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A Boy's Best Friend (05x11) Outfit 1

[syoddeye]

finger

kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.

Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.

You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”

A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”

It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.

Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.

Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.

Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.

Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights. 

“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”

“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”

Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”

The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.

She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”

The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.

She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”

“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.

“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”

The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway. 

You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.” 

“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.

You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings. 

To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.

Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.

Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.

You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other. 

“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”

The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”

She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.

Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.

You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.

“You still want more?”

Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.

You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.

“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.

“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases. 

Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet. 

“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”

Yes ma'am.

Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit. 

The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.

“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.” 

Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that. 

You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.

“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.

A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move. 

It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.

“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”

You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.

Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.

Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation. 

You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.

“Yes?”

“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”

Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”

A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it. 

Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her. 

“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”

“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts. 

Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”

Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.

Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”

Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—

She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun. 

Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.

“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”

With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.

Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers. 

If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise. 

With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.

Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words. 

She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”

“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”

Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”

You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side. 

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.

“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate. 

“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.

Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate

You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear. 

>> Miss me already, kid?

[sargebarnesx]

Sweetness

Pairing: Jim Hopper x unnamed female OC

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: unprotected sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, pining, spanking, Hopper's thighs in jeans (felt that this deserved to be here), little bit of instalove/lust

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: Jim Hopper could use a little sweetness in his life.

Author's Note: I’ve been working on this for forever but edited it pretty quickly so I apologize for any mistakes!

Monday

The bell over the door rang lightly. He looked out of place in the small bakery, the tan colors of his uniform contrasting with the baby blues and baby pinks adorning the walls. His eyes scanned over the various pastries, cookies, and cakes, sitting pretty in their cases underneath cozy lights.

“Good morning, how are y-oh hey Chief! How are you this morning?”

She emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a white towel. Her hair was pulled back in a clip but she had loose strands sticking to beads of sweat on her forehead. Bits of flour were sprinkled among a smattering of freckles.

Jim Hopper raised a hand in greeting. “I’m good, honestly just hungry. Thought I’d stop by and see what you had available this morning.” He stepped closer to the counter.

She swiped her towel over her face before tossing it on a back counter. “We have muffins, croissants, bagels, donuts. We also have a small coffee bar. Any of that sound good to you?” She met his gaze from behind the counter, a good foot shorter than him. Her apron was tied twice around her waist, emphasizing her full hips. He noticed that the same freckles that decorated her face also covered her hands, arms, and chest.

“A coffee and a…” he trailed off, leaning back to eye the other case, “Blueberry muffin please.”

“You got it, Chief,” she turned away to grab a paper bag.

He had known her for a while; he remembered her from high school but she was younger, maybe a freshman while he was a senior. Her parents were an integral part of Hawkins, the owners of a sandwich shop down the road.

He felt she had barely changed over the years, other than the fullness of her figure, the length of her hair, the warmth in her eyes. He recalled her younger brother’s recklessness, his run-ins with the law. She wasn’t anything like him, at least not to his knowledge. Jim couldn’t imagine the person who ran a place like this had any interest in being reckless.

“Here you go,” her voice pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see her holding a coffee cup and a paper bag out to him. “How much do I owe you?” He asked, reaching for his wallet. She shook her head, “It’s on the house.”

“No way, let me-“

“It’s on the house,” she repeated softly, “Happy Monday, Chief.”

Jim smiled in thanks, taking his items from her. She smiled back as he retreated towards the door and back to his Blazer. He pinched a small piece off of his blueberry muffin on the way to the station.

It was the best muffin he had ever tasted.

Tuesday

She blew out a breath, nearly dropping a tray of bagels on the counter. It was 7:45 am, and Kimberly, her opener, was supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago. She had been here since 3 am and frankly, her arms were tired and her back hurt. She really didn’t want to work all day but it was looking like she’d have to. She had planned to leave at 9:00 am when her other staff members were scheduled to arrive but such is the life of a business owner.

She hurriedly finished setting up her cases, taking note of what needed to be done that day. Hawkins was a small town but she was lucky enough to be a local favorite. She had made countless birthday cakes for the children of her former classmates, baked bread that would be sold at her parent’s sandwich shop, and catered desserts at the Hawkins High reunion every year. Baking was her passion but going to a doctor’s appointment and taking a short nap before returning to the bakery in the afternoon was taking precedence today.

She could hear a car pulling in and she hoped it was Kim, better late than never. She started walking to the door but hesitated when she saw him.

Jim Hopper was here.

Again.

She opened in exactly one minute and Jim Hopper was parked in a spot right outside her door, patiently waiting. As she stared at him, she noticed Kimberly walking quickly across the street. She unlocked the door and pushed it open as the young woman babbled, “Oh my goodness I am so sorry I’m late, I will stay late today to make it up to you, I am so sorry.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, following her inside, “Can you refill some coffee supplies, please? I didn’t have the chance to yet.” “Sure thing!” Kim replied, grabbing handfuls of supplies and carting them over to the small table in the corner. She started her trek to the back when she heard the bell over the door ring.

“Good morning!” Kimberly called and she heard Jim give a gruff “morning” in response.

“Fancy seeing you here, Chief,” she said, leaning onto one of her cases.

“I won’t lie, I haven’t stopped thinking about that blueberry muffin I had for breakfast yesterday,” he admitted sheepishly, “And please, call me Jim.”

She was silent for a moment while she took in his appearance. He looked…tired. Stressed. She imagined that working as the chief of police wasn’t an easy job, even in a small town like Hawkins. And she knew that he had been through a lot in the past. Even with the slight discoloration under his eyes, she couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Honestly, she was harboring a small crush on him and had been for years. He was tall and strong, and she had always been fixated on his hands. They were large, with long fingers. She imagined he was the type of man who had rough, callused hands that would feel absolutely delicious dragging across her skin. She’d never tell him that, though.

“Alright…Jim,” she said with a smile, “What would you like today? Another blueberry muffin?”

His eyes scanned her case, “I’m thinking…a blueberry muffin and a banana nut muffin. And a coffee, of course.”

“Sure thing,” she reached for a white paper bag while her opener asked him about his coffee preference. God, now she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. And his beard. And his mouth.

She needed to stop.

Her cheeks were no doubt stained pink, she could feel the heat rising to them. She felt a hand on her arm. “You alright?” Kimberly asked, holding Jim’s receipt in her other hand, “Can I have his bag please?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry!” She folded the bag closed and handed it over. Jim was smirking on the other side of the counter, “Got a lot on your mind?” She chuckled, “You have no idea. I hope you enjoy your muffins.”

Jim nodded, “Oh, I know I will. That chocolate donut is catching my eye too though.” He pointed at one of her favorite desserts, a chocolate-frosted donut with sprinkles.

“I love those,” she said, “But they’re really sweet, maybe a little too sweet for breakfast.”

“Eh,” Jim shrugged, “I could use a little sweetness in my life.”

Wednesday

Hopper had a crush.

He was a 44-year-old man and he had a crush.

He couldn’t get her off of his mind. Her soft hair was always sprinkled with flour. Her eyes, the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen, surrounded by long, dark lashes. Her smile was framed by full, luscious lips. He thought about her first thing in the morning, thought about her making him blueberry muffins in nothing but his t-shirt while he got ready for work. She crossed his mind at lunchtime, distracting him from his paperwork with her puzzling looks and skilled hands. And at night, when he laid in bed alone with his cock squeezed in his fist, he would think about her naked and on her knees, with those sweet lips wrapped around his length.

Fuck.

He needed to see her again, but the phone was ringing off of the hook and the paperwork was piling up on his desk. There was no way he could make an excuse to take a mid-day trip to her bakery.

Unless…

Jim tossed the stack of paper he was rifling through onto his desk and stood abruptly. He grabbed his keys and his hat, placing the latter atop his head before walking out of his office. “Anybody up for some donuts?” he asked, not even stopping for an answer, “I’ll be right back.”

Powell and Callahan looked at each other in awe over a massive stack of folders between them. “Eh, at least we get donuts,” Callahan lamented, shrugging.

Jim made it to the bakery in record time. He eagerly reached for the door handle in the Blazer before he paused.

Relax.

He climbed out of the Blazer and walked coolly to the door, pulling it open. He heard the bell ding overhead.

“Good afternoon, Chief Hopper!”

It was the young girl who was working with her yesterday morning. She was nowhere to be seen. Hop nodded at the girl behind the counter. “Uh…” he started, “Can I get 2 dozen donuts, please?”

“Of course!”

Hopper tried his best to be inconspicuous as he looked above the young girl’s head into the kitchen. He didn’t see her anywhere. “Do you have a preference on which donut you’d like more of, Chief?” the girl asked, showing him a half-filled box. “Let’s get more of the chocolate iced with sprinkles,” he said, pointing to the remaining donuts in the display.

“My favorite.”

There she was. She must have come in from a back door because he hadn’t heard the bell ring. She was wearing a dark blue spaghetti-strap dress. It had scalloped edges, an eyelet design, and stopped just above her knees. Her hair was down from her normal ponytail and she was wearing a bit more makeup than usual. She carried an empty tray.

“We have more in the back to refill the case, Kimberly,” she mentioned to her employee passively while keeping her eyes on him, “I’ll check him out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he thought he heard Kimberly mumble under her breath as she closed the donut boxes and handed them to her. They stood facing each other now, with only a register in between them.

“Treating the guys at the station to some donuts?” She asked, punching in a few numbers on the register. Hop nodded, “Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about them, so…”

Was he crazy or was the tension between them thicker than ever right now?

Jim eyed the outline of her dress, tracing the skirt down and then back up to her waist, noting the cinched fabric creating the most tempting slope, the perfect place for his hands. She watched him and yet he didn’t stop. Her skin was glowing with moisture from the summer heat and he imagined what it would taste like if he licked from her collarbone to her jaw. He imagined that she tasted like buttercream frosting and the thought made his cock half-hard.

“Definitely haven’t stopped thinking about them,” he repeated, meeting her eyes with a smoldering gaze. She grabbed his donuts and walked around the counter, holding them out to him. When he took them, his fingers brushed against hers.

“Thanks, Sweetness,” he murmured, a sly grin playing across his features, a playful glint in his hooded eyes. Her eyebrows knit together and she smirked, “Sweetness?” He didn’t respond, just winked at her as he took the boxes and pressed the door open with his backside.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She called after him, but the door had already slammed shut.

Thursday

Sweetness. He had called her Sweetness.

And he came to the bakery three days in a row. There had to be a reason.

She had known Jim for a long time, considering they had both grown up in Hawkins. She remembered when he was a young boy leading the pack, she remembered when he would smoke cigarettes under the bleachers and she would hear rumors about his flirtations, his skill as a kisser. How he’d trailed his hands under skirts in the backs of classrooms. She remembered when she came back from college and he came back from Vietnam, when he got married and had his daughter. She remembered the tragedy of his loss and the way it affected him. But she was always an outsider, a spectator, and honestly, an admirer.

He had been so handsome throughout every stage she had known him, especially now. His thick, sturdy, strong body towering over her, his beard with the beginnings of salt and pepper growing in. She always stared at his arms, his thighs, wondering what they felt like. Those strong arms wrapped around her, reaching down to grope at her ass. His thighs were a perfect seat for her to grind her desperate pussy on, while she dug her nails into his shoulders, his growls shaking her entire body.

“My God, you are so into him,” Kimberly’s voice broke through her daydream.

“Wh-what?” She stuttered, grabbing at frosting bags to keep her hands busy. Kimberly smirked, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. “You are so into the Chief,” she replied, “It’s obvious.”

“Kim, are you serious? I don’t know why you would think-“ she broke off when she noticed Kimberly’s look of doubt. Her cheeks turned an intense shade of red and she hid her face with her hands. “I am totally into the Chief,” she finally admitted.

Kimberly clapped her hands and squealed, “I knew it! You’ve been looking over at the door every hour to see if he’s coming in again today.”

Kimberly was right. The older woman’s eyes had been glued to the door all day, almost like a magnet was drawing them together.

“Can you blame me? He’s come in every day this week! I can’t help expecting that he’ll come in today too,” she explained, piping a border onto the small cake in front of her. Kimberly grabbed a coffee cup and a black marker and held them out to her, “When he comes in, you should give him a cup of coffee on the house with your number written on it.” She looked at Kimberly with apprehension, “You don’t think he’d see that as juvenile?” Kimberly shook her head, “I think he’d love it.”

She put down her piping bag to take the cup and the marker. Kimberly smirked again and left her to her own devices to tend to the front. Would Jim like that, her number written on a cup of coffee? She couldn’t help but think they were too old for these games but maybe he’d find it…endearing.

She heard the bell ring. “Oh, hello Chief Hopper!” Kimberly announced way too loudly to be casual. She would have to reprimand her for that later. But it was now or never. Make a move or regret it. She quickly scribbled her number on the side of the cup and once she knew it was dry, she pressed that side against her palm and walked towards the coffee bar.

His eyes were on her as soon as she stepped into view. “Hey,” he greeted, handing Kimberly a few dollars without even looking at her. She smiled in response and began filling the cup. “I’d been wondering if we were going to see you today,” she said, pressing a lid onto the cup. He chuckled, “Here I am.”

The coffee cup felt scalding hot against her skin, “Coffee on the house?” She offered it to him and knew immediately that he would refuse. “I can’t let you do that, please let me pay,” Jim reached for his wallet, fisting his pastry bag in the other hand. She held up a hand. “Jim, please,” she held it towards him once more, “It’s on me.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment and she could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to her lips before meeting her own again. He was in jeans today instead of his normal uniform - jeans that hugged his thighs and his ass in just the right way. God, she wanted him so bad. Wanted to feel those taut muscles under her hands, wanted to feel the brush of his beard on her skin. Could he tell that she was fantasizing about fucking him right in the middle of her bakery?

Kimberly cleared her throat, which seemed to break both of them from a trance. Jim wrapped his hand around the coffee cup and the sudden loss of warmth was jarring. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said, raising it like he was toasting to her. She nodded, “Thank you for stopping by.” And just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

“Did you even notice the other customer that was here while the two of you were making goo-goo eyes at each other?” Kimberly asked, punching numbers on the cash register.

“Nope,” she replied, rounding the counter and smirking at Kim, “Also, you should work on that whole ‘being casual’ thing.”

Friday

The number on his cup told him everything he needed to know.

He was going to make his move. Tonight.

He’d wear some jeans - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him yesterday when he had shown up in his relaxed-fit jeans. He’d wear cologne - nothing too heavy, just a little something to complement his natural scent. Whatever that was. Coffee and cigarettes? Women he’d been with before usually told him he smelled like a real man, so maybe she’d like it too.

It was 7:15 pm - her bakery closed in 45 minutes. He would make it there in ten minutes from the cabin. His palms were sweaty against his steering wheel, but he blamed that on the summer heat, not nerves, as he navigated the downtown streets.

He parked, noticing a lack of cars out front. Perfect. He could see her through the door as he approached. She was sweeping, wearing her usual apron, blouse, and loose jeans combo. Her hair was down, swaying with each brush of the broom. He pushed the door open and she turned at the sound of the bell.

Her cheeks tinged pink as soon as she saw him. “Hi Jim,” she said softly, leaning the broom against the closest table. “Hey Sweetness,” he replied gruffly, walking towards her, eyeing her up and down as he did so.

When their eyes met, it was like they were locked, and neither of them had enough willpower or want to find a key. Her eyes were warm, like a cup of coffee with a swirl of creamer. My God, she was so beautiful. What he wouldn’t give to trace his fingers along her cheek and brush his lips against her jaw. And fuck, he wanted to run his tongue down her neck to that expanse of skin that was exposed under her v-neck shirt.

“Something on your mind?” She questioned softly, her eyes flicking to his mouth. He nodded, “Yeah-“

But at that moment, he was surprised by her sudden movement to press her lips on his.

Jim didn’t hold back. He gripped her soft hips, pulling her into him, against his already hard cock. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, feeling her jaw move against his palm as she opened her mouth to welcome his greedy tongue.

“Jim,” she murmured against his mouth, groaning as he latched his lips to the skin of her neck and slid his arms around her waist. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Jim admitted, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, “Everything I wanna do to you.” She nodded in agreement, “Me either. I want you…want your cock…fucking hell, Jim, I need you.”

He chuckled, sinking his teeth into her soft flesh, then placed a trail of kisses up to her mouth. She opened her eyes then, meeting his blue ones.

“For someone so sweet, you sure do have a filthy mouth.”

With that, he picked her up, kissing her again until their legs met the counter. He placed her there, nestling into her warm center, his cock pressing tightly against his zipper, desperate to be inside her. Her hand was on his dick immediately while they kissed, palming him and squeezing him over his jeans. “Oh fuck, hold on,” he gripped at her wrist as he breathed deeply, “Don’t wanna cum in my pants.”

Her lips were on his neck now, undoubtedly leaving deep purple marks. “Where do you wanna cum then?” She whispered in his ear, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Jim grabbed her chin, “Maybe this pretty little mouth. Or that wet, hot pussy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”

She spread her legs further and slid her hands into his back pockets, “Please fuck me, Chief. Right here, right now.”

Hopper growled in triumph, “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pulled at the button on her jeans, ripping the zipper open with it. She pushed her pants down her legs and over her little white sneakers, all the way to the floor where they landed with a soft thud. While he was unbuttoning his jeans, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her panties - they were soft cotton in the palest shade of blue. He’d never seen anything more sexy.

“Can’t wait to fuck you, Sweetness.”

She bit her lip as she looked up at him, watching his face as the cool air in the bakery finally hit the burning hot skin of his cock. He could tell she wanted to touch him, to put him in her mouth, but all that would come later. Right now, he knew she needed him deep inside her.

He hooked two fingers onto her panties, “You wet for me?” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. He wrapped his fist around his cock, lining it up with her entrance before thrusting inside her.

Fuck, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this way before. Her pussy gripped his cock so tightly, so perfectly, like they were made for each other. He wasn’t going to last long like this. He wanted to rail her, rail her right here in her place of business on a Friday night, and make her cream all over his cock. Then he wanted to take her home and prepare a hot bath for her, then bury his tongue between her legs in his bed. Then on Saturday…

He wanted to take her to the diner for breakfast.

He wanted to curl up next to her on the couch for an afternoon nap.

He wanted to watch her put on her favorite dress and curl her hair and take her out to dinner.

Jim would do all those things. But right now, he was going to make her cum.

“Ugh fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, reveling in the obscene sounds coming from where the two of them met at their center. She was breathing heavily, whimpering with every deep thrust. He trailed his hand up under her blouse to squeeze her tits - another thing he’d have to give extra attention to when he could get her in his bed.

“Tell me how I’m making you feel, Sweetness. Baby, tell me how much you love this cock,” he was moaning in her ear, his climax building. He could feel her pussy clamping down on him with every writhe of her hips. She nodded, “Feels so good. Fuck, I love the way you fill me up. Better than I ever imagined.”

“Can I bend you over this counter?” Hopper asked, wanting nothing more than to have his hands on her ass. She nodded, gasping when he pulled out, leaving her empty. When she was bent over in front of him, he swept her panties down her thighs, using both hands to roughly grope at her ass. “Fucking sexy ass,” he muttered, smacking both cheeks in quick succession. She moaned, shuddering against him. “Harder,” she requested, “Please.”

He brought his hand down again, harder this time, and she jumped as it connected with her ass. Her skin turned red immediately and he rubbed her gently before doing the same to her other side. Hop placed a kiss on each cheek before he gripped her hips and pulled her back onto his cock.

“You feel even better - like this,” she choked out against a whimper. Jim could only smirk and continue to fuck up into her. He wanted to cum with her, feel her climax soak him at the same time he painted her insides with his own.

“You close, Sweetness?”

She nodded and Jim pushed harder, each drag of his cock bringing them that much closer to satisfaction. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her up against him, “Wanna see that pretty face when you cum.”

Her eyes were trained on his and her nails dug into his sides. He was so fucking close.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm wracked through her body. He brought her left arm around her waist and his right hand to her face, kissing her as he exploded.

They trembled together, taking a moment to allow the pure bliss to course through them. He held her tightly until she turned in his arms. “I need to sit down,” she admitted sheepishly. Jim grinned as he walked her to a seat, making sure she was secure before he retrieved her pants.

“That was…the hottest thing I have ever done,” he told her as she pulled her pants back on. She giggled, “Honestly? Me too.”

Jim fixed his clothes and checked his watch, “Do you need this door locked? You’ve been closed for the last 45 minutes.”

She nodded, “Yes, please. We’re lucky no one came in.”

Jim clicked the latch on the door to a locked position, then met her in the center of the room, where they had started that night. He reached for her and she stepped into his outstretched arms, resting hers on his shoulders while his encircled her waist.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

He could barely get the sentence out before she gave him the best possible answer.

“Yes.”

[youreirrelevant]

Sundog

pairing: Kendall Roy/Reader summary: Then, he's slotting his chin between your breasts, sighing so heavily you can feel the warmth and moisture of his breath ooze through the fabric of your shirt. His thumbs hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts, soft with age. “I’ve had a long fucking day.” words: 2865 tags: EXPLICIT, porn with some plot (Kendall is ceo, but-), a hint of angst, light dom/sub, mutual masturbation, thigh riding a/n: I started writing this back in February of 2023...

Long days. Clicking a pen, faster than the seconds could pass. Some days he’d lose track of time, the sun would have been fully set before he’d notice there was no more light streaming into his office. Today seemed to be never-ending. Words on the screen would pixelate, the ones on paper, smudging. The numbers meant nothing, and he felt quite the business school cliché, only really able to focus on the color of the candlesticks. Seconds, minutes, hours, too many seemed red, like the heat of the day crawling by. Kendall would hold a few slugged-through pages between his index and middle fingers up to reveal a new one, eyes moving over the words as many times as it took to actually read. Felt the rough paper against the sensitive skin of his fingers, to not think of harder things. Softer things.

---

Sometimes he’d look to his dad’s suite still expecting to see him sitting there. Five o’clock was out of the question, but he didn’t know if he had it in him to wait until whatever time his brain felt would have, hypothetically, satisfied his father. (There was no such time.) Another hour, but it was essentially time theft. And perfunctory, performative- he could leave whenever the hell he wanted. (Still under his watchful eye.)

For the short walk from the building to the back of his chauffeured car, Kendall felt ten pounds heavier. Slipping his sunglasses on as soon as he stepped outside to shield himself from the penetrative rays. Sweltering, heat distorted, the air is coming up from the asphalt, off the hoods of cars, in waves. He sighs. The air is thick with humidity and makes him think of things he always tries not to. He slides into the backseat, the leather mercifully cool from where the air conditioning had been allowed to run in preparation for him.

Summer seems to have crept into him, past his skin and into the meat and bones. His stomach. Thoughts of water trickling, pouring, trying to chill people who continued to warm themselves. You could generate steam off the friction and body temperatures alone.

He felt so hard it was almost juvenile.

—

Dogs and cats will sunbathe in the sunlight that comes in through those stain-glass windows in front doors. The AC will chill the air, but anything the light touches is warmed. Through fur, and through clothes.

It’s all fucking windows. Bedroom and great room and dining room. Inescapable, infrared. You long for paper-thin white sheets, a rattling box fan to tuck it around. Colder than laying in snow. Absolute zero. The setting of the sun was more attainable. Just three hours away.

By the time he’s in the elevator, he’s itchy and aching from irritation. Wants to shed himself of his blazer at the very least. Is tired of the abrasive, stiffened nature that he’s always surrounded with, standing sturdy against the loosening of every other molecule and bond. Somehow.

He knows where he can get pliancy, though.

When he steps foot into the penthouse it’s not exactly hot, but it's stagnant. Even here there are little specks of dust floating and visible in the beams of sunlight. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t really know how to prevent dust, or what even causes it. Skin? Dirt brought in from outside?

You round the corner from the kitchen- hardly its own, enclosed room- find Kendall rolling his sleeves up. His shirt is so white its almost blue; the tan of his skin, brown of his moles, darker against it. The glass water bottle you carry is perspiring, the heat of your body penetrating, evaporating. You want to watch him, biting your lip at the flex of his fingers, tendons in his hands, muscles in his forearm. He’s watching himself do it, making the folds neat and even. The angle of his face highlights the bumps in the bridge of his nose, the thickness of his lashes, and you have to close the gap.

“You’re home kind of early,” its sweet, affectionate. The way you sound when you thank him. Gracious; soft. He straightens. Glances at you.

“Yeah, well-“evasive. Not thinking of you at all.

Two ways- when your hand wraps around his bicep he wants to bring you closer, push you away. He manages to stay still.

“Did you guys ever put cold drinks against your necks to cool down?”

Before he can even answer you’re doing just that for him, the frosty glass pressing against his carotid quickening his pulse and seeming to chill everything inside his chest. The sweat is wetting his skin, dampening his collar. It's so quintessentially summer; some fleeting relief.

“No. We had servants to fan us with those, uh, big fucking leaves.” So deadpan one could think he was serious. Your cheeks are pinched with a restrained smile, eyes glittering. Sometimes he wishes you’d just kiss him instead of hesitating -admiring- and creating this tension.

“Mhmm. Naturally.”

When he pulls away you don’t try to stop him. He tugs the fold of his collar away, then pulls it back against himself. Trying to be subtle, like he’s just straightening it, not depriving himself of the now warm, damp spot for a moment so he can enjoy it more when it's returned.

He flattens his lips. There’s an endless itch he needs scratched.

He sits on the couch, ridged and on the edge of the cushion, like he’s trying to level with you, implore to you. His body strains against his shirt- the buttons strain a little, tufts of chest hair are visible where the top ones are undone.

Kendall beckons you over casually- “Come here.” The ease of it always made you feel a little hotter, a little giddy. When you get close enough, he takes the bottle of water from you, sets it aside before leaning forward. Eyes on yours as he grabs your waist, pulls you to stand between his parted thighs, lean and toned against yours. He smiles up at you and it’s downright sweet- you want to tell him he’s pretty, full lips pulled back in a wide v. Your hands rest easily on his shoulders, cheeks pink with affection as you return his smile.

The kiss is only natural, slow and tender, but just as you go to readjust the way your lips slot against his, he’s yanking you even closer, thumbs digging into your hip bones so deep you gasp, his nose pressing into your cheek so tightly it bends. Then his chin is slotted between your breasts. He lets out a sigh so heavy you can feel the warmth and moisture of his breath ooze through the fabric of your shirt.

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts, soft with age.

“I’ve had a long fucking day.”

Kendall does it quick, undresses you from the waist down without much fanfare. Tipping his chin down to watch as he pulls the shorts- and your underwear- down your thighs, moving his head away from you just enough to make it easier when he slips it over your knees, his hands fisting themselves into the clothes to tug more forcefully. There would usually be some easing into this, more kissing and touching, (not that there were never rushes, but, well, this wasn’t rushed.) He runs his palms back up your legs, up the sides, your knees buckling a little as his thumbs swipe over them broadly. They move up and around your thighs, cupping your ass as he looks up at you again.

Your legs shift. You wonder what he’s going to do. What he’s got planned. Suddenly it’s not hot enough.

“Um-?”

“I want you to ride my thigh.”

You scoff incredulously. He’s deadpan again so, surely, he’s joking.

“Do people actually do that?”

“You will.”

Of course you will. He’s smiling up at you, digging his fingers into your hips. There’s a firmness to his expression. He nudges the side of your leg with his knee and it feels real. Whole torso seeming to bubble with nerves and excitement.

You look at him and huff out a single, weak little laugh, but there is no bluff to be called. His forehead wrinkles when he raises his brows. Impatient.

Moving to straddle him feels awkward. It's not exactly unfamiliar- lots of people get off like this, when they’re young and learning about their bodies, and maybe you had, too. And maybe there was fabric involved then, too, but certainly no leg beneath. No person around at all.

He feels your hands trembling as they slide down to his biceps- somehow you both feel more solid to each other than you ever have. He’s thankful you aren’t looking, because any commanding facade he had has slipped away with your gaze. Working too hard to school his breathing; you give in to him, and he’s enraptured.

When you finally press against him, it aches. Not unfamiliar. Your chest heaves. He’s slim, but sturdy. Your face tingles with warmth- embarrassment- and you try not to get ahead of yourself, thinking-

“Do you need help?”

As if you’d been just sitting there, like minutes had passed or something.

“N-no.”

You shift your hips, take in a staggered breath. Maybe you had been sitting here for minutes. Shame and desire are symbiotic, show in the way you tremble from restraint. His hands slip under your shirt, running up your back and nudging you forward.

“There’s a- I feel rushed.”

“Don’t feel rushed. There’s no rush. Just, fuckin, get yourself off on my leg. Now.”

It’s the kind of command that shows he knows he’ll always get what he wants, cushioned in excitement and eagerness. Infectious; if you see how much he wants it, wants you to do it, you’ll want it, too.

And you do.

The first pass is slow and tentative. The hood of your clit is tugged upward as you angle your pelvis back, and you exhale noisily. You can feel every thread of his slacks, finely woven and stiff, all the way down into your toes. There’s an instinctive urge to keep yourself quiet, to get yourself off as quickly as you can, so you don’t get caught. Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, hips wiggling to get a better angle. If drool spilled out of Kendall’s open mouth, pooling, dribbling over the plumpness of his bottom lip, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s trying to keep his cool. This was supposed to be mean to you. Degrading, a little show for him. A reward for -a distraction from- the tedium and sterility of the job he gave almost everything up for. But his face is so flushed it hurts, ears and sinuses aching, and he kind of wonders where that blood even comes from, because he’s throbbing against his leg. You look so demure. Pretty, sweat gathering in the crooks of your elbows, along the base of your neck already, from the strain of perching, rutting against his leg. Glittering in the light from the sun. His pants are tailored too slim. He swallows, shifts on the couch to try and give himself some space, and you gasp as his thigh presses firmly against your vulva.

“Don’t—“

Wobbly and strained. It’s clear, from the minute trembling of your thighs, the slackening of your jaw, that you liked it. His hands glide over your hips, down your thighs, long fingers sticking to your dewy skin.

“Sorry.”

Licking his teeth. A big grin on his face. He’s not fucking sorry; he does it again. The heel of your hand digs into his shoulder, but the moan you let out undermines any attempt at really putting your foot down.

“Fucking— stop,” giggly and spineless, but this time, he does obey, pleased that the jolt of his thigh has knocked loose your inhibitions. You widen your stance, reach a hand down to his hip to get more leverage. The leather of his belt is cool and smooth against your heated palm. He’s pushed you onto the right track.

Emboldened, determined, messy. Really going for it, now, hips rolling, bearing down on him to get that perfect scratch. He tugs your shirt up to see, to catch a peak of the streak of wetness left behind, darkening the fabric of his slacks. In the center of his chest, this tightening, cloying need to touch it. Rub it in, bring it to his mouth and taste it, but he doesn’t want to interrupt. Doesn’t want to break the spell and make you remember that he’s there, so that the embarrassment might wash over you anew. No, he wants you to cum like this, desperate and animalistic. Redirecting that energy, that need to grab and touch, he presses his palm against his cock, grunting at the pressure, loosely curling his fingers around himself and tugging to get some sort of relief.

Both of you moan. That’s—plenty. Way too fucking hot. Your minds run, sprint, parallel to each other’s with the same desires. Watching each other, wanting the other to make a mess of his nice, expensive clothes. Cascading. A feedback loop. Your fingers open and curl to get a better hold, to ride a little faster. The clinking, the buzzing of metal. He unbuckles his belt, opens his fly. The air between you is muggy, rapidly exchanged. The head of his cock flushed pink and swollen, skin pulled shiny-taut. You’re staring, as he wraps his hand around himself. Your eyebrows pinch. You want him so fucking bad. In your hand. On your tongue. Heavy and smooth.

Another pass. The pleat of his slacks catches on you, rigid and perfect and just what you need. He sees you try to chase it, squirming but unable to hit it the same way. So he flattens his palm on his upper thigh, just tight enough to keep it in place, without smoothing out the fold. Blood rushes, tingly and hot, all the way to the top of your head.

“Yes, Kendall,” gasped and dripping with gratitude, like it’s the texture of his fingertips that’s rubbing against you.

One of your thumbs tucks up under his hand, so you can rest yours on his leg, too. Grabbing, pulling yourself over him. The touch is so tender and intimate it makes his heart clench. He really isn’t there, now, as you get closer and closer. As you grind, rough and frantic against his leg. He jerks himself rhythmically, mechanically, trying to time it with each desperate jerk of your body. Both of your hands wrap around his thigh, your eyes closed, each movement and moan and whimper shorter and harsher and his mouth drops open at the sight of it. He grips his thigh, pinching your thumb between it and his hand, but neither of you mind. His other leg swings wider, knee almost bumping against the firm edge of the couch as he feels his balls pull tight against his body. He can smell you, your sweat, maybe even the tang of your arousal. See the strain this puts on your body, to balance and rut and try to get yourself off like this. Chest heaving, eyes glued to where your shirt drapes between your thighs, like it’s this mystical, magical, unattainable place— though he tries to keep himself quiet, hidden, he moans, as that first rope of cum falls, splats dully on the hardwood floor. You look up, to his face, find long lashes fanned across his cheeks, face pinched as he works himself through it, his leg bouncing, just a little.

“Mm, fuck,” you look, sound, surprised, almost agonized, watching as it pools milky white and thick between his knuckles. He watches you, the webbing between his thumb and index finger nestled at the base at the base of his cock, holding it upright as you tilt your hips and move them raggedly, harshly, to get that kind of orgasm that feels gooey and wet and endless. Your face goes slack. You drag yourself through it, barely making a sound, wanting it to last as long as possible.

You want it to go on forever because, once it’s over, embarrassment starts to creep in. It creeps into you both. The pace and the roughness of your movements. The specificities of the way you liked to get yourselves off. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that neither of you expected. That you rarely ever were with each other. Your legs are shaking. Each crevice in your body is slick with sweat, and it makes you feel gross.

“That was— ha.”

You wet your lips. Your mouth is dry.

“I don’t know how you can do that for so long,” it’s sheepish, but there’s also a hint of appreciation. Moving like that, for even that brief of a period of time, makes your whole body hurt. Core and upper arms and calves. Top to bottom. You go to stand, and he has to catch you, steady you with a still sticky hand on your waist. You grimace, but the mess is also kind of— hot.

“You just need to work on your stamina.”

[snapghoul]

How the twins dress

Causal & formal, based off Glen’s style with ✨pictures✨

Note: clothing is so hard for me to write, like the description in a scene just does not compute, so this is mostly for me but more head canons on how their style differs from each other.

TYLER

Tyler prefers earthy tones, favoring browns, tans, oranges, and reds, and avoids obnoxiously bright colors. His clothing choices are practical and understated; he knows what he likes and sticks to it without any flashiness. He has a strong distaste of shorts, preferring to risk heatstroke rather than wear them. Jeans are his go-to choice, and he feels more comfortable in them regardless of the temperature.

His wardrobe predominantly features long-sleeved flannel shirts. This choice is for multiple reasons: it protects his skin from the harsh Oklahoma sun—having been fried crispy a few times—and conceals scars from his rodeo days. These scars, some from being stomped on or thrown against railings, are reminders of past injuries. While he’s not ashamed of them, he prefers to keep them covered, which also explains his dislike for shorts.

For formal occasions, Tyler adapts his style depending on the event. He might dress up a shirt and jeans or don a rarely worn suit, typically for weddings. No matter the formality, he always completes his outfit with a cowboy hat.

Tyler rarely bothers with his hair. He typically just wets his hand and runs it through his hair a few times until he deems it presentable. For exceptionally special occasions, he does own some pomade, though he didn’t even use it for his sister’s wedding.

JAKE

Jake prefers lighter colors, favoring blues, greens, black, whites, and sometimes brown. Being stationed around have made him open to diverse styles, and he enjoys experimenting with adventurous fashion choices. He’s sometimes drawn to shirts with patterns that fit his color palette.

Given his profession as a pilot, Jake opts for short sleeves, as he dislikes being hot and values the comfort of having his arms free, especially when he’s not in his flight suit. While he likes jeans, he also has a variety of pants, including chinos and tailored cargos, to suit different occasions. Living in California exposes him to fashion trends, which influences his wardrobe choices. He often wears a baseball hat to keep the sun off his face. He also has a pretty good selection of shoes.

For formal events, Jake will wear his dress whites or blues if required. Otherwise, he has a selection of suits and blazers in various colors for different occasions. For more casual formal events, he opts for a smart shirt and pants.

Jake styles his hair every morning to meet his personal and navy standards. Even when he’s off duty, he keeps up with his routine and frequently uses pomade. While he occasionally goes for a controlled messy look, he generally prefers a neatly swooped style.

My poor Pinterest algorithm is all Glen now. I searched him once for this and boom. And there’s always some random Miles thrown in there too.

[kairiscorner]

okok hear me out on this request i know you do highschool miguel but imagine 2000s highschool au with punk!miguel where he’s dates reader who’s basically the girl next door typa gal/she’s basically super sweet compared to migs and they both go to homecoming together, take pictures dance bla bla bla before they ditch it and hangout somewhere secluded

˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

day 8: homecoming with bad boy miguel o'hara.

homecoming of batch 2000 – the theme being a mix of a starry night and wonderland; it was... an experience–because he was with you. he came over to your door, donning a white dress shirt with a dark blue blazer draped over his broad, tanned shoulders; his dark brown, tousled hair curtaining his chocolate colored irises. he made sure to remove his nose and lip piercings, he remembers what kind of impression he made towards your family when he came looking as he was–but that never deterred you from loving him as your boyfriend, ever.

he may have been a "bad boy", a "punk"–but he was most importantly, the one you loved, and the one who loved you the most. he smirked to himself slightly at the images of you in all kinds of dresses; his face heated up at the thought of you looking all adorable in a dress, but seeing you in a whimsical, bright attire, adorned with hearts, spades, clovers, and diamonds... you stole his heart again and squeezed it with how beautiful you looked.

"wow, you're... wonderful." "like i'm really from wonderland?" you asked him with a shy voice, looking up at him. he chuckled and took your hands in his and grinned. "like you're the ruler of wonderland, like absolute royalty." he added, complimented you, a hint of a fluster on his face as he grinned wider and led you out of the crowd. "want me to show you a real starry night?" he asked you in a hushed voice as you chuckled. "hmm, sounds like that beats all the sequins and glitters..." "believe me, cariño, it does; because you'll be here with me, under the light... of countless stars."

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @araneol @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

he sounded so soft with his voice, so gentle–his touch didn't feel tight, it felt... clingy, just a little bit; it felt so tender and warm, that nothing else could match the purity of this moment in time. it sure might be a highschool dance, a get-together full of pubescent teenagers that might sneak in a few drinks and kiss the night away in their cars in the parking lot, but tonight was magical. tonight, the stars are in full view, bright and aligned–creating the vision of a starry paradise for the two of you under the sky as you both stepped out of the school gym and took your places under a tree you planted with him in your very first year of junior high.

"wonderland seems like a lovely place... but honestly, wonderland is more of an... experience." "what do you mean, miggy?" you asked him in wonder as he placed two fingers under your chin and directed your face to look at him. he smiles sweetly and his eyes shone with so much love, and he leaned in and pecked a kiss on your forehead. when he pulled away, he ran his hands through your hair and snuggled up closer with you. "wonderland is an experience, because... it's like i'm having the time of my life when i'm with you. time stops, everything's where it should be–and i... i'm falling more and more with you, everyday." "then... i'm glad that was half of our theme." "was weird at first, but i think the universe was just trying to help me tell you just how i really feel about you, mi vida."

[ladychlo]

They think Louis or harry or even niall just grew out of nowhere to be what they are now like babes, your faves were swageless, with a horrible hairstylist, caused uk a shortage of suspenders went from three colors pallette of Catholic school blazers to another national shortage of skin tan, hair spray and bleach, vans and Chelsea boots only to squeeze their balls in tight ass jeans and ink their skin and smell of weed and sleepless bus nights and fake ass pr stunts and one of them spent half of them years looking like a twink farmer with his hats and the rest looked like a nursing mum with her open shirt ready to breastfeed the audience BUT YOU KNOW WHAT that music was made by love and through bullshit and media scrutiny against girlhood and boybands so piss off

[lilac-ravenclaw]

Let me introduce my Hogwarts Legacy MC, Raven Fawlty. I love her so much and want to share her adventures with everyone.🪻

Art Trade? Yes, please! Just please tag me with your drawing. In return I’ll draw your Hogwarts MC! 👩🏻‍🎨

Instagram | DeviantArt | ArtStation

✨ artof.ravnbee on Ko-Fi ✨ Thank you!

The Picnic 🧺 - 3k words / fluff

More to come! ✍🏽

If anyone is interested, I created a playlist inspired by Raven. I'll continue to add songs as time goes on. Hope you enjoy! 🎧 Spotify Link 🎧

General Info

Name: Raven Fawlty - { reason for her name for me } “Ravens” often represents ancient wisdom, transformation and intelligence. The name “Raven” means “dark haired or wise”. “Fawlty”… honestly this was a gimmick at first. As I love the show, Fawlty Towers with John Cleese. Ran in the mid-late 70s with only 12 episodes, and was hilarious imo. it was the first name I could think of when creating my character.

Birthday: January 29, 1874 { The Raven was published in Jan 29, 1845 }

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Sex/Gender: Female { she/her }

Ethnicity: Latina and English

House: Ravenclaw

Wand

Stalk: Dark Brown

Wood type: Willow

Core type: Unicorn Hair

Flexibility: Reasonably Supply

Wand Length: 12”

Handle: Checkerboard - Blue

Patronus: Black Bear

The Black Bear is known for their adaptability and resourcefulness. Others will see her as a fierce opponent who will protect herself and those close to her. Only those close to her will know of that softer side she usually keeps hidden away.

Physical Appearance

Eye color: Light Violet

Skin color: Tan/light brown, with olive undertones.

Hair: Long length and black, usually worn in a braid.

Height: 5’1” (155cm)

Weight: 110lbs (49kg)

Body type: Hourglass and petite

Birthmarks: small mole on the face, left cheek

Fashion style: Loves wearing a comfortable trouser, but will still wear a button up blouse and a skirt. Doesn’t care for the traditional school robe, but favors a nice blazer/jacket when needed.

Accessories: Pierced ears for small earrings, (wears a pair of snake gold snake earrings Sebastian gave to her as a birthday gift).

History

Place of birth: Somewhere in the UK

Childhood: Grew up in orphanage in London. Doesn’t know who her parents are, or her real name. She has a love for literature and took the name “Raven” after Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, The Raven. The orphanage she resided in was very strict and had a harsh living environment. The caretaker was mean to the children, much like a Miss Hannigan from the show Annie. So much so, that is how Raven acquired her last name “Fawlty”. A homonym for “faulty”, meaning of faults, inadequate, or wrong. (Which is also why the show, Fawlty Towers, got its name too.) Unknowingly to be a future Ravenclaw, took the insult of a name as a challenge to succeed and learn all she could and be the best version of herself.

Family history: Her father originally from South America and went to Castelobruxo, a wizarding school in Brazil. Being from the heart of the Amazon rain forest, he had a profound love for magical creatures. Which is where Raven gets her love for magical creatures as well. He had traveled all over the world and eventually made his way to Europe where he met Raven’s mother, was also traveling abroad as well. She had also attending Hogwarts in her youth, being a former Ravenclaw too. She loved astronomy, and music literature (her mother, Raven's grandmother, was a music instructor). It is unknown what happened to her parents in their untimely death, and how Raven ended up at the orphanage. **Keep in mind, Raven herself doesn’t know this. I just wanted to write this down to know where she gets her personality and interests come from ☺️**

Notable events/milestones: Raven always knew somehow.. she was different. Though, according to the wizarding world’s standards, it took a little longer for her powers to emerge. Even small things would happen here and there, without her realizing what had happen and that she was the cause of such strange occurrences. Until one day when the orphan keeper (the person who runs the orphanage) was “disciplining” one of the children and Raven stepped in to protect them and that enough was enough. She had forced a large shelf to fall over onto the orphan keeper… it was as if what she was thinking became a reality. Afraid of what would happen, Raven ran away, seeking shelter where she could. As Professor Fig was assigned the task of giving Raven her letter and bringing her to Hogwarts, it still took no time at all for Professor Fig to find Raven even though she was missing from the orphanage. She was hesitant at first but overall wasn’t scared at all, and actually was relieved to know there were others like her. A whole world like her just waiting to be apart of and that was the happiest day in her life.

Other notes: She had studied with Professor Fig for the duration of the summer before starting at Hogwarts. Having only gained her powers after the school year had finished. He had become the first father figure to Raven.

Psychological Traits

Personality type: INFP (Mediator) is a personality type with the introverted, intuitive, feeling and prospecting traits. These rare personality types tend to be quiet, open-minded, and imaginative, and they apply a caring and creative approach to everything they do.

Personality traits: intelligent, witty, adventurous, warm, courageous, emotionally intuitive, and quick-thinker.

Introvert/Extrovert: Sometimes both. Loves to be around her close friends, but doesn’t mind spending time alone reading a good book or flying on her broom.

Hobbies: Star-gazing, tending to the magical beasts in the Vivarium, reading, and singing. Doesn’t audition for the school choir til her 6th year. She doesn’t tell anyone except Poppy if she should try out, as Raven was 100% nervous about it and never sang in front of people.

Loves: Flying on her broom and singing in the choir.

Morals/Virtues: Values being compassionate and always being there for her friends/loved ones at a moment’s notice. Tries to do right by them and stand by their side when times are tough. She knows what it feels like to be alone in certain situations and doesn’t want her friends to go through the same thing.

Phobias/Fears: Being trapped in a “cage” and being forgotten.

Relationships

Love Interest: Sebastian Sallow… From the very beginning she felt like there was some sort of connection, but was a bit too oblivious to see it at first. He’s very charming and almost flirtatious with other girls, so figured she wasn’t any different. Sometimes she will catch him sneaking a glance in her direction during class, while studying in the Library or at mealtimes in the Great Hall. It was so easy to stand by him and help him find a cure for his sister without even a second thought. It may have been foolish, but Raven knows what it’s like to have no support when at your lowest. To feel like all hope is lost. She can understand losing your parents at a young age.

Parents: Deceased, Names Unknown

Grandparents: Unknown, Names Unknown

Best friends: Poppy Sweeting and Natsai Onai

Friends: Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Amit Thakker, and Imelda Reyes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, not in a bad way. It's mostly a friendly competition when playing Summoner's Court.

Enemies: Peeves the Poltergeist, damn him for catching them in the Library!

Clubs: Crossed Wands, Summoner’s Court, and Hogwart's Glee Club ( was super hesitant in trying out for the school's choir, but her best friend Poppy gave her the confidence she needed to try out).

If you’ve made it this far then thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed learning about my MC✨

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for pointing out the fact that the groom’s family at my sister’s wedding were all wearing funeral clothes?

i (23NB) went to my sister’s (29F) wedding. not as part of the bridal party, i requested to be left out because she wanted her bridal party all in very feminine dresses and i present masc. but i helped with the floral arranging and paperwork so i felt like i contributed decently

my sister’s new husband (20M) is a nice guy, he’s very sweet to my sister. i think he’s a little young for her but our own parents actually have the same length age gap so i can’t really argue without causing other problems. tbh i have no issues with the relationship itself since she met him when he was an adult and he has been a very supportive partner to her

the wedding was at a christian church near us that our family “attends” but none of us besides our very religious aunt go to much anymore. it was a nice event, the colors were pastel yellow and peach. i helped set things up when i got there and then hung out with the groom’s party a little to see if they needed help on their end. after that i started greeting the arriving guests with our dad (48M)

here’s where i may be the asshole:

while my dad and i were shaking hands and directing guests around, i started noticing a weird pattern. a lot of our family were showing up in what i figured is pretty standard formal wear for a summer wedding at a church. lots of navy blue blazers, light pink dresses, tan/gray pantsuits, etc… a lot of random variation. but the groom’s family were by comparison all very much matching. in fact, at first, i thought maybe my sister had told them to dress in specific colors

they were all wearing black.

black suits, black dresses, black pantsuits… the only ones wearing any color were some of the kids who were wearing navy blue or gray. it got a little obvious when both his parents stood in front of us wearing black, dad and i wearing much more colorful attire. hell my own tie had pinky peach stripes to match the flowers

i didn’t say anything about it at first. i assumed there was something i didn’t know or that i was maybe just overreacting. but, as the event got underway, i noticed that the groom’s family were being a little distant. his sister (20s?F) in particular seemed to be stone-faced and didn’t return the greeting i offered, instead just staring at me and then huffing before she went to sit down. she was wearing a long black dress.

i haven’t met his family more than once or twice in the year and a half they’ve been together, but it seemed strange. they aren’t Addams Family types, black isn’t a standard color for them as far as i know. especially not the MIL (40s?F) whose home from what i remember is all pinks and florals

i finally decided to voice my confusion to my dad after the ceremony, when we were all sat down to eat before the dancing got started. he told me it was definitely weird, but to not tell my sister during the wedding. she definitely hadn’t asked them to specifically dress like that. i agreed i had no plans to tell her since it could stress her out

there were a couple more suspicious things like the speech that the groom’s brother (21M) gave where he made a pretty pointed cradle robbing joke and then the MIL leaving abruptly after the speeches… and i didn’t get talked to almost at all by any of his family besides his brother

during the party, i had a couple drinks and hung out with some of my sister’s bridesmaids. i off-handedly joked with one of them that it was weird to wear funeral clothes to a wedding, even though both take place in a church. she asked me what i was talking about so i, being tipsy and not thinking, explained everything…

i shouldn’t have been surprised that by the end of the night the gossip had made it to my sister and she was livid. she said some pretty hurtful things about me not being in her bridal party and “barely being [her] sister anymore” and we both left the interaction crying. i know she went too far and blew up at me, but i also think that she really is making a bad decision by marrying a guy so much younger than her, whose family seem to maybe even disapprove of it

i kinda hate that i noticed it and said anything but i also kinda hate my sister’s choices and what she said to me… AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[canoetrends]

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[attollogame]

hi! i went to look for physical descriptions of the ROs but the link isn’t working. is there an alternative link?

No but I can help you here!

Pariah

Pariah is 5’5” with an athletic build to their body, mostly honed from all of the physical exertion their night job requires. Most often they wear riding gear (leather jacket, cargo pants, biker boots; basically attire appropriate for someone who rides high-speeds on a motorcycle) with a black motorcycle helmet that has red lights within it. The helmet is modified to allow Pariah to discern things at night, and also to withstand Pariah’s own powered abilities. Pariah also carries two sickles strapped at their waist. Their powered ability is shadow manipulation.

Without the helmet, they have short cut curly brown hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, and a scar on their chin. Here’s an excellent visual of them drawn by the talented @phanosis !

Vasilisa

Vasilisa stands at about 5’11” with another athletic build to her body, again honed by her career as a detective for the C.A.P.D. She usually wears a white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, black jeans, timberland boots (closest I can describe them) and on occasion will have a black blazer on. Very often seen with a coffee in hand because her sleep schedule is as atrocious as anyone’s in Attollo. Her powered ability is emotion manipulation. 

Vasilisa has blonde hair she keeps tied back, pale skin, and blue eyes. She has a beauty spot under her one eye. Here’s an excellent visual of her drawn by the talented @exotic-inquiry !

Suha

Suha stands at 5’8” with a softer build. Her employment as a judge for the Crowes Court and her role in her own fashion business often keeps her quite preoccupied and on the go. Suha is a Muslim, and therefore wears a hijab. Her role in fashion means she dresses incredibly well, often preferring higher-brand clothes lines that are both comfortable and befitting of her personality. She prefers lighter colored clothes, as it contrasts the gloom of Attollo, even though her personality itself is quite serious. Suha’s powered ability is botakinesis, or plant manipulation. 

Suha wears cat-eyed glasses and has dark skin and brown eyes. Here’s a stunning drawing of her done by the talented @artsyaprilmr !

Operator

Operator stands at 5’7” and has a very lean build coming from his amazing ability to forget to eat half the time. He’s rarely seen without his black face mask and blue tech glasses, which enable him to see the ongoing of the city even when mobile. He usually wears a black turtleneck and black jeans, as well as sneakers that should really be changed in at some point. He does wear gloves as well when outside of his dwelling in the Under City. Operator’s powered ability is tech manipulation… among other things.

He has auburn curly hair and blue eyes beneath the glasses, as well as pale skin. @exotic-inquiry also did some lovely art of him (he is a little guy) !

Sysba

Because Sysba is gender selectable, their appearance does tend to change depending on which you select, although not by much. Overall, though, Sysba is a very flamboyant being that dresses in a way they feel expresses themself best. They stand at 6’ all forms, with a toned form they somehow managed to retain despite their disastrous eating habits. They prefer colours like red, black, or white for what they wear, and they prefer fabrics like satin, velvet, or silk. Sysba often wears heels for the benefit of standing an extra few inches above everyone else. They also indulge with a lot of jewellery, including necklaces, earrings, nose rings, etc. Because they are an entity, their powers extend far beyond what most do; shape shifting, manipulation, and power absorption are a few of their abilities. If they could get out of Attollo, they would be travelling quite swiftly too. 

In all forms, their hair is black, their eyes are black, and their skin is a very sickly pale color. In male form, Sysba has short cut hair, in female form it comes in the form of a bob cut, and in the non binary form it’s short cut as well. The very talented @retconomics has art of them here, @phanosis was generous enough to draw them in their more ‘natural’ form, and @redjack even kindly made a 3d model!

DW

Standing at 6’4” with a more built tone, one could say, due to his line of work (you don’t run a criminal organization without some intimidation on the side). Dreamwalker dresses very business-like in all aspects of his arrival, including in the dreams (although he did play dress up for those because it was fun for him). He prefers dark dress shirts, dress pants, and well-polished dress shoes. He wears a signet ring on his right hand. His powered ability includes dream manipulation and an ability to directly harm a sleeping individual through their dream, as seen with MC. He usually warps his features in dreams to make him indiscernible. On occasion, he wears a red scarf when not wearing a high collared shirt. 

Dreamwalker has dark brown, almost black hair with a slight curl to it. His eyes are a glowing gold with no discernible pupil unless you’re very close, in which case you will see it as a darker yellow color. He has a notable scar on his neck from a knife wound, and dark skin. The talented @bleruh drew art of him here (check out their operator as well!), as did @retconomics here and @/kill-a13 here among many others :)

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

(Content warnings: Friendly 141, anxious König, König cuteness, König learns to dance, Ghost being stubborn, tw: Ghost being a creep, justifying objectification, pervy thoughts, jealous/possessive thoughts, funny Soap antics, Price being the dad of the group)

Reader POV:

Later that night, you quickly got dressed for the team's night out. It was the first time you got to dress up during your visit, so you were trying to make sure not a single hair was out of place. You were excited to go out on the town, but you were doubly excited to finally have Price’s assignment behind you after tonight. You'd keep face and be cordial with Ghost whenever it counted. But beyond that, you no longer wanted anything to do with him. It was just too much of a risk. As you slipped on a pair of black heels, someone knocked and called through your door.

"You about ready yet?"

"Coming!"

After giving yourself a quick spritz of perfume, you hurried out into the hallway. The whole team was patiently waiting outside your door, chatting a bit to pass the time. But as soon as they saw you, all conversation ground to a halt. You were wearing your favorite little black dress. The front was flowy as draped fabric cut down your torso in a plunging neckline, ending halfway down your torso. But otherwise, the fabric was skin tight as it hugged your ample curves. It was the kind of dress that you had to be a bit careful in, though. The hemline ended maybe an inch or two below your ass, so careful movement was a must. But you'd learned exactly how you could navigate a night of dancing without it riding up and higher. Plus, you had a saucy little surprise that you were certain would knock König’s socks off later that night. With the exception of a few perfectly placed baby hairs, your curls were pulled back in a high puff. It billowed out from the back of your head, looking almost like a fluffy halo.

Judging by the tiny area of skin König’s mask revealed around his eyes, he immediately went beet red and just stood there gazing at you adoringly. From behind him, someone let out a wolf whistle.

“You better give your girl a kiss.” Price smiled, nudging him out of his stupor and closer to you.

“If he won’t, I will!” Soap joked, puckering his lips.

John shot him a tired glance, shaking his head before turning back to you. “Ignore him, please.”

But König only had eyes for you at the moment. He ambled forward awkwardly, but then sweetly took your hand in his.

You gave him a little turn to show him every angle of your outfit, striking a pose. “What do you think?”

“Mein Engel,” he whispered. “You look so beautiful.”

“Aw, thank you! You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

Everyone had taken effort to dress appropriately for your night out. Well, they had taken an effort to not look like soldiers, for once. König was wearing a satiny button up shirt and a pair of black trousers. It was so strange to see him in something other than tan or camouflage. Though he’d abandoned his helmet for the night, he still kept his hood as an essential piece of the ensemble. He’d neatly positioned the hemline so that it swept across his shoulders like a loose scarf. A bit unconventional for a night club, but classy nonetheless. And he had a twin, because Alejandro had chosen a similar color palette. He had opted for a slim-fit black V-neck and a pair of gray jeans.

Price had opted for a more formal look. You could tell he’d taken the time to pamper his beard and mustache as they now bore a healthy sheen. The arms of his blazer bulged around his biceps and he’d left the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He was bound to get plenty of attention tonight for those details alone. The only thing that gave him away as military were his shoes. They were polished to a glossy perfection!

The only one who had gone full-on casual was Soap. He’d gelled his signature mohawk, but otherwise had just grabbed a white short sleeved shirt and a pair of khaki joggers. Comfortable and casual, as always.

As you complimented everyone on their clothing, Price thumped the back of his hand against Ghost’s door. “Get a move on! It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

The door opened, and Ghost stomped out, barely glancing at anyone before heading towards the door. His eyes lingered on you with a spark of interest, but he quickly looked away.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled.

Upon seeing him, Soap cringed hard. “Please, tell me you’re not wearing that.”

Ghost clearly hadn’t put an ounce of effort into this. You assumed it was his way of being defiant. Because he was dressed just like he always was. The same dark pants, the same dark top, the same tactical vest. He’d removed all the weapons from their respective pockets (though you wouldn’t be surprised if he still had a few of them hidden on his person somewhere). But otherwise, his appearance had gone unchanged. And, as he turned and crossed his arms, it was evident that it would remain that way.

“Well?” he snapped at Price. “Are we going or not?”

After pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his jaw, John strode past him and held the door. “Alright, team. Let’s move.”

The team filed into the parking lot, dispersing towards their respective vehicles. Price claimed the passenger seat in Ghost’s jeep, probably to ensure that he actually arrived at your destination. But as for you, Soap, and Alejandro, the three of you were content to ride with König. It had been a stressful day, so you were eager to dance your cares away. And a few drinks would certainly help to keep them away.

Your feelings immediately lifted as König pulled into a parking space, and you heard the thumping beat of music drifting out through the doors of the club. Mere seconds after he'd shut the car off, you were already clambering out of the car.

“Come on!” you grabbed König's hand and started to run, dragging him behind you as you went. “Let’s get this party started!”

Your group slowly filed into the building, slipping into the throng. Making your way through the crowd was surprisingly easy too since all it took was a glance at your group for people to warily step out of your path.

For a moment, you pretended you were a celebrity being escorted by bodyguards. It was silly and childish, but you couldn't help but notice how your group likely appeared to everyone else. A dolled up girl surrounded on all sides by muscular, imposing men. It made you feel safe, almost invincible.

Price cupped his hand to his mouth, shouting to be heard over the noise. "I'll find us a table! But bring me a drink!"

König nodded and the rest of you made your way to the bar. After politely helping you into your seat, König claimed the next bar stool over and gestured towards the bartender. You noticed Ghost push his way past behind you, choosing the stool all the way in the corner. Typical.

The bartender soon rushed over to your group, wiping his hands on a small towel. "What can I get you folks?"

"Bourbon, neat. And a Jagertee, please, if you offer them."

The bartender paused, looking up the unfamiliar drink before nodding. "I think I can make that happen. And for the lovely lady?"

"Just a Long Island, please."

"Perfect, I'll have those right out."

As the bartender turned to wait on Soap and Alejandro, you yelled over the noise at König. "What's a Jagertee?"

He smiled. "A taste of my home! They are quite nice, you'll see!"

After the bartender returned with a drink for each of you and two for König, you all carefully weaved your way across the room to where Price was waving. The sight made you giggle since it wasn't really necessary. At his size and height, he was incredibly easy to pick out from a crowd. He'd secured a handful of round booths. Other plain-clothed military personnel were already huddled around most of them. But Price gestured towards the last one that was still empty. As you all relaxed on the cushioned bench, Price immediately noticed Ghost’s absence. Since a majority of the noise was confined to the other areas of the club, he didn't have to yell when he spoke this time.

"Where's Ghost?" He said, thanking König for the bourbon.

Soap sipped his drink. "Still at the bar."

"Like a scared perrito," Alejandro laughed.

But Price was not amused. "I was very clear that the requirement was to participate. But I'll just keep an eye on him for now."

Ghost POV:

The bartender had loitered on his end of the bar for far too long now, seemingly doing any random task that would keep him there for a while. Ghost knew what he was doing, too. He was trying to stay within earshot in case he wanted to buy himself a drink. But though his brooding presence likely said otherwise, he refused to contribute to the chaos around him. Instead, he was more than content to do a little people watching to pass the time.

The term "people watching" was a bit inaccurate, though. A more appropriate term would have been “person watching”, because he only had his eyes on one person: König’s girl.

It all started when they had come to the bar for drinks. The practiced way she had perched on the bar stool, her hands primly placed in her lap to keep her dress secure. Those were telltale signs of a girl who was wearing a dress that was far too short for her own good.

After she’d gotten her drink, Ghost hadn’t bothered to hide his blatant stare. No one was looking at him anyway. Everyone was either already drunk, preoccupied, or looking elsewhere entirely. So, no one would notice where his eyes happened to wander as she made her way towards the tables. He took a particular interest in the hem of her dress, the way the sway of her hips made it rise tantalizingly high before shifting back into place with her next step. Ghost wasn’t a praying man by any means. But he’d drop to his knees on the spot if some higher power would make her stumble, make her drop something. Anything to get her to accidentally bend over just once. Just for him.

It’s not like it was his fault. Why else would you wear something like that unless you were just begging to be slowly undressed in the mind of every man who crossed your path? And then to actually strip her down? God, what a night that’d be.

Ghost toyed with the fantasy that she’d worn that dress specifically for his secret pleasure. But the thought immediately went sour as envy took the stage. All it had taken to ruin his daydream was Konig placing a steadying hand at the small of her back as they went.

He scowled, seething all over again. What had initially begun as simple jealousy was gradually being stoked to hatred. He fucks the girl Ghost wanted most, him forced to see them constantly enjoying each other's company felt like merciless taunting, and now he couldn’t even dream in peace. It was as if König had planned it that way just to irk him. But as Ghost sat there, mindlessly clenching his fist, he began to plot a devilish little plan of his own. He just had to wait for the perfect opportunity to set it into motion.

Reader POV:

Once you and König had settled into the booth, you took a sip of your beverage and savored the sweet taste as it washed over your tongue. You didn't know just how strong it had been made though. The bartender had perfectly blended the ingredients such that the distinctive tastes of tequila, vodka, and gin were practically imperceptible!

Beside you, König lifted the front of his hood and ducked his drink briefly out of sight. After he did so, he paused before giving a curt nod of approval. Apparently, whoever was bartending was knocking it out of the park tonight! You'd have to be sure to tip him well before the night was over.

König turned towards you, his eyes full of excitement. He gently scooted his drink in your direction. "Would you like to try?"

"Of course!"

You took a hesitant sip, bracing for the sharp taste of alcohol. But you were pleasantly surprised at the flavor! It tasted vaguely of wintertime. You could pick out notes of clove and cinnamon from the rum.

"Wow! König, that's delicious!" You guessed at its contents, but gave up beyond clove, cinnamon, and rum.

"There is also black tea," he offered. "But one more thing too! Try again."

Another sip confirmed his hint. There was a splash of brightness to it, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it could be. After scrunching up your face in deep thought, you finally surrendered with a shake of your head.

"It's citrus," König whispered, giving you a cute wink before reclaiming his drink. "I wasn't sure if they would make it for me or make it right. But this drink always comforts me. It tastes of my homeland."

The comment suddenly made you wonder what Austria was like. You'd never had the money or time in your schedule for international travel. But the more you got to know him, the more you wanted to see Austria for yourself at least once in your lifetime.

"I'd love to see where you grew up, where you trained.” You said, curious. “I want to see everything!"

"Well, that part is nothing fancy. I started off in JaKdo. But that was a long time ago." Seeing your confusion at the term, he clarified a bit for you. "JaKdo is short for Jagdkommando. It's our Special Forces unit. But what I'd really want to show you is the rest of the country."

"Oh? Paint me a picture."

"It is beautiful there, very peaceful.” His eyes took on a far off look as fond memories resurfaced in his mind. “A lot of green land and pretty mountains. If you ever want to visit, I'd love to show you around. There are churches, lovely music, and even castles!"

"Aw, that sounds like paradise! How could you ever leave a place like that behind?"

"Because you are my paradise now."

He said the words in a matter of fact way, like the response was the most obvious thing in the world. Though he clearly hadn’t intended it in a flirtatious manner, it still made you melt. And he was right. Being with him felt like paradise more and more each passing day.

"You want to see real beauty?" Soap said, downing the rest of his drink. "Come to Scotland. That's where the real beauty is."

"No, it is Austria," König chuckled. "I am certain."

The two squabbled playfully and Soap threw in a few rounds of "Scotland forever" just for good measure.

"Girls, don't fight. You're both pretty, okay?" Price teased. "Besides, we're here to have fun. And if my memory serves me, your girl mentioned a love of dancing."

You nodded, quickly finishing your drink and starting to slide out of the booth. As you went, you grabbed König's hand.

"Oh, um, nein," he gave you a nervous laugh. "I do not dance. There are so many people dancing already."

He anxiously eyed the jostling crowd. There was a brief flash of fear in his eyes as he tugged against your hand to convey he wanted to stay put.

"Here," Price slid his glass of bourbon across the table to König. "They don't call it liquid courage for nothing."

Alejandro did the same.

"Okay," König said, straightening his back as he slipped Price’s drink behind his hood. "I will try."

He cocked his head back before setting the empty glass down on the table.

"Attaboy!" Soap cheered as he finished off Alejandro's drink shortly afterward. "At that rate, you'll be dancing on tables in no time!"

"Sei still," König shot back with a laugh before finally making his way out of the booth behind you.

"You told me to shut up, didn't you? He told me to shut up, didn't he?"

The rest of the group rolled with laughter as the two of you walked hand in hand towards the rowdy dance floor.

You were tempted to join right in, but one glance at König’s slightly panicked eyes told you taking it slow was probably the best idea.

"Here," you said, pulling him to the edge of the crowd. "Just follow the music and follow my lead. You'll get the hang of it."

As the music smoothly transitioned to one of your favorites, you turned your back to him and let the music guide your feet. Maintaining a comforting hand hold with him, you closed your eyes and began to bounce and sway your hips with the pounding rhythm. After a moment you spun back to see how he was doing. And after what you saw, you did your absolute best not to double over in laughter.

Though you hadn't meant it literally, König was obediently following your lead to the letter. He looked down at you for reassurance as he cutely rocked his hips from side to side just like you had been. You almost didn’t want him to stop, it was just too adorable. But behind him, you saw Soap slap his knee and whip out his phone to capture the moment. Luckily, a pointed glare from you was enough to send his phone back into his pocket.

"Are you sure I'm doing this right?" He asked hesitantly.

"You're doing great, babe! But let's try something else."

Taking his hand, you led him a few steps deeper into the group. He didn't need anyone teasing him while he found his feet. His eyes went a bit wider again, and he seemed tense, but you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Don't worry, I won't let you go. I'm right here."

He gave you a nod as his dancing lesson continued.

"Okay. So this time, you leave the hip moves to me. And you stand behind me like this."

You turned, rolling your hips in a classic whine and tugging him against you from behind. Without prompting, his hands found your hips as you began grinding against him in time with the music.

For a good while, König was more than content to stay right where he was. It wasn't long until he found his footing and began to grind back a little himself. But you were caught by surprise when he grabbed you, lifting you clear off the floor as he turned you to face him.

"I think you're getting the hang of this," you giggled, continuing your dance as he moved with you. His eyes were bright but far more relaxed now. And the surrounding skin had a slight flush to it. Clearly, the alcohol had begun to work its magic. If this was only the beginning, then this was going to be a night of fun for sure.

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

[hollowsart]

I did do this tho before passing out.

Yes, I did "crudely" and quickly trace over a screenshot. Don't look at me. I was so tired. I'll probably try doing some actual real drawings of my tssm babygirl later, tho

The colors weren't picked from the screenshot, tho, completely eyed, and guessed them myself. The temptation to make him tan tho is strong. The blazer could be darker, tho..

[lotsofsq]

HEIGHT CHART!!! i love charts!!

this includes my headcanons for height, age, and appearance at the time of book 3 TPD. plus’s an eyeball close up :)

[IDs copied on alt text: four images, three are colored close ups of; the four kids, mr benedict and his older daughters, and mccracken mr curtain and sq. the fourth is a long image with sketches of all of them in a row.

first a colored drawing of the four kids, standing against lines of one foot intervals.

kate is 5’4 and 15, she is standing with her hands on her hips, coping constance who is doing the same, and is wearing a white and red striped shirt, jeans, and red sneakers. her red bucket is attached at the hip. she has long blonde hair in a high ponytail, and light skin. the closeup on her eye shows it is mirthful and a murky blue color. her eyebrows are thick but blonde.

constance is 3’6 and 5, she is also standing hands on hips but with a grumpy expression. she is wearing a yellow and red dress over blue leggings and has on red rain boots, she has a red hair clip and her globe necklace. her hair is very light and whispy and her skin is pale but rosy, the eye closeup shows her eyes are small and very light blue.

sticky is 5’1 and 14, he is standing straight and is wearing a blue sweater with a white color and white pants. his head is bald and he has circular glasses and a nervous expression, his skin is a medium brown. the close up on his eye shows that they are round and open.

reynie his 5’0 and 14, he is standing straight and is wearing a green sweater vest over a white short sleeve collared shirt, his pants are brown slacks. his hair is dark brown and his skin is tan and very freckled. the closeup of his eyes shows it is more asian looking with a monolid, his eyebrows becoming thicker at the ends.

the second drawing is of mr benedict and his eldest daughters standing against lines of one foot intervals.

Mr Benedict is 5’6 and 52, he is wearing a green plaid suit with dark lines over a lighter base, under he has on a green vest, a white collar shirt and a black tie. he has an amused expression and white wavy hair, he has on glasses and has stubble. he has light skin but it’s slightly darker than kate’s. his eye closeup shows green eyes with smile lines and deep set eyes, plus white eyebrows.

rhonda is 5’1 and 28, she is wearing a blue cardigan over a pink shirt and purple jeans. her socks are yellow in maryjane shoes. she has a cheeky expression and her hair is in long black braids, her skin is very dark brown. in her eye closeup she has thick eyebrows and prominent lower lashes.

Number Two is 6’1 and 32, she is wearing a 1920’s esc outfit, all in pencil yellow. her outfit is very boxy and the pleats on her skirt resemble the edges of a pencil. she is wearing yellow boot covers and silver necklaces, reminiscent of the metal part of the eraser. her blouse is framed like the tip of a pencil from the deep v of her blazer and the white color with a hint of black at the point. she has rusty red hair styled in finger waves and pronounced eyebags. her skin is light but with yellow undertones. her eye close up shows simply stylized eyes and thin eyebrows.

the third drawing has McCracken Mr curtain and SQ against lines of one foot intervals.

McCracken is 7’0 and 35, he is wearing an all black suit and and two watches. he is drawn with the symmetry tool which adds creepiness and has brown pushed back hair, pale blue eyes and light skin. he has no eye closeup.

Mr Curtain is 5’6 and 52, he is wearing a green plaid suit with light lines over a darker base, under he has on a green vest, a white collar shirt and a black tie. he has a grumpy expression and white slicked back hair, he is clean shaven. he has light skin but it’s slightly darker than kate’s. his eye closeup shows green eyes with furrowed eyebrows and deep set eyes, plus he is squinting.

SQ is 6’5 and 27, he is wearing a tan and orange t shirt, blue jeans and big boots. he is standing with his hands in front of himself and a pleasant expression. his hair is curly and dark brown and his skin is pale and freckled and his cheeks are rosy, he has arm hair visible, since he has short sleeves. his eye closeup shows thick eyebrows and downturned eyes with a heavy lid, they look half closed.

the long drawing has the same lines, but no coloring in. all characters are against the foot interval lines and have colored line art. both twins and reynie are in green, sticky and sq are in blue, kate and number two are in yellow, constance is in red, rhonda is in pink and mccracken is in black.]