steaming bucket for a pregnant pause, stirring the rag to buy time. You glance towards him, and he shifts a peccant look. You turn on your heels and lean on the back of a chair. 

“Spill it” you demand.  

“Spill what?” 

“What you actually wanna say.” Lyney bites the inside of his cheek to physically restrain the itch that vents brutal honesty. “I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.” 

You narrow your brows and sigh in disbelief. “So what? We’ve been friends since high school, just tell me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and gulps a deep breath. “Lyney.” 

“It’s about Ajax” he exhales. “Oh.”  

“I’m worried about you.” You weren’t expecting the serious air, it sounds like an intervention. It's unnatural coming from your easygoing friend. 

“Really? Why?” you question. He blinks for a few moments, dumbfounded at the innocent audacity, or willful ignorance. 

“Some of the stuff you say about him...it creeps me out. How is it not creeping you out?” he stresses, gawking at the exorbitant gem. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you mean.” To you, Ajax isn’t the scary type. Mysterious maybe, but his affection prevents you from seeing him as anything but the missing half of your soul. 

“Okay. You don’t remember telling me how he kept that rotting coffee cup from when you guys first met? Or how he watches you sleep? He made your favorite meal first try and called it a ‘lucky guess?’” The more he goes on, the more disbelieved he becomes.  

“I think it’s romantic” you chide. He expels his frustration. 

“(Y/N), I'm not saying any of this to be a hater, but all of this is unhealthy. Unhealthy might be an understatement. I mean, the man acts like he can't live without you. What if you were to break up, can you be sure he won't lose his fucking mind?” The hypothetical calamity of separation sinks seeds in puddles of doubt. It’s not possible. 

“We love each other. That won’t happen.” 

“It’s been over a year, and you know nothing about him. He comes out of nowhere, sweeps you off your feet, love bombs you, and you take it at face value. Maybe he truly is the one and it’s love at first sight, but this whole situation is...odd. I care about you, (Y/N), and this guy scares me. He’s hiding something.” You attempt to formulate a fact you’ve learned about him, a detail to prove how close you’ve gotten, and come to realize there’s none in your reservoir. You know naught of his friends or family or wealth. Ajax tells you safe verities, like his favorite food and hobby. You don’t thirst for personal space or secrets when it comes to Ajax, and the stygian plunge in his eyes gives you no hints, but you believe the pleasing words that escape his lips either way.  

You glance at the empty Tupperware on the counter, that was once packed with a hefty sandwich and strawberries carved into hearts. He's effortlessly adorable, a small berry-stained note with a simple phrase: "you'll do great today <3". Your dream man, he wouldn't hide things from you, you won’t fathom the thought. “I-” 

Ding 

That dazzling toothy gapped grin spreads warmth across your chest and the room instantly feels a bit brighter. Ajax saunters like he owns the place, engulfing your frame in his stature and placing a kiss on your head. Lyney freezes though Ajax ignored his existence. “I’m getting ready to leave” you muffle into the musky denim jacket. He nods, but his action won’t follow his hands sturdy on your waist as you shimmy out. You make haste to the back room, past the pantry dry goods and collect your sweater and bag. 

You’re about to push open the swinging door when you pause, catching a glimpse of Ajax and Lyney through the oval window. They don’t normally interact in the same space, and you thought it best to respect their boundaries. Ajax is turned away from you, but you can see Lyney clear as day, a stone solid unease skipping on his skin that makes calculated breaths too obvious. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. His arms are stuck to the sides, and you observe the apron jumbled in his clutches shaking ever so slightly. He’s trained to the hickory grain of the floor, and from a small portion of Ajax’s visible face, it’s a dreadful expression unbeknownst to you.  

There’s an almost tenebrous loom towering over Lyney, and you feel an alarming shiver settle in your lower spine. Were his eyes normally this gloomy? Your heart rate palpitates when it shouldn’t. You want to look away from the swirling dark depths possessing your soulmate, shooting daggers at your friend. His jaw is clenched to popping, veins on his neck and hands chasing bone. He has a lethal grip on Lyney’s shoulder, and the rough tension pulls at the wrinkling undershirt. But he sneers—a twisted, coiling kind that doesn’t match his glare—an impersonation of affability. 

“Ajax” you mutter softly as you sway the door. He turns sharply, and it’s like a flipped switch. The rage decays to ash swiftly and he’s yours again, your adoring admirer. “I'm ready.” He waits for your approach and tangles your hands. You make your way out, freeing Lyney from capitivity. He holds the door open for you to leave, and you shout “Bye, Lyn! I’ll see you tomorrow.” A shell-shocked cast on his face, he doesn’t say a word. 

You sit at the dining table, feeling disconnected from reality while the kitchen rises with a clatter of pans and glass. You scroll through posts on your phone and occasionally peek over at the corridor to watch Ajax work. His passion shows when he cooks, rocking the skillet to upturn the veggies sizzling within. His broad back flexes with skillful movements, and he looks at you, winking with a teasing pucker on his glossy lips. You giggle. I was just imagining things. 

He slides the plates on the table and sits across from you. Ajax sits like a giddy child waiting for you to try their creation, and you take the first bite. The bountiful flavor dances on your tongue. “It’s really good!” you muffle through bites. A tinge of pink sets on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.” 

You chew haphazardly out of focus. You can’t help but notice how quiet your phone has been since you’ve moved in, it feels foreign in your possession. Not a single call from your friends came through, forgotten and invisible. You contemplate apologizing to Lyney tomorrow, it was wrong to get defensive towards compassion. Ajax interrupts his eating to track your fork picking at the meal. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You aren’t eating.” 

You awake from your trance. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just feels kinda off.” Ajax’s back straightens, and he tenses throughout at a semblance of negative diction. “What does? The food? I’ll remake it” he stumbles. 

“No no, the food is great. It’s, I don’t know. I haven’t got a call from Tiggy in a while.” The corners of Ajax’s mouth contort. 

“Really...I heard he’s been hangin’ out with some new people.” His tone is dry, it strives to be nonchalant. His elbows rest on the table, and he carves his knife into bloody steak like struggling living bone. 

“So, I guess that means he can’t message me anymore, huh” you chuckle. He twists the knife deeper, as if it’s digging in his back. “He’s just a bad friend honestly. Not consistent, you even said he missed your birthday last year. Who needs a friend like that?” 

“I guess.” Meanwhile, you flip through your contacts searching for Tighnari’s name; come to find out he’s nowhere in your phone. In fact, a lot of messages and numbers seemed to have dwindled over time. Your own parents, vanished. Perhaps you were so overworked you’d forgotten they deleted. You start scouring for his profile, but it doesn’t come up. You can’t imagine Tighnari wiping out his entire presence, and it’s not just him. Outside him are the piles of male friends you seldom locate, and you become flustered at your blindness. You look at Ajax, and his eyebrows quirk up to inquire about your confusion. 

“That’s so weird. I should try calling him-” 

“Don't.” It’s not suggestive, its one note, stern demand. It rings in your ears, and when that mask slips for a terrifying moment, you hold your breath until it recurs. “’S not that I don’t want you to, honey. He clearly doesn’t care in the first place, that’s not a sign of a good friend. I’m just trying to help; you know I always have ou- your best interest.” There’s an unrelenting pit in your stomach telling you it’s wrong. “You seem tense since we left, Ajax. Are you alright?” He stops, it leaves you on edge when a formidable shadow casts over his eyes from his bangs that make them look as endless as the bottom of the sea.  

“I feel like...you’re straying away from me. You’re becoming more secretive. Have I done something to violate your trust?” You don’t consider how Ajax knew Tighnari, let alone how he’d find the password to your phone. It was your fault, it had to be. The solemn quiver of his lips clears your suspicion. You’d forget it all to see him happy again. You stand and sway to his side of the table, sitting on his lap to take his face in your hands. “Not at all, babe. My phone’s been acting up, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I just asked because you and Lyney looked high-strung. ‘M sorry.” You kiss him softly with reassurance, and he melts in your touch. The foggy residue shows on his blushing face, and you introduce another to his cheek. “I’m going to a party with Lyney and Lynette tomorrow, so I wanted to see if Tiggy would come.” 

“Ah...okay. Don’t worry, darling, it was a short conversation.” Vague and unassuming, but it didn’t matter now. Ajax can’t deceive you. 

The state you drifted off—lying on Ajax’s chest with his arms embracing your lax figure—is not how you awake. A piercing scream rises, and you jump out of bed in a drowsy stupor. “Ajax?” you addle. Metal clangs to the floor, and the sheets hang low on your hips before you dart down the stairs and through the dining room to discover the cause of the noise.  

He’s kneeling on the kitchen tile, compressing his forearm. Vermillion overflows between his fingers and palm and spatters his shirt. The knife, along with a clumsily chopped apple, is muddy with blood. “Oh my god!” You sprint for a towel and first aid kit crammed underneath the kitchen sink. When you return, Ajax is hissing from the sting, salty tears smeared on his eyelashes. You accompany him on the floor, ignoring the crime scene peppering the cabinets and gently glide his hands to get free view of the wound. “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, now that you’re here.” It’s a nasty cut, not a gash but painful, nonetheless. You bring him to wash the excess blood, and pat it dry carefully. The fizz from disinfectant makes his arm jolt, but you hold him steady to apply. As you bandage his arm, he blinks away the twinge.  

“I’m sorry, baby. You have work in a few minutes, and you’re here taking care of me. Go ahead and get ready, I’ll do it.” 

“No way in hell am I leaving you like this. Don’t apologize” you insist, the end of your wrap stuffed to secure. You can’t conceive clocking in or partying tonight while Ajax suffers at home. “I’m gonna call out for a couple days so I know you’re well. Relax, I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your phone. Ajax wipes his face on his sleeve, streaking insincere sorrow near the serpentine smirk. 

You spent the day cleaning the home, wiping the kitchen top to bottom and making dinner for Ajax. He rests in bed, and you often check in on him. Treating him like an intensive care patient might’ve been excessive, but he accepts your gentle touch and hand fed meals nursing him back to health. You’re lying in bed with him, and the load of his brawny chest forces yours into the mattress with your legs on either side. You massage the pads of your fingers into his scalp, and your breathing weighted blanket emits a groan. Dazed and fully lax, lulling from the rise and fall of your chest. 

The second day is the same, but the lack of pressure divides your dreary lids. It’s midnight, and it casts a fluorescent glow that permeates the room. You feel your way from walls to banister, and as you’re about to step down the stairs to get water, you pause before the living room. Crouched, peeking through the bars of the banister, you see Ajax on the couch in absolute quiet. Shade stands in place of his facial features, obscured besides the hazy veneer in his iris that bores into the journal in front of him. The collage catches moonbeams on the coffee table, crowded with tiny notes that peak out the uniform pages, and polaroid pictures glued to each sheet, stacked so thick it can’t close. He uses the pen you thought you’d lost moving in, running his tongue over the older bite marks on its base. Squinting your eyes fails at registering the specifics. 

You suck in a breath and take another step, hoping the unreliable foundation won’t give way to whining wood. He skims across the words as if they’re memorized, and crows to himself. Eeeeir. It conforms, and the minute you press into it and that haunting sound whispers through the house, Ajax cracks his neck to your position. You stiffen, a deer in headlights. He puts down the pen. 

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he coos. You shoot to a stand, and Ajax meets you at the bottom of the staircase. “I-I just wanna get some water.” You feel meek and small, fairly avoiding his gaze. He enfolds your jaw with his bad arm like it doesn’t hurt, and pecks you on your forehead, light with anxious sweat. “I can get that for you, dear.” Before he can go, you interrupt. 

“Ajax.” 

“Hm?” 

“The book over there, did you make it?” He alternates between you and the book and glisters his pearly whites. He delicately hauls it to you, “I was going to wait for it to be done, but you can read it now if you want.” You hesitate. You aren’t sure if you want to read it. Regardless, you ferry it in your arms, hefty despite being incomplete. 

You unfurl the cover. 

Page after page, your pulse pumps sonorously in your ears, uncontrollable where goosebumps surge through ebbing limbs. Without a doubt, you’re frightened. Aghast, gaping mouth with eyes the size of dinner plates. Dating from your first encounter, poems and chaotic paragraphs of infatuation. Your sleeping silhouette, columns of reverence, strands of your hair taped like art—pictures of you you’ve never seen taken behind cars and lamp posts.  

The lengthy muddled captions emphasize how beautiful you are, how gracious you must be, because he hadn’t met you yet. On top of it all, written repeatedly in red and smothered in hearts, “I love you (Y/N)”. You don’t want to hold it. It’s broiling on your palms; you want it thrown in fire and scorched to shriveling. It almost reads as a manifesto, with jumbled threats sprinkled above overriding ink. Brutal crimes he’d commit if you were ever harmed, the gory actions he envisioned doing to your male customers. It’s incoherent and unorganized. The last page you flip to etches drought in your throat; A dried scrap of the towel you used to tend to his injury is taped inside. A new entry: 

“ (Y/N) takes care of me! without her I am nothing  my sun and star        ♡    my blood and bone           ♡  ♡ my goddess, my angel,   the very essence of my existence     ♡        ♡     my love is infinite and eternal   you are destined to be mine   ♡     ♡        forever, forever she is mine ”  

You peek up from the book, not prepared to face the source. Ajax ogles you with heart eyes that can’t contemplate the absurdity. They surround you, limit you from speaking undulating panic. Part of you is fearful, the other reserves pure love you still have for him.  

“Do you like it, honey?” No, you hate it. It’s scary and not the man you fell in love with. But those sonnets and odes dripping in honey—descriptions that trickle raw vulnerability and expose his truest intentions—are hard to detest when he treasures you earnestly. His expression, he’ll shatter to flecks if you devastate him. So, you scrape back the bile and oblige a strained smile. 

“I love it, Ajax. Thank you.” 

You’re excited to be at work, and relieved to see Lyney. His banter distracts you from the overbearing air at home. Ajax proceeds like nothing happened, or at least nothing for him. It’s fresh in your mind, torments your thoughts as you get ready for the day. His bare chest hugs you from behind while your brush your teeth and he trails groggy kisses from your shoulder to your jaw. It leaves heat on your ears, and dread in your stomach. The necklace going around you is a cage. 

Closing arrives, and you start wrapping things up. 

“Could you get the dark roast box?” Lyney asks from the bookshelf. 

“Heard” you reply, strolling to storage to find that unnamed box squeezed beside larger product. Balancing the contents, you swing open the door, and let out a gasp to your shock. 

“(Y/N)!” Hollers from the dining area. Collei, Tighnari, and astoundingly, Zhongli swarm near Lynette and Freminent. They’re removing their sweaters, but you don’t give Collei or Tighnari time before you charge at them with an immovable hug.  

“Tiggy, Collei! Oh my god!” She welcomes your embrace, and you hear a labored sigh from Tighnari as he tries to pry your arms. “You might fracture my ribs if you keep hugging so tight.” Collei chuckles, and you break the reunion. “I missed you so much!” she bubbles, practically doing happy feet to exert her enthusiasm. You move to Zhongli and greet him with a lukewarm “Hello.” 

Zhongli, your college boyfriend. The terms you ended on were neither good nor bad. He was a cold selfish player, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Unfortunately, he got clumsy with the surplus of women he juggled, and you found out you were a number among many. You shed misery in front of his dorm room, and he stilled a detached glare whilst you shouted through its paper-thin halls with unfiltered rage. It was one of the worst moments of your life. A couple years down the line, and you’ve learned to forgive him for his disrespectful, arrogant attitude.  

“You look well” he charms with silky bass. “I am.” 

The couple hours you spend catching up and playing board games goes fluently. Tighnari, Lynette, and Freminent rib about the rules they established mid-way through their card game, and you and Collei sit enchanted by the cozy villager simulation on her handheld console. One of her legs is on top of yours, and you’re leaning in her space. Zhongli can’t catch your sight, purposely projecting louder than usual as he enjoyed a drink made by Lyney. 

“She’s so cute! What’s that one called?” 

“Merengue, she’s my favorite.” 

“Hope Merengue helps you with your PhD thesis” Tighnari intrudes, followed by an annoyed sigh at the “+2” card Freminent puts down. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” 

“I didn’t know you were going for a PhD, that’s great” you praise. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know, since you don’t bother to call. Had to find out how you’re doing from Lyney” he jokes. You tilt your head. “Me? You have me blocked on everything.” 

“You don’t come up for me either. I’ve tried calling you a few times, but it went to voicemail. I assumed you had a new phone” Collei supports. You reply with a dry chuckle, and navigate accounts you blocked, evidence they were restricted. It concludes with blank lists where their names should appear. Nothing, not even a way to add them again. This whole ordeal makes you feel like you’re going crazy. You feel bile filling the chambers of your throat, accompanied by a distinct unsettling swell on your temples. Collei notices your furrowed brows and rubs your back. 

“Is everything alright?” Her voice is removed from static hammering your eardrums. 

“Uh, y-yes. I need some water.” You move to the register, where Lyney is wiping down the counter. He slides you a water bottle from the mini fridge. “Don’t throw up, I just cleaned this.” 

“I’ll do my best” you retort. He slants to you, whispering, “Sorry about Zhongli, they didn’t tell me he was tagging along.” You wave it off and take a swig.  

“We gotta talk later. You were right...he’s hiding something.” He gives a comforting nod, and a slender hand enters your peripheral vision.  

“You mind making another, Lyney?” 

“God, you’re insatiable” he complains, and takes Zhongli’s cup for a refill.  

“You both did an outstanding job with the café. It’s homely.” You snort, head resting on your hand. “Is that your way of saying it’s shit?” 

Zhongli frowns, “I’m being serious, I’m proud of what you’ve done here.” 

“Interesting. I’m surprised this isn’t a downgrade to you.” 

“Anything you contribute to is an automatic upgrade.” That sad attempt at flirtation makes you scoff. “Guess your post-college affairs aren’t as frequent if you’re stooping this low.” Maybe you weren’t over it completely. 

“How many times must I apologize?” 

“Until you die.” 

“I’m willing to do that, as many times as it takes.”  

You huff, “It doesn’t matter, Zhongli. I’m in a relationship.” 

“Are you happy?” You don’t have a quip for that question, and it rains on your emotions when you consider it. A flower struggles to bloom through intense downpours. 

“Of course I am.” His smile is frail, and he places a mellow hand on your shoulder. “Then he has all he could ever ask for.”  

The door abruptly opens. Collei’s holding it, and behind it, is Ajax. Dire tension hangs in the air, arid like the anticipation of disaster. Faint smirk and murky glower; the swirling spiral coaxes the same fear you felt last night, and the previous days. His face can’t decide what demeanor to convey, it forces gladness where darkness veils his stare. You tread away from Zhongli, praying he didn’t see the hand that was on you moments ago. Your friend's wave, but he doesn’t return the friendly gesture, instead firing a shaded cast of disgust. He saunters to you with wrenched posture, and each step makes your heart race. 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t answer the phone. I was worried.” He guides you to him by your lower waist. Zhongli watches as Ajax kisses the corner of your mouth, and you beam from the one that tickles your nose. “’M sorry, not feeling so good.” 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at a party.” 

“It was a surprise.” 

“Ah, I see. These are your friends?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Yeah, from back home.” 

“Hello” Zhongli chimes in, holding out his hand to shake. Ajax methodically turns his head to him. You swear you see a vein popping out of his forehead, a splitting stress on his teeth. “Who are you.” 

“Zhongli, I’m an old friend of hers from college. We had a few classes together.” 

“...Friend” he mocks with rictus, “I’ve never heard your name before.” 

“Emphasis on '’old’. I figured I’d stop by since everyone else was here, it’d be a shame to waste such lovely weather-” 

“You talk a lot” he states monotone. Zhongli sneers, “Some may say. I’m quite talkative during social gath-” 

“So shut the fuck up.” The room hushes. You feel the witnesses shrinking themselves at the crushing tension.  

“Excuse me?” 

“Why were you touching her.” He’s jittery, suppressing the turbulent urge shredding through him.  

“I didn’t realize she was your ‘property’” Zhongli scolds. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You put yourself between them, splaying your fingers across Ajax’s chest. His mood switches easily at your expecting gaze. “Ajax, baby, I’m tired. Can we go home now?” He pauses for a final glare at Zhongli. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and hold onto his arm as you storm out of the coffeehouse, no time for goodbyes from your friends. You center on leashing Ajax home. Blocks down, you hear the far-off patter of footsteps on stone getting louder. It’s too dinning to ignore, and as you turn around your free arm is snatched by Zhongli. You shriek, “(Y/N), wait, don’t go yet-” 

Whack! His head flies back and pushes him off balance before his feet find stability. It happens so fast, and you look at Ajax, who has a most terrifying dusk pouring on his livid features. Blood gushes from Zhongli’s nose, but he straightens up tall with his fists held in front of him. Ajax cackles, and jabs between the fists that barely have time to block. His movements are fluid, swinging effortlessly after they fall to his sides. Zhongli paces back, and Ajax charges towards him with quick solid blows that make his loafers scratch on the pavement. He plants a mean gut punch to his torso, and Zhongli doubles over until Ajax punches him in the eye with steel knuckles. He collapses, but his fighting hands linger, any chance to defend himself against your merciless boyfriend. That is, until Ajax sits above him, and begins beating him to a pulp. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! His hits are thundering and vicious, tracking blood to his skin from the momentum. You feel lost to time, lost on what to do to save this situation. It sounds like bone swimming in curdling clots and makes you sick. You dive to Ajax, gone by the dead visage. You snake your arms around his waist.  

“Ajax! Please stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs. It falls on deaf ears, but you continue to scream. You’re sobbing into his back and yelling to a hoarse end, when suddenly the punches stop. He gets off Zhongli mechanically and braces your faint legs to rise. It’d be wholesome if not for the blood splattering his hands. He notices your tears and wipes them away, streaking faint blood across your cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m here now.” 

The entire walk home, he’s silent. You hate it when he’s silent. There are cuts spread over his hands and blood steadily runs from the top lip to his swollen bottom lip. He stares off in the distance, concentrated on something—rage, anger—stirring in his cotton-filled brain. You can't read him, and you wonder if you ever had that privilege. 

The pieces come together themselves in a puzzle you unconsciously rejected. You can’t recall the last time you spoke to your parents. His ability to know your favorite meals without talking or gifting you outstanding presents that surfaced memories you’d long forgotten. Collei, Tighnari, Lyney, it’s unmistakable. You beg to be naïve again, hopelessly in love and enraptured.  

You’d rather keep your eyes shut. The sinister rampage spilling out of him is miles apart from the Ajax who serves you breakfast in bed every day and places soft kisses on your body from head to toe. Love is enough, and you know how much he does to show it. Was there another way? Is it your fault this happened? You can’t focus either or organize your jumbled thoughts, and find yourself searching for reassurance within him, any inkling of affection to prove he still loves you. When you sheepishly reach out to grab his wounded hand, he curls around it, and the thump in your heart reignites. A pulse loud enough to subside the dread clamoring in your feet, warning you to run. 

You make it home, and Ajax goes to the kitchen sink to wash away his crimes. He watches red cyclone down the drain, and you lean on a counter close to him. 

“Ajax?” 

“Yea?” he chirps.  

“Zhongli...will he be okay?” you meek. 

“Mhm. I didn’t kill him.” The matter-of-fact reply renders a shudder in your bones.  

“Is something wrong?” The kitchen is small, and from the way you’re standing you’ve closed yourself off to him. 

“No baby,  nothings….nothings wrong” he says, that convincing tone, smooth like satin. 

“But I’m worried. You’ve never acted like this before, tell me what’s on your mind.” He shuts off the water, and the cylindrical pull seeps a guttural groan. He grips the granite, and even that seems to deform. He finally turns to you, a hurt expression colliding with fiendish somber eyes and taut lips. 

“Am I not good enough for you?”  

“You are more than enough” you hearten. Ajax rebuttals a bitter laugh and spouts the candor he’d been gnawing on. 

“I tried. I tried ignoring your kindness. I tried being pitiful, hurting myself so that your eyes were only on me”, he creeps towards you, and your feet move on their own backpedaling. The echo of his self-inflicted scar produces beads of sweat, distracting so that the back of the wooden chair presses into your back and you almost topple over. Nowhere to go, and now he overshadows you with delicate fingertips slithering across your paling cheeks and behind your jaw, “but you’re surrounded by love. People love you.” 

His words drag and descend further, “Ohh, and it’s not fair at all.” 

“Why are they allowed your attention. It should be me. Only me. Don’t you want me?” Laced with love, but you can’t taste it. His dilated orbs ping-pong as they scan your face for confirmation. You bring your palms over his and muster fading courage in timid waves. 

“I love you Ajax. So, so much. But the way you’re acting scares me. It’s my fault and I could’ve gone home, but I haven’t seen them in a long time. I didn’t think things would end up like this.” He pauses, and engulfs you in an ardent embrace, his hand on the back of your head and another on your lower back. Oh, sweetie muffles through strands of your hair as he sways your bodies. You’re mannequin-like in his stifling sight. 

“Nononono, it’s not your fault honeypot. You’re too pure for this world, so kind without thinking. So perfect” he mumbles, absurd drivel seeping through the coherent parts in formidable notes—how he loves you, needs you, can’t live without you— “but they’re leeches. They try to taint you, show you horrible, disgusting things. That piece of shit was looking at me, he was asking for a fight. And he tried to put you in the middle. You could’ve gotten hurt, or God know what. I’ll protect you, my sweet, at any cost." 

“Ajax, I don’t need your protection.” It’s silent, profound when he retracts. You forget how to breathe or talk as he slides to your shoulders and holds them in place. His voice lowers. 

“You don’t need…me?” 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-” 

“So let me help, let me be yours” he pleads. You don’t respond—you can’t. Each explanation you formulate sticks to the roof of your mouth and swells like a spell drunk in your throat. Ajax tenses, clinging to your skin. He reflects on a thought, and it blooms with a twinkle. 

“What if I just...lock you up?” 

“...What?” you say, hardly above a whisper. It’s arid to swallow, and shivers ripple under sweltering heat prickling your limbs. 

“I wouldn’t put you anywhere bad. It’d be a pretty place; I’ll take good care of you like I always do. Wouldn’t you like that?” He has a hopeful grin on his face, and when he lets you go for a second you jerk away from his reach. Your back hits the opposite wall, nauseous and lightheaded, shaking your head aggressively to push away the existence of the idea. He wrenches his neck, and you glimpse the deluded flush on his face. “No... I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Ah, sweetheart, I know it sounds scary. Can we try it first?”  

“You’re not gonna put me in some fucking cage like an animal” you assert. His eyebrows furrow, offended at your assumption that he’d trap you somewhere unpleasant. 

“I’d never do that to you. I love you.” He inches towards you, and you inch farther. The keys are in front of him, you can’t leave on your own. The steps you take feel critical. 

“Let’s sleep on it, we can discuss in the morning.” No. No no no no. You pan to the staircase, and Ajax curiously watches your paranoid glances. Before he can grab you, you sprint for the stairs. Wind travels in your ears and settles at your graceless movement catching hold of the banister, leverage used to leap. Adrenaline flows steadily in your veins, and your senses feel muddled to mush, focused on pushing your legs to proceed. There’s no room for thinking past the will of your body. You hear airy tsks coming from the dining room, and a singsong “Don’t make me chase you, baby.” 

Suddenly, the creaking floorboards succeed at a roaring parade marching behind you. Closer and closer, a sound you didn’t know he possessed. You don’t dare turn around; the squeak waltzes with your deafening heartbeat. You change direction, making haste to the peaceful bedroom you share, now eroding under his hearty stomps. You clash with the door, and barge in. Slamming it shut, your shaky hands promptly lock the knob. Ajax stops in front of the door and lets his fingertips dance along the wood, “Open the door, please.” 

The knob shakes aggressively, rattling in the socket and threatening to pop. It’s pulling against the edges of the door that rive at his harsh yanks. He perpetually pulls and twists it, “Darling, c’mon open the door, my sweet.” You’re sure if you don’t, he’ll axe his way through instead.  

“Please let me in, baby. Please, I’m dying without you.” 

“I don’t wanna fight anymore... please”, his tone barely lifts above the depth of wood, but you hear the faulty voice keeling in cracks. You know you shouldn’t open the door, but his sorrow beckons you as it often does. He wails so hopelessly, as if you’re punishing him for an unavoidable inevitable. It’s an innocent sob peerless to the ruthless violence he displayed hours before; the harrowing glare of the man you thought you knew was all too terrifying. But he’d never do that to you, would he? You’re his darling sweetheart, his infinity now and forever. You filled his divergent heart and sutured it anew. He needs you.  

Though your hands fidget to stay at their sides from common sense tucked in a forgone crevice of your headache, you force your hand up, and turn the knob. Maybe you should’ve never let him into the shop on that cold night, instead bidding him farewell and trudging in the snow to your crumby apartment. You’d continue running the shop as usual with Lyney. Things would’ve been different, wouldn’t have been so complicated to cut loose from tangling lies knotting the more he consumed you.  

But no, that couldn’t have happened. He would find you, it’s destiny that you’d never part. Stalking in bushes and narrow alleyways until the perfect moment he could walk towards you and catch your eye again, and you’d fall for another pass of courting words.  

Ajax stands there with sparkling sadness streaming down his cheeks that mingle with his quivering lips. He drops to his knees instantly in prayer and looks up at you with doey puffy eye bags that nearly make you overlook everything, about Zhongli, about the red flags that grow green the more you squint. It’s just you and him, that’s all it had to be. In times like these you reminisce about the sweet boy you cuddled and confided in, and things feel as they were. The messy-haired Ajax you remember pulls your lower half close to him with large hands that latch onto your waist the more you adjust. His face is mushed to merging in your stomach, and he sighs heavily, taking in your scent like the last breath he’ll ever have. They snake around you, and you meet eyes again. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I love you angel. So much I’d rip my heart out and put it in your hands…. you control me” Desperation clings to Ajax, and you urge to console him. You intertwine your fingers through his hair. 

“Ajax, this can’t happen again. Okay?” you caution, a warning dripping with compassion. 

“Mhm. Okay.” Unexpected warmth blooms over his cold aura, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands travel the contours of your hips and thighs, occasionally squeezing with an appreciative huff. He parts your legs and dips to your inner thighs to mold the doughy fat as his lips traverse your lower abdomen, decorating it with wanton kisses. “Love you so much” he utters. His touch is impassioned and fluid, he softens underneath your bottom and circles his thumb like a masseur. Ajax takes his time navigating your sensitive points, and switches between fluffy and solid pressure that licks down your back.  Skin to skin contact wasn’t enough, he wanted to crawl in your ribcage and live in your lungs so he could sense your steady breaths. He wanted to bask in your existence, feel the radiance of your touch and ethereal voice curl and melt into him, to make him nothing and all in your eyes. 

Your digits tangle in his hair, and when he nips your tummy, you tug his scalp. “Fuck” Ajax groans, strained through his lips. The peachy wash draping his cheeks is cherubic, appeased by the rhythmic kneading. One hand slinks under your shirt and guides a fingertip vertically on your spine, the other sculpts your rear. It’s dizzying how easy it is for Ajax to captivate you, a trance that turns your knees to jelly and leaves you at his mercy. You ignored the impulse igniting your muscles to push him off. You want him closer, suffocating you so deep the clouds of his scent dismantle your fear. You take his chin and redirect his attention, and he waits for order like a loyal dog.  

“Ajax.” 

“Whatever you want, princess” he toys, that boyish simper releasing butterflies through your body. 

“I want you.” He hoists you up without a word and carries you to the bed. He brings you down, a priceless vase above the pillowy cushioned bedding. “You comfortable?” You nod, blushing from the way Ajax gawks at your half-hiked shirt, and shorts hanging low on your hips. “Good.” He’s breathless, restraining his impulse to pounce and devour you. No matter how restive he was, Ajax usually prevented himself from indulging beyond your comfort; but tonight is different. It's starving while a succulent meal taunts you, only satiated by the sight of it. He hastily removes his shirt and pants, freckled muscles flexing as he discards them to the floor. It’s hard to avoid the growing spot staining his stretched white briefs. Spreading your legs, he crawls between them. He regards you for a second, but when you reach behind his head he plunges into a longing kiss.  

A longing kiss followed by hungrier ones. It’s abruptly rough and needy against your bruising lips, some skimming the corner of your mouth and tracking to the main course. He frees you for a breather, but the space doesn’t subdue the dull ache thrumming in your core. His nose brushes against yours, and you pull his flyaways back to get the full scale of his feral demeanor, sweating and reddening in the unshakable heat.  

You collide again, hands behind your head through the wild exchange. You can’t keep up; he bites your bottom lip and relieves it with the glide of his tongue. Your slow and steady lover begs for entry with a ravenous push, and you allow it to ruin you. The wet appendage invades your senses, explores your mouth in nonsensical shapes and withdraws with a filthy sound before returning. “So. Fucking. Good” he exhales through your intertwining tongues. You’re moaning into each other, lasting in the moment, forgetting everything. His hips start to grind against you, practically dry humping your clothed lower half. You wrap your legs around him and steer his twitching length to roll into you, nudging the inseam of your shorts to your neglected clit. He engulfs your moans, and retreats with strings of spit connecting your tumid lips. 

Ajax descends to your neck, and places damp and eager kisses along it. You feel the piercing remnant of a bite accompanied by sucking. His fangs pinch and snag and make you whimper. A budding purple and blue blend blotches to your collarbone--draining you like a vampire. His hands stay busy committing your curves to memory in greedy gropes. Ajax doesn’t notice his low rambling, “yea, you’d never leave me, right? I’m all you need”, to “you're mine.” It’s overstimulating, and so is the hammering pulse in your clit.  

Your abused neck is exposed to the delicious sweep of cold air, and he hurries to your shirt. In one swoop, it comes off with the impatient unclasp of your bra. He submerges a stiff peak in warmth while he works the other. His tongue swirls around the nipple, pushing in with a stiff tip and trading it for sucking. It elicits a moan where teeth graze and tweak the bud. “My pretty girl” he murmurs and delivers attention to the next. Ajax massages your spit-soaked tits firmly and diligently in fondling motions. His passion renders him shameless, and it encourages you to fold. You find yourself swerving your hips to his bulge to goad his thirst. He responds with languid nudging, and glances at the space inside your shorts, coated with slick film from your panties. Whine caught in his throat, he salivates and unconciously holds your legs apart. You impel him downwards, and he nuzzles the line to the hem of your shorts.  

“Can I taste you, princess?” It had to be hypothetical, since he was already unbuttoning them with his teeth and tearing them off. “Please?” he pants, a half-lidded mess itching to immerse in your desire. Before you can answer, a rrrip shreds through the room; the culprit of your mangled underwear remains, and you shriek. “Ajax!” you scold, but he’s not bothered when he rips the rest of it to display your arousal. “I’ll get you new ones, I’ll buy you the whole store” he sighs, forcing your thighs rearwards with his hands. He angles himself like a sniper and submerses in your pussy. 

Ajax doesn’t rush, he lazily trails his tongue around the outside and plays with the folds shlicking against him. He outlines the clit and meticulously weaves his skillful tongue, caring for the spots that make your back arch; paying special attention to your entrance, as he teasingly delves in just enough to coax a moan, then laps a flat tongue over your wetness. Ajax’s  ministrations are torturous, rapturing all while ignoring your release. He parts the labia and plashes the juices covering his chin and glossy lips. Your heart is in your ears, winding and coiling at the flicks of his tongue, his fingertips forging red indents on your thighs. Ajax begins to rock himself into the mattress, a fleeting friction comforting his sore erection. His leisurely grinding matches the pace of his mouth making out with your pussy. Mmmf he groans, and the vibrations oscillate. He gently slurps your lips, gasping for another mouthful and lapping at your clit. Your back levitates, and you tug his scalp. It only earns another growl, and faster swipes over the sensitive bud. 

“O-oh fuck” you moan, watching Ajax lose his composure and rut himself into the bed like an animal. He’s panting with a quiver, whimpering some rendition of your name until he sputters. He jolts from the material emptying his balls and soaking the sheets, but his energy doesn’t deplete—It seems to motivate him as he hoists you to his mouth. Ajax always prioritizes your pleasure, but it’s difficult to stop him once he’s invested. And he isn’t done feasting, sloppily eating you up with little concern for your fluttering senses. He rides out his orgasm and brings you to yours, and you hardly realize the intoxicating slide over your clit spelling his name. Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, marked into you; It brings you to a chant as you come undone. Ajax doesn’t waste a drop, avidly cleaning up the juices pulsating out. “Thank you, fuck, thank you so much” he whispers. He swills the bud, and you spasm and squirm from ecstasy in his iron grip. “Ajax, p-please.” 

“I got you.” He gives one last French kiss before exiting tranquility. A combination of spit and arousal blankets his mouth, and he smiles like the happiest man alive. “You okay?” Not a thought in fruition, tender mellowness smothering you. You wince from the prolonged position, and he immediately puts you on your side.  

“Need to feel you.” He wrings his underwear down, and reveals his pulsing shaft adorned with beads of come dribbling down the rosy pale tip. He’s above you, trapping one leg over his shoulder, and aligns himself with your sex. “Perfect tits, perfect pussy. You’re so beautiful, all for me.” The bulb slips in effortlessly, and he sighs at the muscle clenching around him. Each inch drives seamlessly into you, stretching your unadjusted frame. He lulls on your ankle, absorbed by the coziness enveloping the base until he bottoms out. Then it’s unmoving. Agonizing, even, the way you feel him twitch inside. “Y-you can move now.” 

“Let’s just stay like this for a little.” He rubs your leg, savoring the serene patter of rain smacking the wide windows and toasty light dusting your dazed appearance. It’s intimate and placid minus the rise and fall of your bodies, and you’re surprisingly shy. You rush to cover your face, but Ajax grabs you. “Don't hide, pretty girl. You’re stunning” he flirts, kissing your hand. 

“Do you love me?” His blinks are exaggerated, confused that you’d ask such an obvious question. 

“Of course.” 

“What do you love about us?” He brings your hand to his cheek. “You complete me. You’ve forgiven me, loved me, and accepted me for who I am. I can be open around you.” He kisses your wrist, silken as to quell the trivial thoughts resurfacing. 

“I’ll love you until the end. I’ll find you in the next life and start all over, even when this universe collapses. I won’t let anyone get in our way, so love me forever.” Ajax pulls out to the tip, and you whine at the loss of wholeness. Then, he drives his sticky cock unhurriedly to the hilt. You mewl, and he palms your chest. “Shh, ‘s okay.” The milky translucent trail links you and erupts obscene syrupy noises. “What are you thinking for baby names?” You can’t focus, the swinging strokes graze your g-spot. You’d say anything to him at this point; you need him deeper. He casually thumbs your clit and continues at a sluggish tempo. “I really like the name Aleksei” In and out, veins embellishing your walls. You meet his thrusts and shudder, though he stops occasionally to redirect the sopping length. 

“A-ahn, you’re so wet, it keeps slipping out” he moans. He picks up the speed, squelching stirring with whimpers. “I love you, honeypot. Sosososo fucking much, just wanna breed this pretty pussy every second of the day. Ah- you wanna be a mommy, yeah? We can have a big family, hah, just you me and the kids. Wouldn’t you like that, darling?” He’s drilling into you, stuffed to bursting. You feel yourself approaching and seize his wrist. “’M close!” 

“Give it to me, fuck, please” Ajax whines, and you climax under him, juices saturating his balls. You don’t get time to recover; he fucks you through your orgasm. You’re reeling, clawing at his forearm when he puts you flat on your back. “Wanna come inside. Can I, please? I want it so bad” he pleads. He adjusts you to a mating press with brute force, and plummets inside.  

It’s vicious, staggering plap’s and squelching audible from outside. The headboard bangs on the wall while he pummels your pussy. A sheen of lust shrouds his eyes, and his heavy balls smack against your ass as he wrecks you. More, more, more drowns him in senseless fucking, precome frothing at the base. You convulse around him, and he burrows full throttle. When his tongue finds yours, you interweave through the sloppy pumps. His balls tighten, and he chases his high frenetically bobbing. “O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” Harsher, meaner strokes hit you quick, and Ajax melts into endless whimpers striking his climax. Ropes of thick white paint your insides, teeming to globs where they crowd your pussy and leak to your ass. Ajax bucks into you, and you milk him dry. The shakes eventually stop, and he goes limp on top of you. You feel him softening, his steady inhale. He smiles at you, showering you with affection you couldn’t resist.  

“I should use the bathroom” you suggest, patting his back as a signal to get off. “Sure. Wait here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He returns after an eternity, with cloudy water and a tepid towel. 

“Here, drink this.” You take the cup and sip. Ajax tips it a bit, urging you to gulp. He wipes you down lovingly while you swallow the contents. He disregards your vulva, however, collecting the come on his fingers and pushing it in. Oddly, you’re leaden—insanely leaden, so much so that your head tilts to one side and threatens to give up entirely. Your knees are wobbly, and your bones are lost in a dreamlike state. Ajax passes the towel under your chest.  

“You know, I didn’t feel bad about it, when I strung his guts across the wall. I only thought of you.”  

No. It can’t be true. 

You can’t scream or fight, and simply gape at the words hulking through your numbed rationale. The towel cools your sweat, but the fear persists.  

“I met him behind your complex. He was bitching about rent, sleazy fucking scum. I asked him if you live there, and he went on a rant about it. Saying nasty stuff no one should ever say about you. I couldn't help it, (Y/N), I had to see his organs carved out of his body.” Your jackhammering heart doesn’t compare to your sloth behavior. You want to run, move in with your parents again and pretend; pretend like your life hasn’t been propelled into disarray, pretend that the ginger boy caressing your face didn’t butcher a man.  

“Ajax, let me go” you cried, a teardrop coursing across your temple. He wipes it, “I’m not holding you, dear. You can’t stand on your own right now, but the effect will wear off after you sleep. Rest for now, okay sweetie?” 

“What did you put...in my...” You’re swooning, ferried by the effect of the unknown medicine sprinkled in your cup. With no will to combat, your eyes reluctantly close. His pupils are desolate and obscure, the night of a severe blizzard. 

“I’m sorry, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

tags: @zhochikennugget (if anyone else would like to be tagged, dm and i'll tag you on the next one :)

[guacamoleroll]

ɪᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ · ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ʙꜱᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ༉‧₊˚

featured. osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma. content. f!reader. based on a request. mentions of alcohol (dazai), mentions of food, nicknames, slavic dishes. (minor) spoilers for stormbringer. translation at the end. not proofread.

author's note. this was an incredibly fun request! these men either shift between being incompetent, or not being reliant on others, so it took a sweet turn.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. the kitchen can be many things. a refuge from the toils of everyday life. a workshop for the creation of exquisite tastes. an assemblage of conversation over collaboration.

but one thing is certain—a well-endeavored meal can warm the coldest of hearts.

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 arrived home late one evening, tromping through the doorway with the confidence only a drunken man could muster. It had been one of those nights, ones in which he was all too aware of the hollowness of his own heart. One of those days where everything was too loud, the ones where he picked up every minuscule detail, whether he wanted to or not. So, he had taken to a drink or two to fill a void, only to dip into another—before he knew it, the room was spinning, and he found himself kicked out of the bar.

But he still had you to return to, so he gathered any soberness left within him and clambered to place his trench coat and shoes in the spots you had set out for them. He was glad you didn't hear him walk in. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been granted the opportunity to take in the view. You pranced around the kitchen, a lifted twirl in your heel as you stirred ingredients in a saucepan, the domestic mess of powders against your skin.

You were all his. The reason he had a home to return to. His sanctuary from his own mind. He often fretted—though he pretended not to—about the idea of you being taken away from him, a fact that he had come to accept as his reality. But in these simple moments, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that you encompassed for a moment longer.

His arms fit snug around your waist, his head like a puzzle piece against the curve of your shoulder. "Is that for me?"

You hummed, pressing a peck on his cheek as you leaned into him.

"You'll always have a meal to return home to, Osamu."

Yeah. He'd indulge for just a little longer.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 did not expect to pass out. He had returned home from a weeks-long mission overseas, anxiously awaiting the moment you reunited and ran into his arms—only for him to arrive early to an empty home. You were at work, and it wasn't his fault the couch clung to him like a vice! For a moment, he thought he had been dreaming of the fresh smell of savory pasta sauce and spices.

Wait. He can't dream.

He cracked open his eyes, his vision steadily straightening out, and trudged into the kitchen with a befuddled pout, his sight narrowing in on exactly what you had been up to.

"Babe."

"Chuuya!" you yelled, almost losing your grip on your spoon before you managed to catch it, clutching it close to your chest as you twisted the knob on the stove to place the heat at a simmer. "You scared me!"

His arms crossed as he leaned on the doorway. "What're you doing cooking in here by yourself?" he asked sternly, scanning the contents of the pot along with your face. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was mad. But you did know better, catching onto the subtle tilt of his brow, narrowed in simultaneous amusement and disappointment. Cooking was often a partnered endeavor.

You couldn't resist laughter, cupping his cheek as if comforting an upset child. "You've had a long week, and you looked so peaceful lying there. I couldn't bring myself to disturb you."

He would've been quick to argue—you could wake him anytime, no matter the circumstance—but a thought overwhelmed him and kept his mouth at bay. You had done something for him, not with anything to gain, but simply because you cared. He was used to it happening the other way around, but this. . .this felt nice.

So, he relented, his ginger locks tickling your skin as he tucked his face into your neck with a sigh. "Thank you, baby."

𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 had been busy preparing the next phase of his plans, though you supposed he was always busy—too busy to take care of his own basic needs, that was for sure. He was always sorting through different data, exploring multiple angles to achieve his goals.

With the many tasks flooding his brain, he hardly had time to abandon his screens. The skin of his thumb had worn from his subconscious biting habit as he looked over another spreadsheet of banking information, his hands about to slide over the keys yet again.

The scent of stroganoff stirred him from his trance. His eyes shifted to find a steaming plate of the delectable dish sitting next to him on the desk. And he finally registered the firm hand propped against his shoulder, with you looking upon him from above with a sweet but knowing smile.

"Eat."

He wouldn't have customarily taken kindly to such a harsh demand, but he bent to the stern look of your gaze, one that hid behind it a level of care he ravenously craved. You worried for him, not in the same fashion as his so-called "friends," but with the genuine desire to see him thrive, no matter the circumstance.

So, the demon allowed himself a momentary reprieve, kissing a smile into your hand before taking a bite of the dish.

"Delicious, as always, моя милая."

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 had practically burst through the door, prepared to recount the travesties and trials of his day. That was until he caught onto the unmistakable scent of savory pirozhki filling. He followed his nose like a bloodhound, the smell creating a distinct path into the kitchen, where you stood, unaware of the man behind you as you mixed spices into a pan.

"What'cha cooking, dove?" His breath bristled against your ear as he sprung up next to you, using his ability with a shit-eating grin. Your expression mirrored his own, used to the stint of your lover's sudden appearances.

"I found some old Ukrainian recipes online and wanted to try them out." You held out a spoon, and he bit into the filling without a second thought—a mistake. He clutched his throat as his eyes watered, realizing it was too hot for consumption far too late. He finally managed to choke it down, releasing a loud whew!

"Trying to kill me so soon! How cruel!" he exclaimed.

Your laughter roared throughout your home, a shaking hand rubbing his back as you wiped tears from your eyes with the other. "Is it good?"

He brought a finger up to stroke his non-existent beard, humming a quick tune. "Hmm, perhaps a cup of chili powder."

"Коля," you deadpanned. "That's too much."

He sighed, a pout settled on his lips, but you caught the hand sneaking into the interior of his overcoat, snatching his wrist before he poured something irreversible into your dish. He cackled, attempting to pull away as you chased him around the kitchen island.

For a moment, it felt as if you were the only two people in the world—free of restraint. He could feel the bonds tied around him loosen. He could reach out, taste that sensation of freedom for himself. A freedom he had always found in you.

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀 had arrived back to his section of the Sky Casino earlier than he expected, having a strange lack of paperwork. But he simply decided to take it as a sign that he had been doing good work, and ignored the anxious feelings that always sprung from not having anything to do.

"I'm home—!" he called, but was stopped in the entryway by a sweet aroma. It was intoxicating, and he couldn't resist the temptation to lurk into the kitchen.

"Welcome home, honey!" you called back, your voice echoing down the hallway. He stripped himself of his coat, leaving it folded on one of the benches before he trekked across the threshold, a curious shift in his furrowed brow.

You were baking cookies, fluffy chocolate-chip cookies. He couldn't resist the smile on his face, even if he wanted to, nor could he ignore the bubbling warmth in his heart. But he couldn't help his confusion.

"Cookies?" he asked, dipping his finger into a batch of dough before he popped it into his mouth. "What's the occasion?"

You swiped at him with a flour-coated hand before dusting the rest of it off on a towel. "You've been busy lately, so I wanted to make you something sweet," you stated as if it were the simplest thing. But those few simple words took him aback.

You cooked for him. No one had ever done that before, not without being an employee or attempting to manipulate him—or both. And in a matter of seconds, only enough to let in a sweep of hot air from the oven to warm his skin, he realized something that had long remained empty had been filled. He felt whole.

"Sigma!" you exclaimed, and he realized that he had tears streaming down his face. The look of concern drawn through your strained lips, your furrowed brow, and your shifting eyes only further set in his new reality—he had his family. He had found his home.

"I'm okay, love. Just. . .thank you."

моя милая = my dear коля = kolya

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @sillyspookycat @aureatchi @mxxny-lupin @emyyy007 @betweensinners

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[polygonpiscine]

🐢 🤎 🎄🐢🤎🎄🐢🤎🎄

As the aroma of baking cookies wafted through the lair, Mikey’s brothers couldn't resist gathering in the kitchen, curiosity piqued by the delightful scent.

Just as Mikey was about to suggest starting the decorating festivities, a devious idea struck him. With a quick glance at his unsuspecting brothers, he dipped his fingers into a nearby bag of flour and, with a dramatic flair, flung it into the air, creating a floury explosion.

"Flour fight, anyone?" Mikey exclaimed, a mischievous grin on his face. Raph, always the first to voice his disapproval, groaned, "Mikey, not again! We're gonna be cleaning flour out of the nooks and crannies for weeks!"

But before anyone could protest further, Mikey's floury antics had set off a chain reaction. Leo, caught up in the spirit of the moment, called out, “Hey Mikey, catch!" launching a flurry of flour directly at Mikey's unsuspecting face.

Mikey, taken by surprise, burst into laughter as the white powder settled on his orange mask. "Oh, you’re in for it now!"

While Mikey appreciated the playful gesture, Raph and Donnie were far from amused. Raphael's eyes narrowed, and he pointed a finger accusingly. "You two, knock it out, you’re acting like turtle tots.”

Donnie hastily checked his precious tech-wrist and goggles for any signs of flour intrusion. "This better not have damaged any of my equipment, Leo. I'm not kidding!"

Leo, attempting to defuse the situation, raised his hands in surrender. "Come on, guys, it's just a bit of fun. We can clean up after, promise."

Raphael crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Fun? Cleaning flour out of everything for the next month is your idea of fun?"

As the tension mounted, Mikey, still wearing a floury grin, intervened. "Come on, Raph! Lighten up! It's all in the spirit of the holidays."

Raphael's resistance wavered for a moment. He looked at Mikey, then glanced at the chaotic scene around him. With a reluctant smirk, he muttered, "Fine."

And just like that, Raph dipped his fingers into the flour and, with a surprising gentleness, flicked it toward Mikey. Laughter erupted as Mikey pretended to dramatically recoil from the light dusting.

Donnie, still somewhat exasperated, couldn't help but smile at Raph's unexpected participation. "Well, I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?"

The floury chaos ensued as the brothers darted around the kitchen, leaving no corner untouched by the powdery substance. The laughter echoed through the lair, blending with the festive music that Mikey had cranked up earlier.

🐢🤎🎄🐢🤎🎄🐢🤎🎄

Happy Holidays! ❤️

[renoed]

in tune | h. brown

❥ — PAIRING hobie brown x gn! bassist! reader

❥ — SUMMARY (part one) you and your neighbour are the loudest people in your apartment building - drowning out the sound of each other's music with your own. You hadn't realised that your neighbour saw it less like a competition and more like a collaboration.

# A/N I wanted this to be one super long part 2 but decided it would better if it was split so there will be a part 3!! // I DO NOT CONDONE LEAVING THE HOUSE WHILE THE OVEN IS ON!!!! PLEASE DON'T DO THAT???

Hobie, as you now knew him, was not as skilled at baking as he was with his guitar.

"If, an' only if, you agree to rock out with me, I'll agree to help you do your baking," was his proposition. You had agreed immediately, taking his hand in yours for a firm shake. His fingers were long and slender, clad with rings.

You began to regret your decision when he came through your doorway, plastic bag in hand, and dumped it on the ground while he took his shoes off - yellow laced docs, beaten and scuffed beyond an inch of their lives.

"There's eggs in there don't just drop it!"

He froze for a second, lips parted as he stared wide-eyed at the bag. But he was quick to recover, crouching to rustle inside and pull out the eggs, flipping up the lid with an overly-smug smile playing at his lips,

"No damage done, see?"

You take the eggs off of him and scuttle into your kitchen so they're (momentarily) out his reach. When you get back to Hobie, he's showing himself around your flat, picking up photo frames and making comments about, 'you was a cute kid' or questioning the other people in the picture.

"That one's me and some old friends, we were in a band," you explained, pointing over each individual, "I don't talk to them anymore, think they just found someone else to play bass."

At your lack lustre explaination, Hobie let an arm fall around your shoulders like he had outside of your apartment and shrugged, "sod 'em. Too good to be playing with them lot anyway."

You looked at the photo for a moment longer before but patting the arm around you, "don't distract me with this shit, we need you in the kitchen, chef!"

He shut his eyes at your words, holding his lips down to suppress a smile, "don't call me chef, yea?"

With that, the pair of you walked into the kitchen. At some point the arm around your shoulder had turned into his hands on either side, like a very sorry looking conga line. Your kitchen was small (your entire flat was small) and you couldn't help noticing that your neighbour looked very tall and very out of place.

"So what's the plan?" he sets the rest of the ingredients onto the countertop and waits for your instructions, "chef."

You grab your recipe book and flip through it until you reach the only page in the baking section that hadn't been dog-eared. Choc-chip muffins.

Almost instinctively, you turned on the oven to pre-heat and shuffled past Hobie to open one of the shelves - you were sure you owned a baking tray for cupcakes and muffins. A small 'gotcha!' left your lips as you pulled it out, along with some scales, wincing at the sound of various other trays toppling into each other at your disturbance.

Turning around you met eyes with Hobie, lips curled ever so slightly and gaze dipping from yours for a fraction of a second.

"um, let's see," you side-stepped past him again and peered over at the book, mumbling to yourself, "mix the flour and baking powder- rub in the butter 'til breadcrumbs- stir in sugar 'n' chocolate chips."

Not wanting to get past Hobie with a glass bowl in your hand, you directed him to the right cupboard and told him to take out the largest bowl. He complied and placed it onto the counter, watching as you put in the flour and baking power.

"We need to put the butter in," you passed it to him and pointed at the scales, "could you weigh it out?"

It was your turn to watch as he put the entire container on the scales and frowned, "there's too much."

"Obviously," you rolled your eyes playfully, passing him the bowl you had been using before pointing out a drawer next to him, "zero the scales when you put this on, grab a knife and put in butter gradually."

You watched as he followed your words, pulling a stick of butter out of the pack and putting it into the bowl, "you been doing this every time we played together?"

"Yeah," saying it out loud was a bit embarrassing, "but I've baked something different each time. The neighbours like me- I don't want to get on their bad side, if I can help it."

"They gossip 'bout me?"

Your mind went to the middle-aged woman across from you, first and formost, who had repeatedly told you that, 'young boys wouldn't do that if he didn't want something from you'.

"No."

You answered too quickly to be telling the truth, and the way his lips quirked up into a smirk let you know that he was aware. He didn't say anything, though, just let it sit for a moment.

"How'd I get the butter out?"

His words interrupt the silence abruptly, turning the scales to you and mumbling that, "got distracted."

The next few minutes are spent with you both trying to cut out perfectly sized bits of butter until you then needed to put more back in. At one point you had pulled on your knife too suddenly and caused flour to spring out of the bowl, littering your countertop.

"Mate, your aim is shocking," before you get the chance to process his words, his hands are in the bowl and he's thrown a collection of flour and butter your way. You don't get the chance to dodge, but you do leap forward to get hold of the bowl.

"Oi!" you bark back, sticking your knife into another bit of butter and flicking it off towards him. The speed at which he ducks away is almost superhuman, and you're left gaping at him as he squats on the floor, looking up at you.

He's very pretty.

You stay in your spot, even when he stretches out to full height and reclaims the butter container, cutting out the exact amount and clapping you on the back, "pretty easy, eh?"

"Do you make everything difficult? Or are you just trying to make everything I do difficult?"

There's no malice behind your words, and he's quick to pick up on it as he leans in towards you, "it's not just you, love, don't worry."

"That's a shame," you muttered back, trying to ignore the way your brain told you to glance down at his lips, "thought I was special."

He quirks a brow and pulls away, busying himself with the cook book.

"this is long, mate," his exasperation makes you laugh, "'cos tell me what it means by breadcrumbs- genuinely."

You shake your head in amusement and slide into place beside him, dipping your hands into the bowl, "you've just got to rub the flour into the butter - pretty easy, eh?"

He smiles at you copying his earlier words, but continues to watch your hands before mirroring your actions. Your knuckles clash and you notice that his hands are cold. It takes a conscious effort not to interwine your fingers with his.

“So what’s next? We add the other stuff?”

You nod and talk him through the rest of the process, taking a step back once he starts furiously mixing the batter with a wooden spoon. He seemed to have a penchant for making a mess, and by the time he had finished, you did a quick wipe-down of the counter top to get rid of any spillage. You didn’t miss the sight of him licking off his fingers, either.

By the time you've poured the mixture into cupcake cases, there's a trail of mess following each of Hobie's movements: flour in his hair, mixture on his sleeves and a lazy, lopsided smile settled on his cheeks.

"What we doing while we wait?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," his lips pull up into a lazy smile, "but someone agreed to jam out for a bit."

reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡ [masterlist]

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 25

part 1 | part 24 | ao3

cw: throwing up, recreational alcohol & drug use

“Well, thank fuck I didn’t wear the Reeboks,” Eddie laughs.

Steve groans 'Jesus,' because he doesn't know what else there is to say to that. Eddie came out of nowhere. Materialized like some kind of freaky wizard. And that would— that would be on brand, wouldn’t it?

Eddie the magician. Eddie the shapeshifter.

Maybe Eddie is Misty? Would explain why she left him all those dead rats when he first—

“Oh, fuck.” His stomach rolls at the thought, a hot-cold-nasty-sick shiver down his spine, and he bends forward to retch again. Hits the grass this time at least, right between Eddie’s boots; groans and spits drool into the dirt. Eddie smooths a hand between his shoulder blades, which is nice, even if everything else about this totally blows.

“Godddd,” he moans when the dry heaving stops. He lifts his head to apologize and nearly tips himself into the mess he just made.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey; easy,” Eddie shushes, steadying him with both hands. Warm palms against his biceps; firm grip.

“S’nice.”

“Yeah?” Eddie grins, private and soft. "Alright, arms up."

"Mmh?"

"Up! Come on, sweetheart, up you get." He loops Steve’s arms around his neck, wearing him like a cape. Steve giggles into his fluffy curls, nuzzles his nose into them because they're warm and Eddie smells nice, and time does that weird drunk thing where Steve slow blinks and suddenly they're a hundred yards away.

Edge of the creek, downstream from the falls where the water’s just a thin squiggle cut through smooth, mossy stone. Eddie's got Steve facedown across his lap, gathering up his hair and making a headband with his hands, and he's apologizing in advance for Steve-doesn't-know-what.

"Big breath," Eddie warns him, and then he dips Steve's face in the icy stream like he's battering fried chicken in a goddamn egg wash. Two quick dunks, the cold ripping through Steve's nerves; it's all finger-licking fucked.

"What the hell?!" Steve splutters when Eddie lifts him up, rolls him onto his back and smiles down at him.

"Mornin', sunshine!"

"Jesus Christ!"

Eddie's laughing at him hard. "Sorry, big boy. Had to wake you up somehow."

He brushes Steve's bangs off his face, and Steve pants up at him, wide awake now. Trembling. In the dark, Eddie's eyes look nearly black. Two inkpots full of moonlight.

“'M awake," Steve mumbles to distract himself from the sudden kick-throb behind his ribs. "Sorry I barfed on your shoes."

“Ah, comes with the territory.” Eddie kicks his legs out, rinsing the toes of his boots off in the stream. “Drug dealer, remember? Seen a lot worse than this at parties, sweetheart, I can promise you that."

Steve blinks at him. Still feels syrupy and slow like he's wading through mud. Sweetheart. The word's a fog machine in his mind. Hazy warmth; candy clouds. "If... If you're a drug dealer, then... should've woken me up with drugs."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm. Jus' rude not to, really."

Eddie's lips quirk. His eyes are soft, his fingers combing through Steve's hair, and Steve's head is still in his lap, even though it probably shouldn't be. "If you want coke..." he murmurs, his voice a low, fond rumble, "you can just ask for it."

"Yeah?"

"Sure, Stevie."

Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie reaches into his jacket, pulls out a little baggie and holds it up in question. Steve gulps; nods.

Fuck yeah. He hasn't had coke in forever.

Eddie pours the smallest amount onto the back of one hand, licks the thumb of his other and presses it into the pile, coating it in white powder. He brings it up to Steve's mouth and rests it right against his lip — barest hint of pressure; not hovering, not pushing in. "Well, go on," he smirks.

Steve makes a questioning sound that comes out like a whine, a high, nasal thing in the back of his throat. His cock stirs in his jeans.

"Ask me," Eddie whispers.

"Can I have it?" Steve asks. He can feel Eddie's thumb against his lips as he speaks; has to stop himself from flicking out his tongue to get a taste. "Please?"

"Fuck," Eddie hisses between his teeth. "Yeah, baby." He presses into the meat of Steve's bottom lip; drags it down, exposes skin that's wet and warm. Dances over it with the pad of his thumb — the inside of Steve's lip, his gums, his tongue.

There's no mistaking the sound Steve makes for anything but a moan, throaty and deep as he sucks Eddie's thumb deeper into his mouth; hollows his cheeks, makes Eddie gasp. Makes him twitch his hips up under Steve, and it's good, and Steve feels like there are live wires where his veins used to be, the rush of the coke and Eddie's hands and Eddie's noises in his good ear, and—

"Hey!" someone shouts across the field. Eddie moves like he's been shot at, flinching away from Steve entirely, a hand pressed over his lap as he turns to see who's coming.

Steve lifts his head to look. His mouth is buzzing, lips full and flushed like he's been kissing someone. Kissing Eddie. God, he wants to. Wants to hike him up the falls, shove him hard against a tree.

But he can't. Because Jason Carver's here now.

Great.

—

part 26

gonna do the tag lists in separate reblogs from now on (with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content), comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[anothermansjeans]

I love the idea of YouTube reader and Spencer being like Jenna and Julien, you know that video of Jenna giving Julien fake nails? I totally see reader doing it to Spencer.

He’s like “these come off right?” And reader is like “:) hopefully!”

I GOT MAJOR INSPO FOR SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE VIDEO!! i hope you enjoy (i love these bitches 😭)

cw: acrylic nails, sassy spencer back at it again, reader enjoys making spencer suffer (lovingly ofc), my favorite fictional couple

wc: 877

youtuber!reader masterlist

++

“Your fingers are so big.”

“Thanks?”

You laughed as you pressed one of the acrylic tips onto Spencer’s thumb. “I have to push it–” your laughter was cutting you off, “I have to push it all the way down… to fit… your nails.”

Spencer was amused by your hysterical state. You got the video idea from a few of your comments. They were begging for more Spencer and wanted you to put him through the real youtuber boyfriend experience. A few suggested that you'd become good enough at doing your nails to the point where you should do Spencer’s nails and bam! There you were, sitting at your vanity with the camera and acrylic all set up. You’re about five minutes into the video already and you've only glued two nails.

Calming down, you continued to find the right sized nails for him, “you're being a really good sport about this, Spence.”

He was quick with his response, “when is being a good sport going to start benefiting me?”

You laughed again, squeezing his wrist as you placed a drop of glue onto his middle finger. “You'll look even more beautiful.” Placing the tip down, your next words were spoken under your breath, “even if I have to make these tips extra wide.” When the nail was fully on and you began to move on to his ring finger, you felt a small jab at your hand. “Ow!”

“I don't appreciate the comments about my fingers under your breath.” He was being playful and you knew that, but that still stopped you from further comments on his man-hands.

You sped through the gluing process and moved on to priming his nails. Once you got to the actual acrylic part, Spencer flinched. “What are you doing?”

“What?” You slightly panicked, scared you were about to hurt him, but seeing the inquisitive expression on his face made you relax. “You watch me do this all of the time.”

“I just want to know the process.”

“Okay,” you began, dipping the brush in the clear glass in front of you, “I’m dipping the brush in the monomer and gently tapping in on the paper towel to get the excess off. Now, I'm aiming to pick up a bead of acrylic powder, and place it on your nail.”

As you were doing what you were saying, Spencer furrowed his brows. “On my nail? Like, my real nail?”

“Mhmm. Then we’re going to let it dry.”

“So when I take it off will it be close to ripping my nail off?”

His scared expression caused you to suck your lips to your teeth. “Yes?”

He stared at you for a moment before speaking, “the rational part of my brain knows you're playing it up but this is uncharted territory for me so I’m not sure what to expect.”

You laughed and let him know it would be okay before continuing the process and allowing them to dry. When they were done, Spencer was wiggling his fingers and getting a feel for the nails. “I hate it. It’s extremely uncomfortable and I don't understand how you could do anything with these. I already respected you, but I think I have a lot more now.”

You smiled earnestly at his remark, and noticed his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. His reflexes caused him to push them up, one finger from each hand on either side of his glasses secured them back in place, and you couldn't help but laugh once again.

“What?” He didn't understand how his actions made him look.

“You looked the amount of sassy that you are.”

“I am not sassy!”

“Yes,” you began, still laughing, “yes you are.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, holding out his hands to glance down at the nails. “We’re lucky I haven't been called in. Could we take these off now?”

Biting your bottom lip, you gave a cheeky smile. “Yeah… we just have to run to the drug store really quick to grab some acetone.”

“We?” His eyes were big, pleading with you.

“Spencer… it's dark out and I’m not driving to the drug store that is less than 600 feet away. You wouldn't leave me to walk the D.C streets at night by myself, would you?” You knew you got him the moment you mentioned the time of day. Looking at the camera, you smiled and addressed your followers. “We’re going to jump cut to me taking these nails off of Spencer. I think I’ve tortured him enough. He isn’t built for the acrylic lifestyle.”

“I could be!”

“You wanna keep those on?”

“No,” his answer was automatic, again, causing you to laugh.

You cut the camera before grabbing your bag and putting on your shoes, watching Spencer struggle with his Converse from your peripheral. “Come on, lover boy, you never know when you're gonna get called in.” You began to walk out of the room but heard him grumble. “What was that?”

You turned around and smirked at his defeated expression. “Can you help?” He said it a little louder, but still quiet. Shaking your head, you walked over to him. With or without the acrylics, he was truly the sassiest man you knew, and you loved him for it.

++

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

[bigguyenthusiast]

Could you please make one about Ghost X reader

Ghost treated reader badly as trying to prove she doesn't get his attention , like ignore her in front of others when she asks about work related stuff nothing personal..

And over time she genuinely starts hating him ... And once she hates someone she never goes back and completely ignore them and forget about them .. and this pisses Ghost and makes him angry ...

Okay, part 2 will be released soon, promise, this is a bit different, but part 2 will be make better sense smooches you on the forehead

CW: SMUT, Simon being an asshole, fingering, breeding, simon having a humiliation kink, simon refusing to admit he likes you, just simon.

You never liked begging someone for their attention—too prideful, too confident in yourself to be asking, fuck, or downright begging someone to give you a bit of their time.

But your pride seems to tarnish the moment you had a chance to sleep with the man that you’ve been shamelessly flirting with for months now.

You looked up at his brown eyes, glaring down at you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he has your hands trapped in one of his, pinned against the wall.

“This is what you want, wanted?” Ghost muttered out, roughly smushing your cheeks to force you to look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed, not even knowing what he’s referring to.

“You like throwing yourself at everyone, don’t you? Hm?” He began, the hand that pinned your hands to the wall now forcing you to be thrown into his bed. You couldn’t even get the chance to think before his large, muscular arms were holding you down on his bed, the sound of springs bending under your weights, your breath becoming shallow and quick.

His rough hand feeling up your side, fingers pressing into every dip on your figure, his free hand coming up to his face, lifting his mask to show a scarred lower part of his face, his strong jaw lettered with some blonde hairs, his messy, sharp teeth shining as he pulled his lips into a smirk, but it wasn’t a mischievous smirk or a funny one; this one felt... hungry? That was the only way you could describe it, paired with that look in his eyes.

This man was ready to devour you whole, and you wanted him to more than anything else. Your brain is now filled with thoughts of what he’ll do to you right now, completely forgetting the previous question you had.

“Strip, get on all fours, sergeant,” your lieutenant demanded. All you could do was nod and follow his orders; he doesn’t seem to change, just standing there, towering over you as his gaze stays stuck on your now-bare skin.

As you take the final piece off, your underwear, you get interrupted.

“Hand those over,” he said as he let his large palm out, beckoning you to put the now damp piece of clothing in his hand. You were reluctant, not elbowing what he’s going to do. This man is the true meaning of the word enigma.

After placing the pair in his hand, his fingers played with the fabric as he bit his lower lip, his eyes never leaving your figure as you lay on the bed, ass up with your pretty head in the pillows. You hated this habit, but you loved smelling his scent, whether it’s when he’s sparring with you, ‘helping’ you with paper work—he’s just bullying you—or on the first day when he wrapped his muscular arms around you to help you learn how to shoot a gun—like you didn’t know already.

And his sheets—oh, his sheets—were filled with his scent. At first, it was disgusting, but with how stupidly attracted to this man you are, the smell of sweat, gun powder, and cum

Ugh, this man is disgusting, and you’re letting him put his dirty hands all over you, his palm holding your neck steady as he reaches and shoves your pants in your mouth, his hand now in your hair, forcing you to look up at him, eyes widened with muffled moans with every rough movement he produced.

“God, if only you could see how pathetic you look right now,” he chuckled before giving your cheek a couple of rough pats and moving down to your ass.

You could hear the zipper of his pants unzipping. You closed your eyes as you tried to even out your breathing, but your body shook as you felt his finger slide between your folds. Your moans were muffled by the fabric shoved in your mouth.

His finger slid in and out of you, starting off slowly before speeding up. His other hand came down to play with your clitoral area. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him insert another finger. His thick fingers filled you up better than any dick you’ve had. Your body was shaking as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you already.

But seconds before you could feel that release you’ve been dying for, his fingers popped out, leaving your poor pussycat clenching around nothing and his now wet hand coming back down to slap your puffy pussycat, making you cry out.

“I didn’t give you permission to cum; better be on your best behavior if you want to,” his deep voice rang, making you nod your head, your hair pressed against his sheets, now stranding and sticking to your sweaty face.

You felt his dick slide in between your slick fold, rubbing his aching hard cock, refusing to put it. Your hand reached back to where it was, trying to put it in you, but your efforts failed. Simon’s hand grabbed both of yours and pressed them against the middle of your back.

“I said be on your best behavior.” His voice sounded deeper, angrier. He was losing what little patience he had with you.

Without any warning, his duck rammed into your hole, and your head snapped as you cried out into the crumbled cloth.

"Aww, what’s wrong, Lovie? I thought this was what you wanted, hm?” His voice was condensed and humiliating.

You couldn’t do anything but sit there and take what he forcefully gave you.

Each thrust making you see heaven, one hand holding your hands back, and another grasping the roots of your hair, the pain and the pleasure mixing in so well, every second felt so long, trying so hard to cum all over his girthy dick as it plunged in and out of your now-abused hole.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You spat out the now wet cloth out of your mouth, crying out for him to let you

“Please, please Simon, I can't—seriously, I can’t take it anymore. Please, please let me—fuck!—let me cum, please, sir.”

God, you sounded pathetic, but you know that’s how he wanted you to be—all pathetic and drooling all over, just for him, all for him.

He chuckled. You only whined out, thinking he was going to torture you even more, but his hand that was holding your arms reached to your neck, bringing your body up to be pressed against his front, feeling the rough fabric of his uniform, the straps, and random shit he had in his vest pockets pressed against your flushed skin.

You cranked your neck slightly to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled into a frown with your flushed cheeks made him almost cum, and the eye contact you were giving him almost made him cum, fuck.

He grabbed your cheeks, making you face the front of his bed, watching the wall, the empty white walls, feeling his breath against your neck, goosebumps appearing when his sharp teeth grazed your skin.

“Cum for me, love, be a good girl, and show me how much you love this dick,” he whispered before biting a spot at the crook of your neck, his movements going in a fast motion, his heavy balls slapping your clitoral area with every few thrusts.

You moaned out, no cloth to muffle your cries now, from the pain caused by his teeth and the unbelieving pleasure of finally cuddling.

“Ngh, oh god! Simon! A-aah!” You cried out, unable to keep it in anymore.

But his name falling from your lips made him cum immediately after you, his thrusts slowing down before he let your body fall back on the bed. He pumped his cum deep inside you, pulling out, seeing his cum dripping out, his thick fingers coming back down to your sensitive pussy, fingering you to keep his cum deep inside you.

“Better not waste a drop,” he chuckled before slapping your ass a few times before getting off the bed and stretching his back.

He fetched a towel, throwing it at you. The microfiber fabric landed on your face, making you take it off immediately as you glared at him.

You cleaned yourself up as he grabbed your clothes and put them next to you, his dick back in his pants, now zippered with his mask fully on.

“Put your clothes on and get going, soldier,” he commented. You looked up at him as you cleaned up some of the cum dripping from your used hole. The air felt so awkward. and weirdly, you tried to lighten the mood.

“Damn, you must do this a lot. Got another date coming?” You chuckled as you grabbed your cargo.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly the most satisfying for me, so better get going,” he replied, making you stop midway. You looked up at him; maybe his eyes would be squinting, indicating a smile. But no, nothing but dead eyes spared you less than a second before he moved to his desk.

Embarrassed, you put your clothes on immediately and grabbed your pants before opening the door to his room and slamming it behind you. You furiously walked to your barracks, which were only a couple of doors away.

How fucking dare he? Who did he think he was? Coming inside you, then having the audacity to say that?

You walked into your room, ridding yourself of your sweaty clothes, grabbing a towel and some change of clothes as you rushed to the female bathrooms, you needed a shower, immediately, to calm you and rid you of that gross feeling of being… used

[uchispeach]

➥ Warnings: DUB-CON, voyeurism, manhandling, drugs & alcohol consume…

A/N: Just a lil draft <3

The overwhelming loudness of the party was soon muffled by a closed door, your giggles becoming the main focus.

The room had a welcoming breeze, contrasting the boiling sensation on the rest of the house. ”Hey…take it easy” the blond held you from behind as your body fell lightly onto the couch.

You chuckled while your frail palms did their best on holding you up. The rough fabric under your fingers stretched as a heavy body sat right by your side, the warmth of it causing you to feel more lightheaded.

”C’mere” Rafe’s hot voice on your earlobe as he wrapped an arm around your neck to hoist you up. The blond made you sit flush against his side, not a single hint of gentleness in his touch.

”Looks like someone drank too many Mai Tais” You rested your head on the blond’s hard chest, sleepy eyes finally registering the presence of two other guys.

“Nothing a few bumps can’t fix” Your boyfriend had the biggest smirk on his face as he looked into the eyes of his friends.

Kelce rubbed his hands together in excitement, hurrying Topper into revealing a small bag of white powder.

Your head automatically lifted up, searching for Rafe’s eyes. “Time to get some energy, sweetie” Rough fingers found their way onto your chin, holding it still as he captured your lips in a messy kiss.

A small gasp of surprise left your throat as a hot tongue forced itself into your mouth, leaving you breathless with its incessant hunger.

The faint taste of alcohol didn’t disappear once the blond pulled away. Dizziness incremented as you felt his body drifting away from you.

You recognized the sound of a plastic bag opening, followed by the sight of Rafe’s long finger dipping into the powder. “Shhh” He shushed you with condescendance; a whine got stuck in your throat as soon as you felt two digits prying your mouth open.

The pad of his fingers distributed the fine particles with softness; you squirmed lightly at the feeling of it dissolving on your gums.

”That’s it” He whispered after removing his hand, which was quickly replaced with his mouth. This time, more than a kiss, it was a quick peck -some sort of reward for being so pliant-.

The mere hint of coke on your teeth had him pulling away, eagerly bending down to the table’s height. As soon as he was done snorting his line, he came back for your heat.

He sniffed aggressively while his strong arm circled your lower back, rings digging on your waist’s exposed skin.

You let out an airy laugh as you were lifted up from the sofa and dropped onto the boy’s lap. His thighs felt rock hard under your soft ones.

Your arms automatically wrapped around his nape, looking for support. His smell was intoxicating in this proximity, causing you to bury your nose on his firm chest -hoping to drown in the scent-.

A whistle echoed on the tall walls. Kelce’s pupils expanded at the sensation of drugs reaching his bloodstream, an adrenaline rush traveling his body as he looked your way.

Your tight skirt had risen, revealing the creamy flesh of your ass. This didn’t go unnoticed by the pair of Kooks, who were now enticed by your provocative display.

Alongside your skirt, the flimsy top you wore had slipped lower, allowing them to see your cleavage line. Your boyfriend’s hands grew impatient, positioning themselves on your meaty hips; he greedily squeezed down, earning a soft mewl from you.

Soon, his rough touch explored further, finding your barely covered butt in the process. Rafe kneaded your buttocks as if they were some type of dough, leaving red marks on your skin.

The vicious movements made your clothes look skimpier, flashing a quick look to your lacy underwear. A brief sight of the black fabric was enough to make both Kooks fidget on their seats.

The shorter blond scoffed in restaintment as he observed the eagerness in which you responded to his friend’s contact. Sweet moans were quickly ripped out of your throat once Rafe bucked his pelvis up, encouraging you to grind on his lap.

Your skirt rubbed against his expensive shorts, creating a pleasurable friction. Feeling bolder than ever, you rose from his chest.

Your doe eyes connect with his sharp ones, noticing how they've turned into a darker shade. There’s a spark in them, the kind of spark that makes your legs shake and your stomach turn.

The tension breaks when the blond goes for another heated kiss. The movement of his jaw is syntonized by his calloused palm, which sneaks under your bra -searching for the warmth of your bare perky mounds-.

Decorum is the last thing on your mind as the Cameron boy twists your hard nipple under his cruel digits. He finds your sounds cute, eating all of them with his unrelentless mouth.

Kelce and Topper both discover how hard it is to remain stoic at the lascivious sight of your vulnerable state -legs spread at each side of Rafe’s thigh as you continue to thrust onto his growing bulge-.

Holding in a groan takes every single ounce of self-control from the Kooks as your boyfriend’s free hand decides to cup your core -open palm patting the puffy entrance with enthusiasm-.

The hit sends small spasms all over your body, causing you to pull back from the overwhelming sensation. Your lips are forced apart from his, inhaling heavily as you try to regain some posture.

The blond doesn’t appreciate the fingers creeping on his torso -sweaty palm trying to put some distance in between your bodies-.

“Wait-“ The rest of your sentence gets stuck in your throat. Rafe’s digits manage to slip your panties to the side, rubbing his pad in between your wet folds.

Excitement gets tinted with embarrassment and you can’t help but try to close your legs.

Your boyfriend makes a disapproving noise, forcing your thighs apart with his own knee.

The coldness of his ring bruises your cunt, soaking it some more when it’s slowly introduced into your warm walls.

“That’s a pretty hole” Kelce’s voice sounds distorted, so far from his usual boyish tone. You cringe at the stretch of another finger, this time your whines are lost under Topper’s airy curses.

You finally dare to look up, a lump forming on your stomach as you see them gripping the growing tents on each of their pants.

“What do you say, sweetie?…Do we put on a little show?” The Cameron boy asks in a mocking tone, predatory grin on his face.

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: her jealous girl, ellie would endearingly call it, nothing but a charm and occasional inconvenience, until you spot her talking with her ex girlfriend deciding your girl needs to be reminded whose she really is.

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warning: established relationship, mentions of jealousy that may border problematic, nsfw content so minors and men don’t interact, sex in public spaces, sub!leaning ellie and dom!reader, somewhat voyerism, just nasty

You watched them from the corner of your eye awaiting the moment either one would notice the laserbeams your eyes pointed forward, gaze strong enough to drill holes to a skull, but the moment never came, too enthralled in a conversation you guessed to be pathetic by their chuckling and particularly Cat’s attempt at physical contact brushing against Ellie’s arm.

Could’ve gritted your teeth to their quick, sandy white powder in your gums to replace. When the bitterness failed to spoil them, you took matters into stronger clenched hands, the future reprimend of your jealous behavior by Ellie’s voice getting more silent each second passing as you walked towards them, yanking Ellie away in a swift movement by the waist.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, their laughter dying down as Cat cleared her throat awkwardly.

“We were just talking about art” Ellie pointed out, shifting under your touch as to let herself loose which you did not allow.

“I can talk about art too! Let’s talk, where did you leave off?”

Cat excused herself with that, a groan stuck to her throat as she walked away from the both of you, stealing one last glance at Ellie that sent you absolutely fuming.

“Why do you always have to this, we’re just friends-“

“I’m sorry maybe when you were with Cat it was fine with her for you to go around parading flirtation like a fucking slut because she couldn’t take care of you but I think I do a pretty good job at that, don’t I?” Your hand lowered from her waist towards her cunt, grabbing onto her jeans and rubbing friction against them. Ellie let out a low whimper before attempting to close the space between her legs, shoving her thighs together, which only pushed you further up, hand hitting on her covered clit.

“Babe, please we’re in a public space” She mumbled already out of breath, making your eyebrows furrow, face pressed so close to her neck she’d hear you whisper in her ear, hand unmoving.

“Well maybe this is what you need, isn’t it? Wanted to be a fucking brat now you’re speaking so softly, if we’re lucky maybe Cat will see you getting fucked and back the fuck off”

You unbutton her jeans so quickly Ellie barely notices you doing so until your cold fingers reach her underwear, pushing it aside “You’re so wet already for me, or was this for Cat, huh? Who do you want inside this pretty pussy?” You slap it and she moans louder than intended, a few eyes around the Tipsy Bison wandering around to trace back the noise and getting redistracted by the loud music, your middle finger making its way to open her folds, stickiness already clinging to your skin as you tease your way in.

“N-No it’s all for you” She says with a curse, hand latching onto your wrist and pushing it towards her body in a way your finger dipped inside her, circular movements making her legs falter.

“Filthy fucking slut wants to use my hand to please herself?” You whisper on her neck, kissing your way slowly downwards to her clavicule a trail of wet kisses sending goosebumps down her body as Ellie continues to manoveur you as her sex toy, coming in and out of herself in a quickened pace that would surely get noticed around. You spot Cat a few people over and lock eyes with her, the second you do the smirk across your face couldn’t be hidden, shifting Ellie around so she’s positioned exposed to her with your hand knuckles deep inside, you nibble her ear and whisper.

“Show me how much you love me, hm? Let’s show Cat whose you are, okay baby? You want to make me happy?” She is only able to nod frantically, never before having had the opportunity to be submissive it felt as though she fully enjoyed the vulnerability of being completely yours to play with and know, you were her trusted person and soon everyone at the bar who weren’t too drunk to notice would have it engraved in their memory too.

“Babe, please, fuck” She begged as your other hand leaned over her bare breasts underneath the loose t-shirt she had sported that day, rubbing light circles over her nipples and staring straight into Cat’s unmoving shocked eyes as you did so, squeezing it hard the second you realized she’d move away to echo a throaty moan from Ellie “I’m only yours, fuck, please I need your mouth”

“You want my mouth?” You ask teasingly and she nods, eyes closed shut from the continuous friction you rubbed on her clit so tense it gave her a high nearing climax. You let go of her embrace all at once.

“Ask fucking Cat”

[babydollmarauders]

CHRISTMAS COOKIES — DAWSON MERCER

dawson mercer x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which baking christmas cookies with her boyfriend leads to y/n getting sticky

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, p in v (unprotected), nipple play, food play. (2.5k words)

notes: welcome to day 5 of the 12 days of kinkmas! i wrote this smut in…october! i tried something a bit different with this one, i hope y’all enjoy it!

“i’m gonna start on the wet ingredients, you think you can handle the dry ones?” i survey the countertop as i speak, containers of flour, sugar, and the likes all spread across the marble counter.

“yeah, i can do that.” Dawson nods, seeming confident, and i press a quick kiss to his cheek before i retreat to the mixer on the other side of the counter.

“uh… what’s the dry ingredients?” my boyfriend questions, making me turn back to see him staring at the ingredients with bewilderment. “they all seem dry to me.”

his head snaps up at the sound of my giggle, pasting a confused smile on his face.

“okay, how about i make the cookie dough, and you make the icing?” i suggest, and his shoulders slump in relief, nodding his head.

“that, i can handle.” he grins, switching places with me so he’s by the standing mixer.

i can use the hand mixer for the wet ingredients of the cookies, but i’m not sure i trust Dawson to not make a mess of the icing with the hand mixer.

we work in tandem, a gentle flow of holiday music pouring out from the alexa in the living room as we do our jobs.

it’s mainly silent between us, both focused on our own tasks; the only words being those of asking each other to hand the other something.

i’m nearly done rolling out the dough when Dawson comes over, proudly grasping the mixing bowl of icing. his hands are covered in powdered sugar, a wide, prideful smile on his face.

“i’m done!” he states, setting the bowl on the counter beside me so i can see.

“it looks great! good job, babe!” i cheer, transferring the dough onto a cookie sheet before popping it in the fridge to chill.

i turn back to my boyfriend, who stands at the counter, playing with leftover flour that i had sprinkled down to keep the dough from sticking to the countertops.

he perks up as i walk back over to him, a wet washcloth grasped in my hands to clean up the mess. the ingredients already taken care of, due to my tidy tendency of putting them away as i work.

“now what?” he asks me, watching as i wipe off the counter.

“well, the dough has to chill for at least an hour.” i explain, “so we can do whatever you want.”

a spark ignites in his eyes, and i know i should’ve chosen my words more carefully.

“whatever i want?” he repeats, taking a step forward. the front of his body presses against mine, his head dipping down to capture my lips with his.

he tastes sweet and sugary, like the icing he just made. his hands snake around to rest on my butt, and when he pulls his lips from mine, he chuckles.

“what are you laughing about?” i raise a brow, and when he brings his hands up to show them to me, they’re still covered in powdered sugar and flour. “oh my god!”

a lighthearted gasp escapes my lips, twisting and contorting my body to try and see my ass. when i do, i find two white powdered handprints on my black leggings.

“oh, you asshole!” i huff, turning back to glare at him as he now washes his hands at the sink, but he just laughs, knowing i don’t mean it. “you did that on purpose!”

“so what if i did?” he teases, watching me try and swat the white powder from the fabric.

i roll my eyes when i see that it’s only spreading it rather than getting rid of it.

“now i’ve gotta wash these.” i push the leggings down my legs, stepping out of them and leaving me in Dawson’s oversized t-shirt.

crumpling the black pants up in my hands, i make my way to the laundry room, stuffing them in the washer to join the other clothes that have sat in there far too long, and add detergent before pressing start.

“you know, that was mean!” i call out as i walk back to the kitchen. “you know those were my last clean pair.”

Dawson is leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and a lopsided smirk on his face.

“i’m sorry.” he feigns a pout, uncrossing his arms in order to let his hands grip my sides, pulling me flush against him. “i guess i’ll have to make it up to you.”

“and how do you plan on doing that?” my hands lay flat against his chest, my head craned to peer up at him. my tone is sultry and slow, and the way he looks down at me, with eyes full of lust, i think i know exactly what he has planned.

he spins us around, caging me against the counter, while his lips meet mine. the once sweet and soft kiss that we shared just moments ago is gone, replaced by one of passion and desire. his tongue flicks across my bottom lip, coercing me into opening them, his tongue slipping through to mingle with mine.

his now clean hands slide down my hips, gripping my ass harshly and pulling my hips against his. a throaty moan is pulled from me as i feel his quickly hardening erection against my core, grinding against him in a steady pace.

i’m abruptly swept off my feet, deposited onto the counter without our kiss ever breaking. my body shivers, my back arching at the cold marble against my heated skin. my legs wrap around his waist, using them to pull him even closer against me, if even possible.

“i need you.” i breathe against his lips, and he nods, tilting chin forward to kiss me again.

his hands begin playing with the hem of my t-shirt, slipping underneath. his hands drag up my torso, brushing along the underside of my breasts before he cups beneath them.

he pulls his lips away, our heavy breaths mingling. pulling off my top, he leaves me in nothing but my cotton panties. his eyes lock on my breasts, my nipples stiff and peaked against the cold December air that the open living room window brings in.

“close your eyes.” he whispers, his breath fanning across the side of my face as he leans forward.

i follow his command, squeezing my eyes shut. my heart races in wonder and confusion, especially when i hear a clatter and screech of metal against the counter.

i open my mouth, about to question his actions, when i’m cut off by something cold and thick spread across my nipples. my breath hitches in my throat, my eyes flying open to gauge his actions.

Dawson stands between my spread legs, his index finger covered in icing, and when i peek down at my chest, i find icing dripping down my breasts.

“oh.” my teeth sink into my bottom lip as i watch him smirk. his eyes lock with mine, staring back at me as he slowly descends to my chest, his tongue darting out.

he licks up my left breast, following the path of dripping icing until he reaches my nipple. my chest heaves as he reaches his desired destination, his lips closing around the stiff peaks, sucking it into his mouth. his tongue swirls around it, collecting the icing.

“oh.” my hand cups the back of his neck, gripping his hair to ground myself amongst the immense pleasure. shockwaves wrack my body, my back arching and my jaw going slack as my head tilts back, my eyes squeezing shut.

he pulls off with a pop, his fingers replacing his lips while he switches to my other breast. while one nipple is pinched and circled by his thumb, the other is licked and drawn into his mouth.

once he’s sucked all the icing off, his hand splays across my chest, pushing me down onto the counter. he dips his finger back into the icing, spreading a line up my torso before dipping in again and slathering it on my nipples once more.

he stares into my eyes, pressing his finger to my lips, and i part them, allowing the digit to push against my tongue. remaining eye contact, i close my lips around him, sucking and swirling my tongue around, licking his finger clean from the icing.

Dawson lets out a groan, his hips rolling against mine in the heat of the moment, prior to pulling his hand away.

he dips down again, pressing a kiss to my lower stomach before letting his tongue drag up my abdomen, licking up the icing. my body tenses as he does so, leaving behind a trail of sticky saliva in his wake. as he reaches my cleavage, he presses open mouthed kisses up my sternum before trailing off towards my left nipple. he licks around it, swirling his tongue and sucking.

my hand flies up to grip the edge of the countertop above my head, the other tangling in his fluffy dark blonde tresses. a cry of pleasure echoes throughout the kitchen, and it takes me a second to even realize it’s my sound.

he kisses his way across to my other breast, repeating the process as his fingers pinch and pull on the hardened peak that his lips just abandoned.

a knot forms in my stomach, tangling and twisting as he goes. my toes curl, my brows furrowing and my back arching as chin tilts up towards the ceiling. a strangled moan falls from my lips, my body convulsing slightly as my orgasm washes over me.

at my heavy breathing and high pitched whimpers, Dawson pulls away, a smirk on his lips as he looks down at me in my blissed state.

“did you just…?” he trails off, chuckling as i nod. “i didn’t know you could do that.”

“me neither.” i shudder, sitting up.

my skin feels tacky from the icing, but i push that thought to the side, cupping the nape of his neck with both hands. i pull him forward, crashing my lips against his.

“that was so fucking hot.” he mutters into the kiss, momentarily getting distracted when i begin to tug his shirt up.

“i want you to fuck me.”

at my words, he pulls away, his hands pulling his shirt over his head before he pulls me in for another kiss. his thumbs hook into the sides of my panties and i lean back on my hands, lifting my hips and allowing him to pull the cotton fabric down my legs.

the cold air hits against my slick heat, resulting in shivers across my body, making Dawson chuckle lowly.

“so pretty,” he compliments, lazily dragging the back of his knuckles down my stomach. “all naked for me.”

his fingers find my core, sliding through my cum. his eyes find mine, holding the contact as he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean.

i moan at the sight, tugging at his jeans. my fingers fumble with his button and his hands shoo mine away, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping, tugging his pants and boxers down his legs and stepping out.

his dick springs up, slapping against his abdomen, and my pussy clenches at the sight. his tip is red and swollen, a bead of pre-cum leaking out.

i reach forward, gently grasping the base, and giving it a light tug.

“don’t be a tease, baby.” he gruffs out, hands gripping my waist as he yanks me off the counter.

i let go in surprise and he spins me around, pushing me down and bending me over the counter. he wastes no time in running his cock through the wetness of my folds, groaning at the feeling. i can feel his dick prod at my entrance as he lines up, sliding in easily, and my breath catches as he fills me up.

“fuck, you’re so perfect.” he grunts, bottoming out inside of me. one of my hands splays flat on the counter, the other reaching down to my hip, clawing his hand away in order to hold it in mine.

“please move.” i whisper, barely audible over the christmas music that still drifts throughout the kitchen.

Dawson leans forward, swiping my hair to the side and over my shoulder. his bare chest presses against my back as he leaves wet kisses to the back of my neck, his hips snapping as he begins to thrust.

he brings our hands to the countertop, laying my palm flat with his resting on top of it, while his other hand snakes around the front of to gently rub my clit.

an outward gasp drops from my parted lips, pushing my hips back to meet him.

the more time passes, the harder his thrusts get, until my hips are hitting the edge of the counter with each stroke, surely getting bruised in the process.

“shit, i don’t know if i’m gonna last.” his voice is tight, words sounding as though spoken through clenched teeth, and i nod in agreement.

“i’m so close, Daws!” in contrast to the last time i spoke, i’m practically yelling now, my climax building with each stroke and each circular rub of my clit.

my legs feel close to giving out, my back arching to hit a new angle. his thrusts are turning sloppy, the rhythm leaving, and i feel his abs flex against my back, letting me know he’s close.

his finger speeds up, pushing me closer and closer until the edge, until finally the pleasure becomes too much. my legs begin to shake, my walls tightening around him, hitting my orgasm and spurring on his.

Dawson continues fucking me through our releases, fucking his cum deeper into me as he does so. once i’ve come down from my high, i reach back, pushing him away by the hip, and he stops, his heavy breaths mixing with mine as i spin around to face him.

he’s got a small smile as he pants, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against his chest. i lay my head against him, listening to his heart pound, slowly but surely evening back out to its normal pace.

i mentally cringe at a realization. he’s supposed to bring these cookies tomorrow during morning skate before the game against the Flyers.

“well, i think we might have to make more icing.” i joke, gaining a laugh from my boyfriend.

“there’s still plenty!” he remarks, looking down at me with a mischievous grin.

“Dawson, that is so unsanitary! we can’t give the team christmas cookies made with icing that your hands were in!” he opens his mouth as though to argue with me but i cut him off before he can start. “your hands, which had touched my boobs!”

a look of possession dawns across his face and he nods, “you’re right, they’re not inadvertently tasting you.”

“oh gross, babe!” i chuckle, pulling away from him. my chest peels from his, still sticky from the icing, and i cringe.

“i need a shower.”

Dawson scoffs as i walk away, heading towards our bedroom, and i’m almost there when i look over my shoulder.

“you coming?” i call out. i can’t hold back my giggle when i hear his footsteps slapping against the tile and then hardwood, catching up with me.

he raises an eyebrow, pointing back towards our christmas tree in the living room as he speaks.

“if i ever say no to that question, i want you to choke me with that garland.”

[cambion-companion]

First of all, hi! Hope you're having a good day/afternoon/night!

Ok, so, since ficlets requests are open, this is something that has been on my mind for a few days now and it's like Tav/Reader doing horn care to Raphael's horns like polishing them or just appreciating this man's horns because i...i love them (don't know if this makes sense but yeah)

FAM! I have been WANTING to write something like this for so long now, thank you for giving me an excuse hehehe you know how much I love his horns!

Horn Balm a balm for horniness

Raphael x gn!reader

Having a cambion between your thighs was certainly an item never on your bucket list. However, you couldn't complain.

The water, soft and warm as liquid silk, surrounded the both of you. The heat from Raphael's cherry skin soaking nicely into the muscles of your legs as he sat below you, his back turned so you were unable to see his bemused expression.

"Just sit still." You pressed your calves either side of his shoulders and scooted close, thrilling at his proximity. "I had to chase down the merchant for this, especially after describing who it was for."

"Did you now?" Raphael relaxed marginally, leaning back again until you had to maneuver your upper body so as to not get brained by one of his horns. "I do not recall requesting such a delightful service. Horn balm is a far cry from a crown after all., little mouse."

"It's a start." You muttered and squeezed your legs a little vindictively, earning yourself a low chuckle from the cambion. "You could just say thanks." You dipped your fingers into the tin and spread the oily substance between them experimentally.

Raphael's hand rose, dripping water along your leg as he traced a finger lazily up your skin causing you to shiver. "I could, but that would be quite unlike me. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Hmm." You were too busy beginning to tentative work of spreading the balm along the rough edges of his horns. "Stop moving."

Raphael had taken a quick inhale through his nose, the frown evident in his voice now. "What potent smell is that?"

"You're one to speak of potent smells, mister musk."

"I am beyond your reproach, my dear." Raphael moved his head again, causing you to curse as a sharp edge of his horn nicked your thumb.

Hearing your little gasp of pain, Raphael took your wrist and pulled the injured hand over his shoulder to inspect. "A rose would have done greater damage." He kissed the drop of blood off your skin and released you, keeping his head held still this time. "Continue."

"I thought the smell wasn't agreeable." You moved your feet languidly in the warm bathwater, enjoying the teasing banter, returning to your work of massaging the oil into Raphael's horns.

"It isn't. However, your presence here is. For the moment."

That softened you. Your fingers traced every curve and ridge until the slick balm soaked in. His horns proved far more porous than you'd initially thought they'd be.

You had often admired the shape of the cambion's horns, thinking in many ways they resembled a crown. A slight dusting of red pigment covered them, like fine powder left too long upon the otherwise dark surface. Quite like the man himself, his horns were beautiful and alluring yet dangerous to handle as had already been demonstrated.

"Enjoying yourself?" Raphael cut into your silent thought, drawing your attention back to the present.

"It's tolerable." You lied, quite unwilling to tell him the truth of your enjoyment. Though the prickle up your spine intuited he already knew.

Raphael chuckled then reached up to remove your hands from his horns, imperiously signaling for you to be done. "I deem that to be quite enough for the present."

You disentangled yourself and slid into the bathing pool next to him, sighing as the water enveloped you. Raphael conjured a mirror and admired your handiwork for a moment. He raised a brow. "I owe you my thanks." He stretched his arms and wings along the side of the bath, sinking a little lower. "You're so eager to please me. I normally do not allow such gestures of...service." His head tilted a little as those familiar hellfire eyes scanned you. "However, you inspire indulgence in unprecedented ways."

[jordisblogg]

self care day w ur gf

shuri.u x reader

warnings: no smut, but mentions of nudity, fluff, fluff, and more fluff!)

a/n: i just have a thing for shuri taking care of reader for some reason, she would definitely do this

border by: @meorasaki

you turned you wrist to rotate the shower faucet and letting the water drain out of the tub. your body dripped, skin and hair fresh from your wash. you decided to give yourself a self care day, you had already shaved and you decided it was also time for your hair to get washed, it was getting old and was starting to stink.

you rubbed your towel down your body as you dried yourself off.

“only one more thing left..” you sighed, eyeing your exfoliation products on your counter. all you needed to do was wash your face then you could finally relax.

you wrapped your hair in a towel as you walked over to your bath robe and tied it around your waist. and just as you turned on the warm water to finish up, there was a knock on your door.

“coming!” you turned the faucet off and walked up to your door. you looked through the peephole and saw your gorgeous girlfriend standing with her hands in her pockets, looking down at her feet.

“i know you’re at the door, sithandwa sam.” she looked up at the peephole. even though you knew she couldn’t see you, you ducked.

“state your name, sweetheart.” you teased, holding back a laugh.

shuri shook her head at your antics, “shuri udaku, may i come in, please?”

“you may!” you then opened the door up for her, letting her inside but not before she engulfed you in her arms, peppering kisses over your face and neck. your giggles were like music to her ears as she picked you up, closing the door behind her with her foot.

“i missed you..” she spoke softly in your ear, you almost got goosebumps. you pulled her head back to give her a peck on the lips. “i missed you too.”

she put you down, but kept her hand on your waist.

“so what’ve you been up to today, pretty girl?” fuck, you love it when she calls you that.

“nothing, just having a self care day. all i have left to do is exfoliate— oo! and put on my coco butter," you nearly forgot. "i should probably do that first then wash my face."

"could i do it?" the question knocked you back a little. it's not like shuri hasn't seen you naked but, you never thought she would ask that, though you both have been together for a while.

"you.. want to?" your voice barely came out in a whisper, shuri could see your embarrassment but she wanted to cater to you. just imagining the feeling of her soft hands rubbing on you made your stomach turn.

"please, usana?" she clasped her hands together, giving you that pout that she knows you can't resist.

"i mean.. only if you want to-" you barely finished your sentence before shuri picked you up and placed you on your bed and then went into your bathroom to fetch your coco butter and body powder. she came back and placed you toiletries on a nearby dresser before kneeling down to your level, your knees directly in front of her while your plush thighs clenched together, concealing your womanhood from her. you watched shuri as her fingers softly took the straps of your robe, looking up at you for permission one final time. once you gave her the okay, she slowly loosened it, letting your nude body come into view.

the cold air hit your skin as the fabric fell down your shoulders. you shivered slightly and the coolness of your skin contrasted with shuri's warm kisses.

“you’re so beautiful, usana..” you let your fingers run through her curls as she came up to give you a quick peck on the lips. when she pulled away she finally took the time to study your body and its features, from your perfect breasts to your plush stomach, to your thick thighs that she would bury herself in all day, if you let her. each stretch mark, every dimple, and those beautiful hip dips. she loved all of it, she loved all of you. but you soon turned embarrassed under her intense gaze.

“shuri, stop staring!” you turned your head away at and she gave a low chuckle before kissing your tummy.

“i apologize, umntwana wam, you look so ethereal. i just love to look at you..” she cheesed as you caressed her cheek lovingly.

“thank you, baby..”

shuri gently removed your hand from her face and kissed the back of it before she reached over to your dresser and pumped your coco butter into her palm. she rubbed her hands together and began at your calves, working her way up.

you watched her as she lathered you so intently, making sure she got every part of you. she handled you so gently, you were getting lost in the act.

shuri did always have this thing where she wanted to do everything for you, even if you were very much capable to do them yourself. she stayed giving you excuses to hold you, or if she didn't she would just do it without warning. she always looked at you as if you hung the moon itself, like you were her everything. and you were. she was so sweet, and caring, and you loved her dearly.

you stared at her soft lips as she attempted to engage in conversation with you, but you were so deep in thought that you didn't hear a word she said. you didn't even here hear her tell you when she was done.

"sthandwa sam?" you blinked and noticed that she was now staring at you with an amused look, her hand rested on your knees.

"huh?"

"i said i'm done, baby.." she giggled at your confusion, and you gave a bashful look before you requested, she hand you your bath robe. you took your girlfriend by the hand and led her to your bathroom. you then ran the warm water once more, and pulled out two face towels.

"you wanna do skincare with me?" you smiled and shuri watched as you mimicked her previous actions when you gave those same pleading puppy dog eyes, and clasped hands, and, of course, getting the same result.

"sure, my love.."

you had yourselves wash and cleanse your face before you put on the facemask on your skin, ignoring shuri's whines about how it stung.

after a long, exhausting day of taking care of your body, you were now finally able to relax, this time with your girlfriend. you both placed on your bed, with you placed in between her legs as you both finished up a show you had decided to start together.

and for the icing on the cake, you snapped a cute lil photo to post on your story, with a small caption, "selfcare day w bae!" in the bottom corner.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List - Bucket Moments || CL16

Warnings: fluff WC: 1.2k Main Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

1. Sleep under the northern lights

Charles found another blanket in the storage box and draped it over your shoulders as he joined you in the clearing. 

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” You asked the question quietly, fearful that your very voice could disturb the peace of the night. Overhead, green and orange light danced to the music of the universe that you could almost hear. 

“Every day,” Charles whispered too quietly for you to hear. Swallowing the lump in his throat he recorded the northern lights illuminating the wonder on your face. You were mesmerised as you reached for the colour like it was a ribbon you could catch if you were quick enough, but it slipped through your fingers. 

“Make an angel with me, Cha,” you giggled as you tossed the blanket aside and fell back into the snow. Charles fell down beside you and waved his arms like you made him do whenever he took you skiing. “I could stay frozen here forever.”

“Me too, mon ange.” 

8. Go to India for the colour festival  

“Don’t you dare,” Charles warned as you filled your fist with a dark blue powder. “Amour!”

You bent in half with the burst of laughter that cut through his faux annoyance and his own laugh joined yours. His white shirt was splattered with the colour of his biggest competitor and you grinned as you took a photo, sending it to Max. A burst of powder hit your front and you gaped at the explosion of red clouding your vision before it cleared to reveal Charles’ smug face. 

“That’s better,” he hummed as he pulled you into his arms, the colours of the rainbow dusting your face as he dipped his head down to yours and kissed you. “None of those Red Bull colours for you, mon ange.”

A peal of laughter sounded as you were pushed apart and Lorenzo ducked between you, a burst of yellow hitting Charles and raining over you. “Sorry, chére!” Arthur apologised as he bolted off again, chasing the eldest brother. 

Charles wrapped his arms around your waist as he stepped up behind you, watching his brothers race through the energetic crowd to find Joris and Pierre. His soft laugh warmed your cheeks as the three guys made an absolute mess. “Snow fights will never beat this.”

Your eyes widened with an idea. “Imagine colouring the snow balls!”

“Except yellow,” Charles pointed out, chuckling as your nose wrinkled at the idea.

“No, definitely not yellow,” you agreed. “But it would be funny to prank them if you did…”

Charles turned you in his arms and smiled fondly as he wiped away some of the coloured powders from your cheeks. “I love that mind of yours.”

“Just my mind?”

His eyes trailed over your shirt that was no longer white and his pupils darkened by the second as he bit his lip and continued to survey you with a look of hunger. Slowly he dragged his eyes back up until he reached your face again and released his plump lip from his teeth. “Yes, just your mind.”

He rocked back on his heels with a loud laugh that came from deep in his stomach and you gave him a little push against his chest. “Cha!”

Your feet disappeared from the ground as he picked you up and your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he looked up at you in awe. “There is not a single part of you I don’t love, mon ange.”

12. Teach Charles to cook

Charles would rather go swimming with sharks again, and he had not enjoyed that. He knew it would be a hell of a lot better than what you were about to make him do though. 

“I look stupid,” he complained as he placed the toque on his head. 

“You look stupid?” you laughed, pointing to your own head. “I have a hairnet on and I don’t have hair. So put your big boy pants on and let’s go, class is starting.”

You had debated trying to teach Charles to cook yourself but after a few mishaps and burned tea towels you decided you needed professional help for the task. This culinary school for beginners promised that it could teach even the most incompetent cooks to master the basics and most importantly, pasta. 

Thankfully putting Charles in a class setting made him focus and take note of the instructions. You could always count on him to become the teacher's pet and by the third lesson you watched with pride as he kneaded the pasta dough to perfection. 

“Can you dust a little more flour please?” he asked as he held the dough up.

“Yes, chef,” you saluted as you took a handful and scattered it over the bench. “Oh, you’ve got a little something on your cheek.”

“Can you get it?” he turned his cheek towards you as you tossed the rest of the flour at him. “Non…run.”

You turned and squealed as he grabbed a handful of flour and gave chase. “You’re going to get us expelled!”

He ignored you as he herded you into the huge pantry and you armed yourself with an egg in each hand. “We have ourselves an old-fashioned standoff, huh?” he teased. “It’s a good thing your aim is terrible.”

Charles moved first, showering you with the flour, and you launched the first egg. He deftly dodged it by jumping aside but it put him right into the trajectory of the second and it splattered over the chef’s jacket he wore. He looked down at the bright yolk and slimy whites that dribbled to the floor before looking back at the door where the chef was standing with a red face. 

“Both of you, out of my kitchen now!”

You tried to keep a straight face as you shuffled through the mess without slipping over and rushed to grab your handbag. “I can’t believe you got us expelled!” You burst into laughter as you exited the building and raced Charles to his Pista in the parking lot. 

“Me?” he laughed as he caged you between the car door. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he couldn’t help stealing a kiss when your happiness was as pure as it was in that moment. “Since I ruined our dinner plans, what would you like to eat? And please don’t say pasta or I will take you over my knee and spank you.”

“I mean, don’t threaten me with a good time,” you winked. “How about cake? You are already wearing half of the ingredients.”

[teatreeoilll]

Pot Luck (Toji Fushiguro X Reader)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .

w/c - 0.6k content warnings - MDNI (for language and mentions of drugs and alcohol). f!reader. A Toji drabble of what I feel the average Toji interaction is like.

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .

2006

“Blow on it,” the traffic officer holds a breathalyzer an inch from Toji’s face. Your mouth grows dry as you smell the painstakingly obvious tang of Sake circling the car's interior.

"I'll just come out and say it, officer," he hums, flicking his cigarette butt onto the road, "You're not my type." You jab your elbow into his side, hoping that inflicting some pain might instill a bit of sound judgment into him.

"Blow on it son, I don't have all night." The cop taps his leg on the concrete, shoving the breathalyzer further under Toji's self-satisfied smirk.

As he continues to hold the policemen's gaze, the dark haired man puckers his lips and exhales into the device, which in turn promptly squeaks and buzzes.

"Why don't you get out of the car, boy?"

-

Toji drives like a maniac; one of his hands barely clinging to the steering wheel while the other clutches a lit cigarette that suffocates the car with a cloud of smoke. He throws quick glances at the rearview mirror, and each time he does so the car swerves, causing the white markings separating the dark highway ahead to seem like mere suggestions.

"I'm gonna need you to hold on to this for me," he leans close to you, his Sake reeking breath caressing the side of your face. His foot's still pushing the gas pedal as he shoves a large hand up your bra, sticking a tiny crumpled bag of white powder to the padding inside.

"Hey - " you struggle to push his drunken hand aside, an aggressive red hue growing on your face at the warmth of his hand pressing up against your breast, "Focus on the road, asshole."

Red and blue lights emerge on the road behind you, accompanied by ear-splitting sirens and a streak of cusses coming from the driver's seat. "Just for a minute, yeah baby?" He jerks the wheel, causing the car to wobble as it grazes the shoulders, "We'll lose him on the next exit."

-

This is a collect call from Akasaka Police Station; if you would like to accept the call, please say yes. If you would like to -

"Fucking asshole," you breathe.

The system did not recognize your decision; if you would like to accept the call, please say -

"Yes." You huff into the phone as the line plays its connecting melody.

The moment you catch a faint sound of a breath on the other end, the facade of cool composure you've been clinging to shatters; "I'm not bailing you out again, Fushiguro. You can rot in there for all I care."

"Don't worry about that baby; Shiu's got it covered."

A scolding tone creeps into your voice, "You better pay him back this time."

Toji ignores your reproach, letting the words linger before continuing, "Anyway, they revoked my license, so why don't you pick me up and we can - "

"You had a license?"

"Funny, why don't you tell me s'more jokes when you get here, huh?"

"Can't Shiu take you? Or better yet, leave you there?"

"He'll probably leave before he sees me bouncing out of the cell, so fat chance of that happening. You're the only one left, baby."

You weren't sure what kind of supernatural force was steering the wheel while you drove in a daze through the busy streets toward the police station, leaving your mind consumed with organizing the accusations you were itching to hurl at him.

The car dips lightly under his weight as he thumps into the passenger seat, "D'you still have that bag I gave you?"

"Hey to you too, asshole." You sigh, "And no, I didn't keep the cocaine you shoved up my bra."

"Ah, never mind," he lifted an arm to swipe the hair sticking to his forehead, "At least I got to cop a feel."

[bookshelf-dust]

easy as pie

ghostface!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3,475

warnings: swearing, drug and alcohol use, allusions to and mentions of sex, murders and violent kills, use of a knife, blood, loads of blood, this is a slasher okay? slightly mean!eddie, a teeny possessive!eddie, there’s a lot of problems here man, not a conventional ending

a/n: surprise!! this is dedicated to the lovely and talented @rogueharrington !!! thank you for supporting my sick, sick mind. i’ve been working on this for a while, and i’m pretty damn proud of it. i think i had more fun than i should’ve. this is based loosely around scream 2, mostly just the college setting, and there is one kill that is based on a specific kill from that movie, though it is slightly different. i really hope you like this, my dearest, and i hope that some of you might like it too!! i know it’s not for everyone, and that’s totally okay, but i’m pretty fucking excited about it. love you!!!! <333

————

The music is so loud that the boy doesn’t really hear the bathroom door open. At least that’s why he’s telling himself he doesn’t hear it. His fingers shake as he lowers his head, dragging the rolled up bill in his hand down the line of white powder he’s spread out on the counter. 

He’s halfway through the line when he sees someone and looks up. “Hey, man, bathroom’s ocupado, yeah?”

His vision blurs and he dips his face again, quickly snorting up the rest of the coke he’s got. He vaguely registers that it might be the last of his stash. 

The figure he saw earlier is now close enough that it’s bothering him. He rubs his nose, sniffing hard. “Shit, man, didn’t you hear me? I said the bathroom is–”

He would’ve finished his sentence if it weren’t for the knife breaching the soft skin of his back, the tip of the blade nicking his spine. The end closest to the hilt, the bit not buried in the boy, glints in the shitty bathroom lighting.

The knife glides down his back, and the boy chokes. It’s really deep, the blade. He grabs for the edge of the counter, but it doesn’t matter because his body is already shutting down. He falls, his head banging the granite and the dollar bill slipping to the floor. 

He doesn’t have time to beg. To plead. To whine. Quick and easy. 

Eddie yanks the knife out, kicking the boy under the edge of the countertop, the muscles in his thigh straining. 

Ryan, he thinks his name was. 

Eddie lifts the shiny metal blade, swiping it along the edge of his robe to get it clean. He spots the last of the cocaine on the counter and lifts the edge of his mask. He licks his thumb to ensure it’s sticky, moving to pick up the remainder and rub it along his gums. 

And then he’s gone. 

————

“You know anyone going to this party tonight?” Eddie’s voice sounds tired over the phone. “I’ve got to deal some, but I won’t be gone long, promise.”

You think for a moment, and Eddie can hear you scratching your head. It makes him chuckle, a low and breathy sound. 

“No, I don’t think I do. I think that party’s a little too far away for the kids without cars.” Eddie pictures the smile he knows is on your face, and then you’re continuing. “You get gas today, baby? Because I’m not driving to pick you up in the middle of the night again. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Eddie rubs his arm, trying to smooth the goosebumps he’s now got because you called him baby. It’s like you’ve put him in a fucking trance. 

“Good. And yeah, you little shit, I did get gas. That was one time. One fucking time.”

Your giggle makes him blush. But he really had run out of gas late a couple months ago. You’d driven half an hour away in your Disney princess pajamas to get him. 

The sound of your laughter fades away, and Eddie feels like he can hear you thinking. 

“What is it?” He asks, shifting the receiver from one shoulder to the other, the plastic having started to dig into his skin. 

“How come it’s good? You said ‘good’ about there not being anyone I knew tonight.”

Eddie’s brow furrows as he tries to think of a response. You called him baby. His mind was fuzzy. 

“I just meant that I really don’t want to be out late tonight. It’s supposed to get pretty cold. Sometimes when your friends buy from me shit loads of other kids try and haggle for a discount. Friend of a friend stuff. That’s all.”

“Oh. Don’t be mean, okay, Eddie?”

Eddie laughs. It’s low and drawn out, a taunting chuckle. 

“Me? Mean? Sweetheart, you wound me.”

“Eddie, come on. I know how you get sometimes. Especially at parties. They’re all just trying to get by too, you know.” 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks around for one of the ties you left in his room. He needs to keep it up tonight.

He’d twist his hair up now, but the phone cord isn’t long enough for that. 

“Thought you liked it when I got a little mean?” His voice is teasing, dropping that little bit lower, and suddenly you’re thinking about his hands. You can feel them running over your back, feel his thighs bracketing yours. You shake your head. 

“Jesus, Eddie can you just not for like five minutes—”

“Lose the attitude, princess.”

You quirk a brow at his tone. “Fuck you, Munson.”   

His mouth stretches into a grin. Eddie surely likes it when you’re mean, even if you are dead serious right now. “Wish you would,” he says.

You rest your head against the wall that the phone is attached to. You don’t want to play this game tonight.

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You move the phone away from your ear, but it’s still close enough that you can hear him. 

“Don’t you hang up on me!”

You position the speaker in front of your mouth. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, asshole.”

Eddie sighs. He’s standing now, looking for his keys now that he’s finished lacing his shoes. He knows better than to mess with you like this. Sometimes he’s just so petulant that he can’t help it. But he really doesn’t like having you be upset with him. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, okay? I promise I won’t be an ass tonight. I know it’s midterms and everything, and people are ready for break. I’ll be sweet Eddie, I swear to you honey.” 

“Yeah, okay. I trust you.” And you do. Eddie’s never broken a promise he’s made to you. You’re not sure that kind of thing is in his nature. 

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Ed.”

————

The mattress is much too stiff, Liz thinks. Like it’s not the kind of bed anyone actually sleeps in, like it’s just for decoration. 

The room has a balcony, though. She wants to go outside. 

He’s obviously not coming up here after all. But maybe she should wait a few more minutes. 

Casey isn’t here tonight, which means she won’t know if her best friend sleeps with her boyfriend. It’s not Liz’s fault that Casey just happens to have something Liz wants. And she always gets what she wants.

Liz glances at her watch again. She’s never been a very patient woman. Seems to be a side effect of swimming in daddy’s money all her life. 

Fuck this.  

Upon standing, Liz finds a packet of cigarettes on the bedside table. She’s opening it, taking one from the box, when the phone rings.��

It makes her jump, but she answers it anyway. Maybe it’s Ryan? He was supposed to be here tonight. Maybe someone gave him the number? 

“Hello?”

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Ryan, is that you? Where the hell are you? I have to be home at some point, you know.” 

“Take a chill pill, babe. Wanna hand me one of those?”

Liz’s brows shoot up. “Huh?” she asks, more than confused. 

“A cig, hon’.” 

Liz spins around, but Ryan isn’t who’s standing in the doorway, tucking a phone into the pocket of his jeans. Her heart starts to pound when she takes in what the person is wearing. “This isn’t a costume party, dipshit.”

The masked figure cocks his head, teasing. 

Eddie steps further into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. The wood slams in the quiet of the room, muffling the music spilling down the hallway. 

“Ryan, stop acting like a child. This is a major waste of my time, asshole.”

When the person speaks, a chill runs down Liz’s spine, as if someone were dragging a single fingernail across her skin, trying to rile her up and most definitely succeeding. That is not what Ryan sounds like. 

“Guess all that private school education didn’t really help much, did it, Lizzie?”

Lizzie. The only person who’s ever called her that is Ryan. “Take that stupid mask off, would you?”

He dodges the question, just as she had his. Usually he doesn’t chat this much, but he feels like being a cocky bastard tonight. After all, what’s the point if he doesn’t let himself have a little fun? 

“Ryan was so easy, you know. Didn’t really even have to try.”

Her heart is pounding now. It’s starting to hurt. This isn’t right. “W-what are you talking about?” She takes a step backwards, thinking maybe she can get to the balcony door. 

Eddie takes the very same step. He knows where she’s headed. Seems she’s gonna make it real simple for him too. He almost wants to laugh about it. 

“He’s not coming tonight, babydoll. Sent me instead.”

Liz turns suddenly, reaching for the glass door. Eddie lets her think she’ll get away with it. He pretends like he couldn’t get to her in two quick strides, considering how much shorter than him she is. The lock clicks, and she’s pulling it open. 

Eddie’s quick though.

He grabs her wrist hard enough to bruise, hard enough that he can feel her bones. He slams the woman up against the door, her head smacking against the glass. Liz lets out a wail, though it’s nothing like the cry she lets out when Eddie’s blade meets the flesh of her stomach. 

The knife plunges into her abdomen once, twice. Swift little movements. Calculated. She screams, but it doesn’t matter because the music radiating from the lower floor of the fraternity drowns out everything. It had given Eddie such an easy in. 

He moves away from her just long enough to push the door open the rest of the way. Liz drops to the floor, tears dripping onto the carpet, blood smearing against the glass behind her and seeping into the silky top she’d put on. 

She starts to crawl over the threshold to the balcony. This time Eddie does laugh, though the sound is so different from his usual chuckle, the little voice box in his waistband fixing it up for him. “Where you goin’ blondie?”

Eddie yanks her up by the sides, hand grazing the wounds he’s just given her. He’s gonna have to wash this robe extra well tonight. 

He squeezes her, just to be mean. Liz screams. 

He’s pushing her now, because she’s losing too much blood too fast, and can’t really keep herself upright anymore. 

Eddie heaves her up just a little bit further, and then he’s shoving her over the balcony railing where she flips and falls, crying until there’s a deafening thud, and then she goes quiet. He looks over the edge at where her figure is splayed out on the concrete, a dark puddle growing around her skull. 

Eddie wipes the blade of his knife against the shimmery black fabric covering his thigh and heads back inside. 

He grabs the cigarette she’d dropped, and leans back outside to strike a match against the brick wall of the building. He lights it, lifting his mask a smidge to take a drag, and then he hops over the other side of the balcony, sneaking off across the roof and down the gutter on the other side of the frat house.

————

He’s late. Forty-five minutes late.

You finished with your midterms, and he said he’d take you to dinner. 

You haven’t seen Eddie much this week, and he’s missed several of your goodnight calls, chalking it up to being out late. You don’t care what Eddie gets up to. It’s not like you’re in charge of him—but it still hurts when he knows you like to hear his voice before bed. 

You decide to call him, but only after it’s been ringing and ringing do you remember he was coming from another fucking party. 

When it’s been an hour, you get your keys, trying your best to remember the address of this fucking house. 

————

Eddie never really dealt at parties in high school. No one would’ve let a guy like him just roam around. But college parties are so much more open. Everyone’s so oblivious. 

There’s a patio light on in the backyard. He stalks across the garden, a little giddy. He shouldn’t be having this much fun, but he is. 

Eddie drags the tip of his knife across the siding of the house. The blade leaves a fine scratch in the paint. 

The boy sitting in the wicker chair, back poorly bent over the tabletop, doesn’t hear shit as Eddie creeps up. 

Keith shakes the baggie he’s been assembling and compares the weight to the others he’s finished. It’s even enough. He scrapes a little of this and a little more of that into a few more and decides that should be enough for the rest of the night. 

Eddie recognizes the song coming from the kids headphones. Good soundtrack to go out to he supposes. 

He reaches for the cord attached to the guy’s walkman, and pulls it upwards in one swift motion, quick enough that Keith doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the wire is wrapped around his neck. 

He starts to splutter, dropping the credit card he’d been using to separate the drugs. He’s caught off guard, and Eddie uses this to his advantage, yanking the boy from his chair and into a standing position. 

The chair falls backwards onto the gravelly patio. The boy scrambles for purchase, legs kicking in fear, though it only fucks his chances up more, because he’s practically throwing a tantrum.

Eddie doesn’t like this. 

He tugs the headphone cord once, as hard as he can, cutting off the kid’s air supply. It straightens him out. 

“Come on, don’t you want to make this simple?” Eddie taunts.

He pushes the boy to the ground. Keith winces as the rocks scrape against the skin of his back where his shirt has ridden up. 

Eddie laughs because it’s like the guy thinks this is the worst pain he’s going to feel tonight. And then he laughs some more because of how sick it sounds with the voice modulator.

The boy tries to get up, and Eddie lets him. He glances at the table and shakes his head. Eddie might deal, but he knows better than that shit. 

Keith gets to his knees, and Eddie raises his leg. His boot meets the other boys chest with an audible thud, enough to knock the wind out of him. 

Keith falls again, smacking his head against the wooden fence post behind him. He hits a nail, and his scalp starts to bleed. He lets out a whine. It’s almost childlike.

With a grunt, Eddie heaves the boy up by the collar. He throws him backwards, and goes to pull out his knife.

There’s a noise, though, that stops him. This sick, fleshy noise and a garbled scream. 

Keith is impaled on a wind spinner. His body sinks into it, the sharp feathers that make up the contraction sinking into the top of his back. He’s crying now, and Eddie is annoyed by the sound. 

He shakes his arms out and slits the boy’s throat. A perfectly straight line, just deep enough for him to shut the fuck up. 

Eddie drags his hand along the blade, cleaning the blood off, and turns to where the walkman lays fallen on the ground. 

He takes the tape out, and tucks it in his back pocket. 

————

“Mindy? Hey, have you seen Eddie?”

The girl from your English class slurs her words. You’re not entirely sure she’s all there.

“Hey! So glad you’re here, honey.” She drops off, staring at the table full of liquor bottles.

She looks back up at you when you don’t go away. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Eddie? Have you seen him?”

She’s quiet a moment, and you can tell she’s struggling to sort through her alcohol-muddled thoughts. 

“Uh, y-yeah.” The lightbulb. “He was towards the back of the house, I think?”

“Thanks, Mindy,” you say, and you’re gone before she can even comprehend your appearance fully. 

Eddie isn’t in the kitchen, or the living room where it looks like two kids are about to start going at it in a La-Z-Boy.  

You spot the patio doors and think it wouldn’t hurt to check. The lights are on, after all. 

You pull the door open, and it screeches on its hinges. You shut it behind you.

The backyard is bigger than you expected, expansive and fenced in, and the patio itself has obviously been worked on quite a bit. 

Something in the corner catches your eye. You step closer, though you have this sick feeling that you shouldn’t. That this is none of your business. That you shouldn’t have come out here. 

The broken body of a kid your age lays before you, blood spilling down his front and into the gravel below. He’s bent so oddly that it makes you shiver—half of him on the ground, half slumped against and in the wind spinner. It’s morbid, seeing it like this.

You take in a sharp breath of air, and then suddenly there’s a gloved hand against your mouth.

The figure rushes you backwards until you’re pressed against the side of the house. The mask takes you off guard, but you don’t need him to take it off. You know exactly who’s under the flimsy covering. 

All at once, everything clicks. 

You reach for the hand covering his mouth, his hand, and pull it away from your face. The look in your eye, the fact that you’re not trying to run, makes him let you do it. 

He looks down, and tugs the glove off his other hand, the one covered in blood. He shoves the glove into his pocket and lifts his hand, slipping it into your hair, fingers gentle against the nape of your neck. 

He waits. He’s going to let you do it. 

You contemplate not doing it at all. 

But you do. 

You pull on the chin of the mask, lifting it up over his forehead. He smiles at you, cheeks flushed. 

He’s still my boy, you think. But you’re angry. His brow furrows as he realizes this. 

You spare at glance at the dead kid. “God dammit, Eddie, no!” you exclaim, your heart pounding as all of this seeps into your veins.

Something flashes across his face. He cocks his head at you. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me.”

You look at him in shock that he’s talking to you like this, and he mocks the look like you’re a child. 

You go to say something, anything, and he cuts you off. 

You chance looking at the kid again, but he places two fingers on your cheek, keeping your eyes on his. 

“I didn’t hurt anyone you care about, baby. I promised you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I? Huh?” Eddie is looking at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You blink, grabbing hold of the hand now cupping your face. You play with the sleeve of his costume. 

“Answer me.”

“Yes. You promised me.”

Your eyes start to fill with tears because of how overwhelmed you are, how sudden this is. You try and will them away, and Eddie senses that. 

He has both hands in your hair now, using the leverage to tilt your head back and keep the tears from flowing. 

“None of that, okay?” 

You nod as best as you can. Eddie leans down and presses a kiss to the center of your throat. 

He gives you a second, and then moves your head back so you’re level with one another. You look into his eyes and he’s still in there. Your baby. 

“Need a kiss,” you say. 

His lips are on yours immediately, warm and full. He puts everything into it. Everything he’s feeling for you. 

When he pulls away, you look much more serious.

“Not gonna get caught, are you?”

He laughs. That low, sultry one. “Not plannin’ on it, honey.”

“Why?” You ask. He knows what you mean.

“They deserved it. Every last one of ‘em. Never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, sweetheart.”

You suck in a breath, keeping your eyes on his. 

“Mad at me?” Eddie questions.

“No.”

He nods this time. “Thought so. Listen, go ahead and drive to the restaurant for me, yeah? I’ll meet you there. Gonna take real good care of you tonight, okay?”

“Okay, Eddie.” 

“That’s my good girl.”

When he walks away, and you round the house to get in your car, there’s a little part of you that likes how he looks in the outfit. And you can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now.

Eddie fucking Munson.

————

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