#aka fuck that old man/woman

[lizzygrant17]

[insanegirlbloging]

im the other woman

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[comet-lover]

Usually when I see that I got DMd on tiktok I think it's some death threats towards me, but I'd argue this is worse.

Context: There was a TikTok where a woman was talking about "Daisy's destruction" case aka a video where a man and woman sexually abuse and torture a 18 months old girl (plus other 10/12 year old girls) commented about how sick this is.

Comparing proshippers/kodocons to CSEM is such a fucking reach and I'm tired of antis doing that (and using CP instead of CSEM), learn the goddamn terms before you throw them around.

[kaleldobrev]

Yes Ma’am

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Plus!Size Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, William Butcher & Annie January

Summary: Macho Man Ben never thought he’d ever take orders from a woman; but now he does so with a smile (aka Ben is whipped and he doesn’t care)

Original Request: @spncupcake | I need a Soldier Boy &/or Dean fic where reader is plus sized + gives his attitude right back to him. He only ever listens to her & agrees with her every time. Basically just a whipped little puppy. Everyone teases him, but he doesn’t care because his girl/reader is all he needs 😭 I guess kinda like he’s an asshole to everyone but her kinda vibes 🥵

Not so subtly asking if @kaleldobrev could do this ? 🥺

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Ben, Cursing (13x), Derogatory Language (by Ben), Slightly Offensive Language (by Ben), Whipped!Soldier Boy, Domestic!Ben

Authors Note: Hopefully I got everyone tagged that wanted to be. If I missed you, I'm sorry! I'm working on re-doing the way my tag list is | I hope this came out okay! ♡ | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

A Few Years Ago…

“We need someone to watch Mister Radioactive over here,” Butcher said to you and Hughie. And almost as if it was second nature, Hughie whipped out his hands into a rock, paper, scissors stance; eyes on you, because he knew for a fact that it was either going to be you or him to watch Ben.

You turned your head slightly, watching Ben drinking out of a Seven merch cup, as he watched an old movie of his on the television; scoffing every few seconds every time a member of Payback appeared on screen.

“Can’t believe these are the bozos that gave me up to the Commies. They can’t even make their fucking cues,” he scoffed, mumbling to himself.

Turning back, you looked at Hughie and placed your hand on top of his, pushing it away. “I can do it. No need for rock, paper, scissors,” you said.

Both Butcher and Hughie looked at you with slight confusion. “Really?” The two men said at the same time, exchanging glances before ultimately landing on you.

“Are you at least going to take some Temp V just in case?” Hughie asked; but Butcher didn’t seem amused by his suggestion, as he gave him a very dirty, displeased look as if to say, ‘That is the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.’ “He could kill you.”

“I doubt that he would. I mean, look at him. He’s literally just watching one of his old cheesy movies. ‘Sides, I’m the only person he remotely listens to anyway,” your tone slightly smug in nature. But your comment caused Butcher to scoff. “What?”

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t listen to anyone,” he stated, not even trying to be covert.

You raised a brow. “Oh really?” You crossed your arms and smirked. “Hey Ben? Can you turn down the volume a bit? It’s a little loud,” you said, without even looking at him.

In a matter of seconds, Butcher and Hughie watched Ben pick up the remote that was next to him on the armrest as he slowly started turning down the volume. “Better?” He asked, unfazed.

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled.

Butcher scoffed. “I’m sure he’d turn it down if me or Hughie asked him to.”

“Then why don’t you give it a try to try and prove me wrong.” Your voice was smug, and your smirk remained, as you knew for an absolute fact that Ben wouldn’t listen to either one of them.

Butcher smacked Hughie, and pointed to Ben. “Um…hey, can you…can you turn that down?” Hughie asked nervously.

“Fuck off,” was all Ben said to Hughie’s request. His comment caused Butcher to roll his eyes.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to one of us when he ain’t listenin’ to ya,” Butcher smirked.

Present Day…

“Ben?” You asked, trying your best to reach the plate from the top shelf, but it was just out of your reach.

“Yeah?” Ben asked, faintly in the distance.

“Need your help! Can’t reach!” You yelled back.

Within a few seconds you heard Ben come walking into the kitchen from behind you; a faint scoff could be heard from his lips. “You’re so fucking short,” he commented. You turned around, and glared at him; and he knew exactly what that look from you meant. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not meaning his apology whatsoever. “Now scoot,” his tone a little demanding.

You moved over, and watched him effortlessly reach the plate from the top shelf, handing it to you with the biggest smirk on his face. As you went to reach for the plate, he snatched it quickly away. “What do you say?” He smirked; his comment causing your eyes to roll.

“Thank you,” you said, your tone matching his sorry. Again, you reached for the plate, and yet, he still kept it from your reach. “Oh, how could I ever forget!?” Your voice now sarcastic, with a mix of annoyance. You went onto your tippy toes to the best of your ability, and he leaned down a bit to reach your lips, where you were able to give him a quick peck.

“That’s better,” he winked, handing you the plate.

“Remember, Annie and Hughie are coming over later,” you reminded. You didn’t have to look in Ben’s direction to know how much he hated the idea of the two of them coming over. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun for you, torture for me,” he said, walking back into the living room and plopping onto the couch.

“They aren’t that bad Ben,” you said as you went to lean in the doorway that was between the kitchen and the living room. “‘Sides, I thought the three of you were finally finding some common ground?”

Ben scoffed. “Common ground my ass,” he mumbled. “I hate them, and they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you Ben, you just think that they do,” you tried to reassure. And your reassurance was genuine as you knew that neither Annie or Hughie hated Ben. Yes, maybe they disliked him a bit cause he was still a Grade A asshole to anyone but you, but they do what friends do and have supported yours and Ben’s relationship because they know how happy not only you are, but Ben is even if he didn’t show it in front of them.

Ben didn’t even answer you, he just simply scoffed again. “Can you still do the ribs for tonight please? I mean I can do the grill, but I much prefer when you make them,” you said sweetly.

Ben rolled his eyes, sighing. “Yes, I can still do the fucking ribs.”

A Few Hours Later…

“Are you sure that it’s too late to cancel?” Hughie asked, as him and Annie shut their car doors at the exact same time.

“Yes, we promised Y/N weeks ago that we’d come over,” Annie said. “Besides, I even made my Nana’s pecan pie for the occasion because Y/N mentioned that Ben likes it.”

“If you’re hoping for brownie points with Solider Boy, I’m not sure pie is going to do it. Maybe we should have brought some expired Aspirin or coke from CIA lockup,” Hughie said half joking.

“Very funny,” Annie said very unamused by her fiancés comment. “I’m sure tonight won’t be that bad.”

“At least one of us is positive,” Hughie replied.

There was a knock at the door, and your face lit up with excitement. “Ben? Can you grab the door please? I’m taking the pie out of the oven!” You called out as you started opening up the oven door.

“Sure thing!” Ben called out in a weirdly good mood sounding voice that threw you off. Yes you’ve heard him in a good mood before (he’s basically always in a good mood whenever you were around), but you were surprised just now because Annie and Hughie weren’t particularly his favorite people (or so he says). But you shrugged it off, happy that maybe he changed his mind about them.

As soon as Ben opened the door, his once calm and cheerful mood diminished once he saw Annie and Hughie at the door. “Lite Brite. Pussy. Welcome,” Ben said, in the most monotone voice he could muster up.

“I brought my Nana’s pecan pie,” Annie smiled, showing Ben the foil wrapped container. “Heard it was your favorite.”

“Y/N already made one,” Ben scoffed. Annie lowered the container in a kind of defeated way before she looked over at Hughie.

“Thanks for having us.” Hughie tried his best to sound genuine, but he knew that Ben would be able to hear right through it.

“If it were up to me, neither one of you would be here.” Ben’s tone continued to be monotone.

“I’m gonna go see if Y/N needs any help,” Annie offered. But before she could even enter the doorway, Ben stopped her, and took the pie from her hands, giving her a small nod. Was that…approval? Annie thought. No, I must be delusional, she thought again.

As Annie managed to get past Ben after her pie was taken from her, it was Hughie’s turn to try and get inside, but Ben blocked the way. “Sorry, I don’t have a pie to offer you,” Hughie chuckled.

Ben fake laughed, and placed his hand on Hughie’s shoulder. “No problem, pal,” emphasizing the word as he gave his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Ow,” Hughie mumbled.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled, before letting Hughie come into the house.

“So, what did he call you two this time?” You asked, grabbing two white claws from the fridge for you and Annie.

“Lite Brite and Pussy,” she slightly chuckled. “Not really creative.”

“Ben’s not really the creative type,” you laughed back.

“So, tell me, have you and Hughie set a wedding date yet?” You asked, and Annie smiled.

“So, we haven’t set a wedding date yet,” Hughie said, his voice nervous as he watched Ben start flipping through channels trying to find something to watch.

“And why the fuck are you telling me?” Ben asked, finally deciding on a hockey game to watch.

“I uh, I figured Y/N mentioned it to you,” his voice still nervous.

“She did,” was all Ben said, taking a sip of beer.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like talking to a brick wall,” Hughie mumbled to himself. “I’m gonna go see Y/N and Annie.”

“Alright lady boy,” Ben mumbled not so subtly.

“I’m O for two,” Hughie said as he walked into the kitchen where you and Annie were.

“What was the other one?” You asked.

“Lady Boy,” Hughie said, his voice weirdly calm.

“Well, that’s a new one,” you remarked, taking a sip of your white claw. “Ben?”

“What?” Ben asked, clearly annoyed.

“Did you call Hughie, Lady Boy?” You asked.

“Yeah, what about it? Is he crying about it already?” Ben asked, still unfazed; but you could hear a slight smirk on his lips.

“No, was just wondering,” you said.

That’s when Ben sighed. Because the only reason he knew you were asking, was because he somehow did or said something he wasn’t supposed to. But it wasn’t his fault that his girlfriend’s friend always took things the wrong way and didn’t have a sense of humor. “Sorry Puss—Hughie,” Ben said, saying Hughie’s name through gritted teeth.

After Ben apologized (fakely), you turned your attention back to Hughie. “I think that’s the best one you’re gonna get.”

“Pain in my fucking ass,” Ben mumbled.

“What did you say?” You asked, although you heard him loud and clear, as his mumbling and whispering really weren’t low.

“I said, you’re a pain in my fucking ass,” Ben said at normal volume.

You cleared your throat before you spoke. “Come again?” Your tone in full sass mode.

“Fucking Christ,” he mumbled. “I said I love you.”

“I love you too!” You smirked, finishing your white claw.

“Butcher was right. Soldier Boy really is whipped,” Hughie said with slight amusement in his voice.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ben asked, his tone aggressive as he looked over at Hughie. Hughie’s demeanor now changed, and it resembled that of a scared puppy.

“N-nothing. I said nothing,” he answered quickly and nervously.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Ben smirked, giving him a quick nod before looking back at the hockey game. “Four and zero, fucking unbelievable.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong. I really do have him wrapped around my finger,” you whispered to Hughie, even though you knew Ben was still able to hear you.

Tagging: @spncupcake | @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx | @pleasantlycrazyworld | @pichipachini | @deanwinchestersgirl8734 | @deanbrainrotwritings | @rachiem4-blog | @syrma-sensei | @justletmereadfanfic | @deans-daydream | @midorimachisenpaii | @anamiad00msday | @beansproutmafia | @uncle-eggy | @zombie-freak | @queenie32 | @grx-deanslovr | @livingordeadwhoknows | @ficmesideways | @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden | @the-achievementhunter | @k-slla | @mrlonelycat | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @ladysparkles78 | @jackles010378 | @zepskies | @roseblue373 | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @globetrotter28 | @missscarlettangel | @foxyjwls007 | @nancymcl | @jacklesbrainworms |

If I missed you, my apologies! I was either not able to tag you because the tumblr username is no longer the one you use when you submitted a tag form, or you do not have your mentions on. Please make sure you’re able to be tagged so you don’t miss anything you’d like to be tagged on! 💙 I also in the process of re-doing my tag list, so stay tuned for that!

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

NATIONAL ANTHEM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Rich! Peter x Country Club! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You work at the local country club as a barcart girl and you run into your crush, aka the son of the richest man in town-Peter Parker. Simple flirting becomes something... more.

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing, drinking :)

i'm your national anthem, god, you're so handsome- take me to the hamptons, bugatti veyron... he loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon -national anthem, lana del rey

Money is the anthem, of success- so before we go out- what’s your address? You hummed along to the sweet melody as it trickled out of the old stereo from your cart, speakers crackling slightly.

It was a hot summers day, you felt a little bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck as you breathed in the fresh air, smelling of fresh cut grass and fancy colone. It was days like this when you were most busy on the golf course, barley able to squeeze in a lunch break before someone came up to you, begging for a whisky sour.

But today you had tucked yourself away in a little hidden spot, a perfect view of scenery, the green hills stretching on for miles.

Sipping on a sweet ice tea from your straw you fiddled with, you watched as Peter Parker braced himself before swinging, club hitting the ball with a clean wack! before thudding down near the hole.

The wind rustled the flag and the fabric of his polo shirt, hair ruffled under his baseball cap.

You tried not to stare but it was impossible.

The way he smiled was intoxicating, and the way he laughed at his friends jokes… god you hoped to make him laugh like that someday.

Though he was almost four years older, the two of you had met during your freshman year of university. You weren’t close, but you werent strangers either. The odd hello was said, a smile and a passing glance in the library from his books.

Now you were practically about to graduate and he was working on his masters, his school out of state. He was home for the summer though, which was nice.

It just meant you could possibly serve him, which also made you anxious beyond belief because that meant you had to talk to him again. You took a bigger sip until you heard the straw suck up the bottom of the glass and the melting ice to ease your butterflies.

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck- I said can we party later on he said yes, yes, yes!

Another deep breath.

He walked in your general direction, but you doubted he could see you. You prayed the low hanging branches covered you, or at least your face. You tried to look out at the rolling hills in the distance, admiring the scenery.

It was very out of your element, but you couldn’t deny the fact it was beautiful here. The ever so fancy country club estate glimmered in the sun, tall hedges trimmed to perfection with roses blooming in the gardens.

You could just see the tall fountain spilling water down, next to the tennis court. Sometimes you worked the bar there, or handed out water and towels, but you preferred being a cart girl.

It made your life much more interesting, to drive around and to see more people. Today you got to see your favourite person.

And apparently he got to see you.

The branches rustled and got pulled to the side, a buff, 6’4 man staring down at you. “Hey sorry, am I bothering you?”

You almost choked on your straw as you bite down on it. “No, no sorry I was just on my break. But how can I help you?”

“Oh shit my bad, I’ll leave you to it-“ He went to turn away, then stopped. Whipped back around.

“Wait- Y/N? Is that you?” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah hey Peter.” you smiled.

“Jeez it’s been a while! I missed seeing you around. How’s life been?”

He missed you?! No, he missed seeing you. That’s different. Get a fucking grip woman.

“I missed you too! Or- wait erm… It’s been good! How’s life at Warner?”

His eyes brightened as you stumbled over your words, pleased you remembered where he was.

“It’s good. Super good. Lots of sunshine, and I’ve made some friends.”

“Not failing anything I hope?” you teased and he laughed.

“No, no I would never. But it’s good to be home for the summer. How’s your program going?” he asked, taking off his hat to run a hand through his messy hair, slicking it back from falling back into his eyes.

You tried not to stare at his arms but it was deemed impossible. His shirt fit him so well, his biceps strained in the fabric as they curled, and you could see whispers of a tattoo on his one arm. Jesus Christ.

“Super good. Almost finished, actually. Not sure what’s next, but working here has helped pay for most of it.”

“That’s awesome, you should be so proud. You’re a hard worker Y/N, seriously. You’ve always been.”

You almost melted at his praise, sinking deep into your seat as your tennis skirt fanned out across your thighs. There was no way he didn’t know about the effect he had on you. He had to know he drove you crazy.

“Thank you so much Peter. It means a lot coming from you.” You beamed.

“Awh shucks. Well anyways, I just came because I saw a cart over here and was going to snag a drink, but if you’re on break I won’t bother you.”

“No, no don’t be silly. What can I get you?” you scrambled up, popping open your cooler filled with ice and drinks. “You’re sure?” he asked, standing closer to you, to see what you had.

You squirmed, shivering even though there was no breeze. “Of course. I’m practically done it anyways. Happy to help.” you smiled, trying your very best to be professional and not look at him like you wanted to rip his clothes off at this very second.

“Just a Heineken please doll.” The pet name was going to make you spirial. Jesus. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I’m easy like that.” You grabbed a cup, scooping ice before pouring the chilled beer. “Here. It’s on the house.” you handed it to him, setting down the empty glass. He shook his head, fishing into his pocket.

“Don’t be silly. Here-“ he handed you a hundred and your eyes widened in surprise and shock.

“For your troubles.” he smirked. “Peter- I can’t, I can’t take this.”

“Then take this too.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper, crumped as if it had been in his pocket for some time. You opened it, revealing his phone number in fancy writing- the cursive that reminded you of your grandmothers. A little smiley face was printed next to it, which you mirrored back.

“Have you just had this in your pocket in case you bump into a girl?” you asked, laughing.

“I found out you worked here and I wrote it down, waiting until I had an excuse to bump into you. Now I have one.” he winked, lifted his glass in a cheers motion before turning around, emerging from the forest to jog up to his friends.

You watched him in disbelief, jaw slack on the ground. You fought to pick it back up, trying to not crumple the paper anymore as you held onto it for dear life. A wave of giddiness washed over you, your body hot to the touch, head spinning. Clutching the paper to your chest, you sighed.

Simply hoping something would actually come out of this.

For once in your life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Something was coming out of this. Key word, was. Lines were blurred, and you weren’t sure if it was currently happening, could’ve happened, or had happened.

It had been a week since the original occurrence, when he had you nearly swooning and begging at his feet. Each day was a little game the two of you played, who could spy on each other first.

It had you picking up extra shifts, just to possibly see him that day, or for longer. The past few days you had worked at the bar by the tennis court, watching the ball bounce back and forth until a familiar face found his way to your bar, despite the fact he was on the opposite side of the property, and had bar carts at his disposal.

It made you feel like a teenage girl again, kicking your feet at the slightest interaction. If he wasn’t at your bar, he had found time to walk past your station (which was always very much out of his way), just to give a little wave, or to check up on you.

A few little texts had been exchanged, nothing more then simple, harmless flirting. That’s what you were telling yourself, and that was the story you were sticking to. Nothing more then that. So whenever he came over to fiddle with the straws, or suck the lemon wedge dry without making a face just to prove he could, you smooshed the feelings of need deep down, as much as you could.

Today was no different.

It was hot, one of the hottest days of the summer. You fanned yourself with a clipboard, thankful for the first time you were working in the bar by the tennis court, where it was air conditioned.

You didn’t understand how people could continue to play as if their life depended on it in the hot, beating sun. It was torturous to watch. You were extremely busy, barley getting a moment to sit down and rest your poor, aching feet- dozens of people swarming the bar for a cool drink.

Ice had to be refilled two times already, and you presumed it would be another two times before your shift was over.

“Busy there eh?” a familiar voice called from across the counter, and for the first time all day you were genuinely happy to serve someone.

“You again! It’s almost like you’re stalking me, or something.” you teased, quickly dropping everything you were doing to go over to see him.

“Something like that. Hey listen, I have a question to ask you.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it, I swear. The cops have nothing on me.” His eyes widened in mock surpise and his hands went up in surrender.

“Woah. Jeez, I’ll let them know. I have no idea how you found out I was working for them but I guess my disguise is shit.”

“It is shit. I’ve been keeping tabs on you to give you tips on how to be more discreet.” He laughed, swatting you with a straw he grabbed.

“No seriously, my parents are out of town and I was going to throw a party, but I won’t unless you come to it.”

“Well shit, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re basing this whole thing on me going, so if I don’t go everyone will be disappointed at me for cancelling it?” you teased, grabbing the ingredients to make his usual.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I don’t mean it like that. But I’d like you to come, it wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

“I don’t really socialize, so I’m sure no one would miss me. Plus, no one knows me.”

“I know you. And I would miss you, and you’re the only person I care about in terms of showing up.”

You smiled softly as his confession, trying to play it cool despite the fact your stomach was currently doing cartwheels. You didn’t even know if you were making his drink right, you prayed muscle memory would save you this time.

“You’d miss me? You just wanna talk to me more, do you like me or something?”

“Or something.” he smirked, smacking a twenty on the table, and you didn’t even bother to give him back his change. He refused to accept it back, you had already tried.

“Thanks for the drink sweetcheeks. It’s on Friday, and if you don’t show I’m gonna call the whole thing off, mid party and then everyone’s gonna be pissed at you.”

“Or at you for making up that stupid rule.” you snarked, sliding him over his glass, and grabbing a clean towel to wipe down your space. You could already feel two peoples eyes on you, waiting for a drink. They could wait a little longer.

“Show up then.” he shrugged. “But wait, I don’t even have your address-“ you called after him as he walked towards the exit, back towards to the heat and blinding sun. He waved his phone, without even looking back.

“Good thing we have these then eh sweets?”

“Smartass.” you grumbled under your breath as his laughed, and you watched the door swing behind him as you were stuck behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” you asked the stranger sitting near you, wishing more then anything it was Peter still there instead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He was massive. Wait no- sorry, his house was massive. (Did you seriously think you’d jump the gun that quickly? Get over yourself).

You stared up at it as you emerged from your car, so out of place in this fancy establishment. He lived not only in a gated community but his property was privately gated as well.

Didn’t shock you.

You knew his family was rich, but jesus you didn’t know this rich. Dozens of cars were parked, all range rovers and catialcs as you locked your simple looking black civic.

Oh well. He invited me after all.

You belonged here. You were allowed to be here, no matter how many second thoughts you had looking at the fancy fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn and ferns, a perfect cone shape as they lead up to the massive pillars and white staircase.

You had dealt with snobby rich people before at your job, and you could do it again. Not that Peter was snobby in any way. If anything, he was one of the only ones you knew who was humble and down to earth. Hopefully his friends would be the same.

You smoothed out your mini dress, attempting to get rid of the wrinkles. Nervous, you figited with the pearls on your neck, listening to your heels clack on the pavement before you found yourself up the stairs.

You heard music, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected. No thumping floors or shaking walls, and you couldn’t see any flashing lights. You weren’t even sure what you expected. But it certainly wasn’t this. This seemed oddly calm. You could still clearly hear the cicadas as they chirped outside under the stars.

You lifted your hand to knock, and the double doors swung open as your hand was mid air, mouth opening in confusion.

“You’re not Peter.”

“So you’re observant too. You’re prettier then he described you. He’s been watching out the window for you like he’s on guard duty.”

“Bucky stop flirting with my girl!” a voice called from the other room, and you watched as Peter emerged from the other room, jogging over to you with a smile.

My girl? You fought a smile, trying to pretend his words meant nothing but you lost. Bad.

“Hi. Sorry I was just-“

“Waiting for me. I heard from your friend here. It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” you nodded, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a lighter of light pink.

“Likewise. Go into greater detail next time Parker.”

“No, because then you dicks will try to steal her.”

Bucky laughed, walking back in the direction Peter came from, which you assumed was where the main party was. You looked around, surveying the massive foyer- tall pillars also inside, bright chandeliers glistening over the towering staircase.

It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire the mural on the ceiling, mimicking a Renaissance style piece.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look beautiful, by the way. I mean you always do- but you look amazing now. Sorry I’m not sure why I’m rambling, I just smoked a joint and I’m nervous.” he trailed on and you laughed, reaching up to touch his bicep in reassurance.

You weren’t sure where the confidence came from, but you were happy about it. His skin was soft and warm, and he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t be nervous. If anything, I’m nervous. This is your party! And it’s so- wow.” you breathed, looking up again at the fresco.

“Everyone’s so excited to meet you. You’ve already met Bucky, I see.”

You giggled. “Hopefully they all like me. Are they friends from school?”

“Some from school, some from home, some from the country club.”

“Ah I see. So a wide variety.”

“Something like that.” he smirked, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards a mysterious hallway. The hand placement. Oh my god the hand placement. You savoured his touch as he guided you, looking up at him despite wearing heels.

Somehow he still towered over you. It made you feel things.

You heard bustle from the room he was guiding you towards, the sound of music leading you onwards. Dozens of people mingled around what looked like a game room. Some lounged on leather couches with drinks in their hands, others playing a round of pool.

You saw Bucky and some others with a deck of cards, others at the bar top. It was spacious, detailed wood panels across the ceiling, with soft lights mounted on the walls, creating a glow. You admired the dozens of paintings perched on the walls, staring at Peter in amazement.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Thanks.” he smiled, taking it in with you, as if he didn’t see this every day. It made you like him even more somehow, if that was possible.

“Hey everyone this is Y/N. Party is no longer threatened to get cancelled. You’re welcome.” he called out, and everyone cheered.

“To Y/N” Bucky called out in toast, raising his glass. They didn’t even use solo cups. This shit was fancy as fuck.

You laughed, waving to everyone before Peter pulled you aside, the music picking up its tempo as the chatter resumed. “Can I get you a drink? For once?” he asked, and you nodded- following him over to the bar.

“It’s nice to see you behind the counter for once.” you smirked, giggling as he whipped a towel over his shoulder like a real bartender. “What do you mean for once? I will let you know that I am the most prestigious bartender in France. They don’t even call me a bartender, the call me “tender of the bar” " he drawled.

“Just a cider please. I’m easy like that.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank god. I don’t know how to make anything but a whisky sour.”

“Hey, that's a start!” you smiled, watching as he grabbed a chilled glass and slid ice in it, before pouring your drink from the can. “Madame.”

“Thank you, monsior. Mmmm fantastic. You should work with me!” He snorted, throwing the towel down. “They would fire me before I could pick up a glass. You’re too talented, you'd outshine me. You already do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Silly is my middle name.”

“I thought handsome was your middle name?”

“Alright woah now-“

----------------------------------------------------------------- A few hours had passed, and the night was still young. You were drunk, a little- and your shoes had come off. You didn’t know where they went, or where your phone was, or why you were outside with Peter.

But you were outside with Peter. And it was nice.

The air was chill against your skin, but not cold enough you had goosebumps. It was soft against your flushed skin from the alcohol, and you savoured the breeze as it fluttered your dress. Everyone was still inside, but you needed a breather.

You could see the lights shinning brightly from here, where you were on the pool deck. Because of course he had a pool. He also had a tennis court, a golf course, and an indoor pool. No surprises there.

You heard the sliding glass door open and shut, Peter emerging with glasses of water in hand. “I figured you’d want this.” he said, walking over to you with a grin, and a fluster on his cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” you sighed, the water trickling down your hand as you grabbed the ice cold glass, taking a long chug. It cleared your head as it slithered down your throat, relieving your thirst.

“So, is it okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Here. This. Me.”

You stared at him, cocking your head in interest, attempting to study him. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching as he grabbed your empty glass, setting it down beside you.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid up, cupping your cheek- thumb brushing your skin making you shiver. Your nipples hardened under his touch- or the chill, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that his eyes were burning holes into yours with the utmost lust you thought you’d simply combust.

“Is it okay if I touch you here doll?”

You nodded.

“What do you want Y/N? Do you want this?” he asked, voice practically begging. The music from the party thudded off the windows, lyrics slipping through the cracks under the doors to echo into your ears.

I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body hold you like a python, and you can’t keep your hands off me or your pants on, see whatcha done to me, King of Chevron…

“I want this. I want it all.” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, inching closer and closer to your lips.

Wait- what?

“Ye-” you let out a scream as you felt the world tilt under your feet, tumbling backwards into the hands of a strong man holding your waist. A splash erupted, the world turning a murky dark blue as the music muffled. The water was surprisingly warm as you gasped for air, frantically reaching out for Peter to hold.

He was even warmer than the water despite the cool air, and he laughed as you clung to him, wrapping your legs around his torso, dress hunched up as it stuck to your body like a second skin.

You became very much aware of how his shirt did the same, except it was white, and you could see the perfect outline of his abs and his arm tats.

“Peter what the fuck?!” you shrieked, cut off as his lips crashed to yours, engulfing you with heat and a tenderness you’ve never felt before.

His lips were like pillows as they caressed yours, hands squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist as he tugged you closer and closer, until your breaths had merged and you had practically become one.

Hands flew up to his hair, tugging on the wet strands as he begged for more, and more- teeth clashing, tongues begging for entrance before they slipped in.

You couldn’t help but moan, breathing harder as his squeezed your ass hard enough to bruise, unleashing whatever restraint he had been holding. You moaned again and he had to pull away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard as he watched your mascara smudge and trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N fuck- if you keep moaning like that… I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you asked innocently, shivering.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not go past this, but if you keep doing that I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke a stray strand of water from your cheek, kissing each one.

“That’s okay.” you smiled, grinding your hips against his, rubbing against him as he moaned.

“Jesus christ baby. Fuck.”

You giggled, feeling his very prominent bulge through his pants. You grabbed his chin, lips melting against his once more, just to get a taste of him. You were addicted- heart thudding in your chest, blood turning to molten lava in your veins.

It was like his lips were coated in honey, so sweet you practically licked them. “You’re just so sweet.” you sighed into his lips, kissing him harder. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted, the sound of a sliding glass door opening.

“You guys almost done out here?” Bucky called out, Peter's head whipping to him in annoyance.

“ What do you want?!” he called out, exasperated. “Steve and I wanna swim. Unless you guys want us to join you, I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many complaints on this end.” Bucky smirked, winking at you.

What a goddamn flirt. You couldn’t help but smile back, even if he had just interrupted the best experience of your entire life.

“We’ll be out in a minute Bucky- calm down.”

“No need!” a voice called from the house, to which Steve ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing you.

Peter sighed, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I am so sorry about them. This is not as romantic as I had hoped in the slightest.”

“What are you talking about? This is totally romantic. The drenched rat look I’m wearing is what the movies had envisioned.”

He laughed, kissing your forehead with a quick peck, before Bucky jumped in right after. “The most beautiful drenched rat I’ve ever seen. I promise you, we’ll have time for this again.”

“Many times?” you asked flirtatiously, and he nodded.

”Many times.”

“Good. Now, I suppose we should all play mermaids now. What powers do you wanna have?”

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

we adjusted my medication two weeks ago so the doctor was like "you might still get one more period bc there might be an ovulation in progress, but after tHAt we should really see an end to the periods"

and now 2 weeks on. when i'm getting a slight increase in the menopause symptoms after they finally started petering out....... guess fucking why?

yep. winter is coming.✌🏽🤪

the frequency of the nausea that i'm getting with this endo treatment is so irritating

and the head and muscle aches just keep returning when i think they're finally over

aaand now i've had 2 days of fucking cramps. i've been taking estrogen blockers for nearly 3 months !!!!!!!! i should not be getting fucking cramps anymore !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[rosewaterandivy]

answer July— ah, said July—

summary: from Summersong Request-athon, inspired by "July, July!" as requested by marvelous Meg aka @courtingchaos 💜 || The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

w.c.: 4700

pairing: e.m. x f!reader

themes: prosaic summer feels, the ephemeral nature of time, processing trauma, mention of previous bodily harm & its aftermath, insecurities and the like, body worship

a/n: long time, no see my fellow fiends. did i let this run away from me? maybe. do i care? not a wit! thanks for tagging along with the team, aka let eddie have a nice, normal summer for once - hope you enjoy! title from "Answer July" by Emily Dickinson.

Summer slipped by syrupy slow, lingering around the edges. All honey-coated and sweet, so much so in fact, that it struck one Eddie Munson as rather strange.

Granted, his spring had been touch and go what with being the town pariah and nearly bleeding his ever-loving guts out in the Upside Down and all. So maybe a slow uneventful summer was well-warranted after all of that.

May sprinted past with its final school bells ringing and a quick dash across the stage at graduation to snatch a diploma from Higgins before the school board could think better of it. He hastily threw together a quick campaign to welcome Will Byers back to town and only somewhat regretfully passed the mantle of Hellfire over to Henderson.

He got himself a job, nothing to write home about, but certainly something to pass the time and get him out of the house. Wayne insisted Eddie didn’t need to work and Eddie said the same for him, the never-ending cycle rearing its head once more.

The government hush money was, after all, nothing if not generous.

Still, he felt ill at ease in the new house. Liable to crawl out of his skin at times.

Besides, if it weren’t for the job, he’d have never set his sorry sights on the newbie behind the counter at the soda fountain.

Yes, of fucking course Hawkins, Indiana had an old-fashioned soda shop pharmacy combo.

Which did nothing to help his sweet tooth.

So, on the days he happened to close the record store, Eddie would peer across the street searching for a familiar head of hair, usually swept up onto a bun or ponytail by day’s end, and a smile that could melt the cockles of his cold, black heart.

The bell chimed as you rung up a sale for a customer at the register, the cash drawer grazing a bit of skin at your hip as you turned.

“Be with you in a sec!”

Eddie settled himself on a well-worn stool and drummed his fingers along the polished counter. He watched as you counted change for one of the old biddies who all but forced casserole down the throats of the Munson men after he’d been discharged from the hospital.

She thanks you and shoves a dollar in the tip jar as she makes to leave.

“Looking lovely as ever Pearl,” A low familiar voice says.

“Oh, you sweet talker,” The older woman swats at Munson still perched on his stool. She tsks and tugs at a lock of hair that’s fallen from where he’d tied it back in frustration. “One of these days I’ll come at you with my scissors, young man.”

Eddie sighs dramatically and swivels on the stool as she reaches the door, “Promises, promises. And yet…”

Pearl pushes the door open and says with a wink, “You’ll never see me coming.”

The door falls shut behind her, allowing him to return his attention to you behind the counter.

At the far end of the shop, you’re hefting open freezer doors and scooping out near perfect spheres of ice cream onto sugar and waffle cones, scoffing when someone requests a cup instead.

He’s surprised to see no one else behind the counter, there’s usually at least one person to man the counter with during the busier hours, the after dinner rush.

The door keeps chiming as people join the line, eyeing the offerings— campfire marshmallow, french toast, vanilla, strawberry, rainbow sherbert— the list goes on and on. Some lean over and whisper to their dates, earning a tittering giggle here and there. Sticky hands of children smack against the glass pointing out their selection as you shove another scoop onto a towering waffle cone.

And it’s then that Eddie decides he’s had quite enough of this.

Tossing his bag behind the counter and hopping over it, all long limbs and pointy elbows. His knees pop slightly as he passes behind you to grab a scoop from the water trough.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh, helping out?”

And without another word, he turns to the next customer and takes their order, only stepping on the toes of your Keds once or twice before locating the correct flavor.

“God,” He mutters under his breath, the tendons of his forearm prominent as he scoops a glob of pink cotton candy ice cream onto a sugar cone. “People actually like this crap?”

You merely shrug in response before sliding the freezer door shut and opening the next. It goes like this for nearly half and hour before Vickie stumbles in from the service entrance, her cheeks tinged pink and accompanied by a dazed look in her eye.

“Sorry, sorry!” She frantically apologizes, clocking in with her punch card.

Tying on an apron, which Eddie never bothered to do, she greets the customers at the till and rings them up while you make what could very well be the hundredth shake ordered that day, the mixer revving loudly over your retort.

“I’ll allow it,” You turn with a knowing smirk to Vickie, “But you owe me big time, Little Red.”

“Details?” She squeaks.

“Oh, that and more Vic,” You laugh as the machine whirs to a stop.

Deftly, you pour the shake into a cup and shake the canister of whipped cream vigorously. Eddie tries and fails to hide the blush coloring his cheeks as your shirt rides up with the motion. The ‘JERK’ emblazoned on your chest pulling taut against the swell of your breasts from the movement.

He nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Shit,” He rasps as his throat pulls tight.

Passing the shake over with a polite smile to a customer, you thump him forcefully on the back.

Which would be all well and good, if not for the fact that he wasn’t expecting it, and, as a result, falls bodily into your chest, legs tangling with yours, and takes the pair of you down to the mat behind the counter.

“Ow.”

Peering open an eye, he finds Vickie, arms crossed and toe tapping the tile floor, looking down at the both of you with a bemused pull of her lips.

“See, this is why it’s employees only behind the counter,” You say with a grunt as you peel yourself from the floor. “You’re not OSHA certified, Munson.”

Eddie digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, hoping that maybe he can just sink into the floor and forget this ever happened.

Because you’re warm, what with having worked up a sweat manning the counter single-handedly and your legs are nice; too nice maybe, with the way his heart is kicking up in his chest, to say nothing of what’s kicking up in his pants.

“Sorry,” He sighs, coming to a seated position. “Are you okay?”

Dusting your hands against the denim cutoffs you’re sporting, you turn and give him a smile. “Never better.”

Legs still tangled, you unwind your limbs from his, crisp white Keds knocking against scuffed Reeboks. He takes the hand you offer and allows himself to be pulled up, only to be greeted by six beatific smiles and less than subtle winks or nods.

“Sooooo,” Dustin drawls, fingers drumming against the glass of the freezer, “Fun trip?”

The ensuing laughter and taunts from what was formerly his favorite group of high schoolers, is enough to make Eddie miss the solitude of Reefer Rick’s cabin.

_

If May was a sprint, then June was a dive into cool water.

Rope swings lassoed around tree branches, splashing into a placid lake from great heights. Blankets spread on rocks and grass for makeshift picnics. The hum of cicadas as lips wrapped around lifted bottles of booze from the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.

Nearly a month gone and Eddie still hadn’t worked up the courage.

Which is how he found himself perched on rock formation that bordered Lover’s Lake with the boys— Harrington, Byers, and Argyle— playing barely tipsy lifeguard as you swam circles around Nancy, Robin, and Vickie. The latter two had somehow wound themselves into a Gordian Knot of limbs and had earned an eagle-eyed glare from one former captain of the swim team.

“Go to the shallows!” Steve called out, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his feet. “No, Rob,” He huffed and stood up, “You gotta use your arms, like this!” He demonstrated with a perfect backstroke that Robin seemed woefully unequipped to replicate.

“What?!”

Robin’s befuddled call echoed against the rocks lining the shore and spurned Steve into action.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, passing the bottle off to Eddie. “Stay there ya dingus!”

Steve’s body elegantly cut into the water and he surfaced to a smattering of applause from those still perched on the rock.

“Good form, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Eddie decreed before taking long pull from the bottle.

“Now way man,” Argyle piped up, “That’s at least a 9.The way he slipped into the water like that? Some top tier stuff right there.”

He elbowed Jonathan who was preoccupied with blowing rings from his joint.

“Huh? Oh, uh. 5?”

Steve merely rolled his eyes and swam toward Robin and Vickie, who where no closer to shore now than they were when this whole charade began.

“You’re shitting me dude. A 5 out of 10?”

“Oh, fuck.” Jonathan completed one rather slow blink in Eddie’s direction. “I thought it was like, out of five. My bad.”

Argyle called out the new score from the judges to Steve, who had his hands full with Robin and Vickie’s frantically kicking and thrashing limbs, so much so, that he was rather relieved when you swam up beside him to help.

Eddie placed the bottle between his feet and leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the night sky.

Stars littered the inky blue like so many twinkling lights. A few lightning bugs buzzed further along the edge of the wood, a soft yellow glow to guide through the dark. The lake grew calm again, small lapping waves skirting the shore as distant voices grew closer.

“Hey man,” Argyle nudged Eddie’s shoulder with his, knocking him from his reverie. “How’s our favorite soda jerk?”

He smiled despite himself, “She’s fine, I guess.”

“Hmm. And Operation Meatball?”

Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, “Henderson got to you too, I see. That kid needs to get a hobby.”

Dustin, and the rest of his band of hellions, had gotten it into their heads that Eddie and you were destined to be. Had an entire notebook dedicated to plans and named the whole endeavor after a scene from Lady and the Tramp, which Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to protest.

“I dunno dude,” Argyle shrugged, “She’s schmokin and I may have seen her eye you a time or two.”

He was glad for the cover of night, because his face felt positively on fire.

“You know, if you’d—” Argyle began, only to get cut off by the sound of approaching footfalls.

“Hey guys,” You greeted, stepping onto the rock and dripping water onto Eddie’s arm. “Oh, shit, sorry Ed!” You take a step back and grab a towel from a nearby bag. Tying your hair up in the striped towel, you settle back at his side. “Ooh, got any more of that?”

He follows your eyes to the bottle at his feet, and stretches to grab it. Your damp fingers brush his along the neck of the bottle, and he, impossibly, blushes all the more.

“S’all yours.”

“Much obliged,” You say with a nod toward him.

Your lips wrap around the bottle, and Eddie can’t help but watch a rivulet of water trickle its way down your throat. His fingers itch to chase it, his tongue longs to taste it.

Jonathan deploys a well-timed cough and pointed glance in Eddie’s direction to excuse himself and Argyle.

“Catch you later chica,” Argyle promises with a grasp to your shoulder, “Lemme know when that horchata flavor comes in!”

You promise to do so with a laugh and a wave, before turning your attention back to the water. Eddie sits at your side, quiet, save for the movemnt of his fingers as he fiddles with his rings. There’s a few sounds from Steve dutifully pouring Robin and Vickie into the BMW while conferring with Nancy as she wrangles Jonathan and Argyle into the station wagon.

“You good?”

Turning at the sound of Nancy’s voice, Eddie can see your mouth pull into a smile, the white of your teeth bringing to mind a cheshire cat. Your elbow knocks into his as you duck toward him conspiratorially.

“Whaddya say, Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Lightning bugs float around your damp hair that’s fallen from its turban, water slick waves drying slowly in the summer heat. A halo blurry gold around your head, Eddie loses all faculty of language, lost in the soft glow cast against your sun warmed skin.

“Take me home?”

He merely nods in response, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m good!” You call back to Nancy and take another pull from the bottle.

“Call me when you’re home!”

The sound of car engines turning over fills the air, tires crunching over gravel and dried pine needles littering the forest floor. The heat of the day quickly dissipates, replaced with a soft breeze that alleviates a bit of the humidity. And it’s quiet on the shore, save for the clinking of the bottle as you take sips every so often.

For all his gregarious and dramatic antics, truth be told, Eddie didn’t quite know how to simply be. At least, not since spring break with the nearly dying and all of that. He’d returned to the land of the living a little more somber, recovering in the hospital between hushed tones from doctors and nurses, louder exclamations from Henderson and his brood, the comforting weight of Wayne’s hand at his shoulder.

Sure, he’d rallied.

Put on a brave face for the kids, found familiarity in a strained smile mirrored in Steve. Noticed his own body jerking in time with Robin’s at the sound of an unanticipated loud noise. Was quick to cover his discomfort with a joke buoyed by Argyle’s raucous laugh. Found himself helping Nancy plan outings to take everyone’s mind off of things. Sought out Jonathan to share a smoke when it all got to be too much.

But you—

He never minded the quiet with you.

Eddie could maybe, for a moment, let it fall away.

A clink of a glass bottle broke his reverie as it joined the others discarded on the ground.

“This is nice,” You said with a languid stretch, arms raised above your head and falling in a graceful arc as you settled back against the rock.

He had to agree.

“Can I uh, ask you something?”

Your voice had taken on an unfamiliar tone, almost as if you made yourself smaller and unsure. It wasn’t his favorite, he had to admit. Eddie preferred the unapologetic way you carried yourself, a royal flush of confidence which you bandied about with no inhibitions.

Timid didn’t suit you, at least, not in his humble opinion.

He knocked shoulders with you, tried to inject some levity into his voice.

“Shoot.”

“Well,” You squirmed next to him, “And you don’t have to answer this if like, it makes you uncomfortable— the last thing I wanna do is offend you, swear to God.” You take a breath to steel yourself. “I just, I noticed you weren’t swimming today.”

“Ah.”

“I mean,” You clear your throat, “You really never swim, not at Steve’s pool, not here. So.”

“Are you asking if I can swim?” He jokes, “Because, I’m definitely capable. Dear old Dad threw me into a creek,” crick, “And told me to get on with it.”

A hushed laugh falls from your lips, “So, you can but you don’t. Any reason why?”

“Well that,” He says, softer now, “Is quite the story.”

You hum, content with the response not pushing for more than he’s willing to share.

“Tell me someday?”

And oh, is he in trouble. Because the odds of that are more far likely than you’d think.

You’re quick to pack up after that. Eddie trails after you, tossing an odd can or cigarette butt into a trash bag and hauling it to the van. He scratches the light stubble of his jaw, nail catching along the scar decorating his cheek. It’s not as bad as it had been, mostly white with pink tinged edges, and receding into his jawline enough to slip most notice.

It’s not that Eddie regrets the scars, he did what he had to do— the whorls of pink and white puckered skin that now embellished him from hip to shoulder were a simple reminder of that.

Just not one that he’s keen to advertise.

He lets you fiddle with the radio, static crackling through the speakers before the opening riff of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” sails through. An easy smile lights up your face as you lean back in the seat and sing along.

I’ll be with you my darling, soon, I’ll be with you when the stars start falling

His grip tightens on the wheel and he wills himself to focus on the road ahead and not the soft croon of your voice. Which is kind of difficult given how sweet you sound, how desperate he is for your touch.

He rolls up to your apartment complex by the song’s end, having had the pleasure of your signing for the duration of the drive. And Eddie’s probably biased, but he thinks you could give Jack Bruce a run for his money.

He parks the van in front of your building, letting it idle as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You’re grooving a little bit in your seat, and Eddie allows himself a moment to be selfish— gazing as you shake out your mostly dry hair and sway in time to the song, a secret smile pulling at his lips.

Opening your eyes, you meet his gaze. Leaning over the consol, your fingers caress his jaw, turning him to face you fully. The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

I’ve been waiting so long, to be where I’m going in the sunshine of your love.

_

But July—

July passes like a dream, as delightful as the sugary syrup currently crawling its way down your arm. The bomb pop melting all too quickly in the height of the summer sun, trickles of red, white, and blue cascade down your sun hewn skin.

A screech pierces the air as Eddie leans over from his seat on the Harrington’s patio to lick the drips from your arm.

Loud enough to draw the attention of the kids and soon his soft huffs of laughter as replaced with a prolonged “Eeeewwww,” from the girls and an offended scoff of “Gross,” from Henderson.

“Can it!” Steve says, volleying a beach ball at his head, knocking his ever-preset baseball cap into the chlorinated water.

Eddie nods in thanks before continuing his assault of your arm.

“Shit, babe, no teeth!”

He ignores this and elects to dig his teeth into the temptation of your skin. You swat him away and recline back in your chair, Raybans affixed to your face, a pout on your lips.

“You’re no fun,” He grouses, kicking back in his recliner. “You use teeth.”

“Artfully,” You quip back in reply, “Poetry will be written about the exploits of my chompers, the deftness, the skill with which I decorate canvases of skin.”

And well yeah, Eddie would know. He has several bruises blossoming along his torso and thighs from said exploits.

So he really couldn’t complain.

He lets the clubmasters slide back onto his face, the blue polarized lenses giving the scene a cooler, dreamier tint. His hand falls to the side, fingers walking their way over to tangle with yours. You give him a quick squeeze before turning your attention back to your latest bookstore acquisition, The Handmaid’s Tale.

In fact, once Eddie got over himself and blurted out some amalgamation of ‘Can I take you out?’, you’d booped him on the nose in response, much to his horror, and waited a beat to say:

“Sure thing, stud,” — Eddie’s summer had only gotten better.

Was it annoying to have near daily occurrence of high schoolers singing “Summer Lovin’” at him? Yes. Were you worth it? Obviously.

Eddie had attempted to date, briefly and disastrously, in the past. In that respect, maybe he was a little gun shy.

But one night stands? Quickies? Handies after a deal at a party? Bjs in the back of the van?

Yeah, that he’d done. And was definitely the more enthusiastic partner in retrospect. And now, with you?

Well, suffice it to say that your first round in the sack wasn’t exactly picture perfect, and he’d nearly gotten a broken nose for all his effort. But, y’know, learning curve and all that, maybe some lighting was required so he could avoid getting socked in the mouth or something.

“Yuck, what is that?” Dustin says with thinly veiled annoyance, gesturing to your hand clasped in Eddie’s. “Hands Across America?”

“The fuck,” Eddie perks up, squinting as he flips his sunglasses onto his forehead. “Hands doing what now?”

“Pfft,” You blow a raspberry and lazily thumb over to a new page, “You don’t even know what day it is, or what’s going on.”

“Yeah, and I wish I knew even less.”

“Hands Across America was months ago, by the way.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Really and truly.”

“So, hey,” Eddie ignores Dustin’s gagging and turns toward you in earnest. “D’ya like sex?”

“Uh huh.”

“And travel, you like that, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then, sweetheart,” He drops your hand from his, drawing your interest away from the plot.

You huff, perturbed by the interruption and glance his way.

“Then you can fuck right off.”

Eddie raises a solitary finger elegantly, aristocratically even. Something practiced time and time again until it became second nature. It’d be kind of impressive if he weren’t so damned annoying about it, flipping the bird every chance he got.

A trait that, unfortunately, the young Wheeler had adopted as his own.

Despite yourself, a laugh breaks from your lips, loud enough to draw the other’s attention from the pool.

“God, I hate you.”

“Really and truly?”

“Oh, you bet sunshine.”

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, Steve and Robin had corralled the kids out of the pool and lured them away with the promise of pizza. Nancy sidles out from the sliding glass door with the cordless in hand, tossing it over to Eddie.

“We got the usual— cheese, pepperoni, and cheesy bread. But I know you’re particular, so.”

“Right on, Wheels. Good lookin’ out.”

Eddie grabs for you again fingers twining with yours as he rattles off the usual to the pizza guy as Nancy makes her way back inside.

“Hey man, can I get an order of mushroom and black olive with the banana peppers and a shit ton of red pepper flakes? Uh huh, yeah.”

He pulls the phone away from his face, tucking it against his jaw to mouth something to you.

You watch his lips, red from one too many popsicles, form the words.

“Garlic sauce? Hell yeah.”

He returns to the call.

“And the— Oh, you heard that? Cool. Thanks, man.”

He hangs up and tosses the phone onto a rumpled pile of towels, tugging at your arm.

“Ugh, what,” You grouse, finally dropping your book on the patio.

“You’re so far away,” He whines, draping the back of his hand across his forehead to heave a woeful sigh. “Oh, when will my beloved return from the war?”

You roll your eyes and clamber over to his pool chair, straddling his hips. “Okay, calm down Scarlett. Tara is thattaway.” You hike a thumb somewhere in the general vicinity of what you’re pretty sure is south. You laugh and crawl your way into his lap.

And, here’s the thing:

It’s easy.

A foreign concept in Eddie’s life up until this particular point.

Which is to say, that since the advent of your relationship with him, Eddie found himself spending more time on his knees than he ever had amongst the pews.

While there’s no catechism for for this particular piety, he’ll take this act of communion for what it is—

His lips and tongue spouting devotionals as he kneels between your thighs. And he’d never been one for God, but maybe He’d made it so two bodies can fit holy wholly together.

After all, he’d been penitent enough.

You twine a streamer of his hair around your finger, head slotting into the cul-de-sac of his throat. His arms wind about your hips, anchoring you in place.

Steve sticks his head out to say he’s forcing the kids on a field-trip to get the pizza, Nance and Robin are grabbing some drinks from the store.

You hum in idle contentment and sink further into Eddie, as if he could consume you entire.

If my body is of your body and your body is of mine, can ever the two be parted? What lies in me now does in you, a reflection in kind.

The marks that decorate his skin, both intentional and accidental, fail to define him.

If they ever really could.

You’d traced their shape, plotted their paths, and transmuted them before his very eyes. The weight, the lead sinking and skittering and pulling him down was no more.

“If I could,” you’d said softly one night, a riot of arms and legs tangled against his own, a lone finger rhapsodizing against his ribs, travelling a familiar continent. “I’d paint you golden.”

No, not gilt.

But gold.

It still daunts Eddie how freely he fell— for you and the effervescent joy that flourished in your wake. It used to unnerve him, if he thought about it too much. For the longest time, he wasn’t sure if what he felt was real, or simply a facsimile of love.

He learned not to dawdle in his darker moods.

He’d hummed at your declaration, so much more accustomed to gloomier comparisons. You’d turned up at him, cleaving your chin across the ladder of his ribs, eyes big and brighter than any star he’d ever seen.

And he hadn’t known what to say.

Weeks had passed and he still hadn’t a clue how to respond.

“Hey,” Dustin yells, striding out of the sliding glass door. “Dinner’s ready!” He waits impatiently, striking a similar pose to that of Steve when he’s at his wit’s end.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, shooing him away and slinging a leg off of the recliner.

He takes you with him, much to your protest.

“Noooo,” you whine, “Eddie, the physical therapist said—”

“That I’m fine,” He reminds you, securing his grip under your thighs as he carries you inside the house.

Your petulant pout demands satisfaction, and he acquiesces, dipping his head to yours in a quick kiss.

“Y’know,” he says, voice rumbling and low as everyone fixes up their plates in the kitchen. He sets you on the island counter, his hands spread just past your thighs, arms loosely caging you in.

He smells like summer— sugar and chlorine and salt and the tell-tale wisp of a cigarette. His hair is loose and wild, sheltering you from prying eyes as he rests his head against yours.

It hits him like a thunderclap and descends as quickly as revelation.

“I’d follow you into the sun.”

It’s not a declaration, but a simple fact.

Love.

He’d tell you someday, but not quite yet.

For now, he’ll watch your lips kick up in that adorable smile of yours, the kind that crinkles the corner of your eyes from the sheer amount of joy packed in it. Allowing himself to float on the thinnest of air just for a moment.

This summer, you’ve been his North Star, always there.

And he hopes you always will be.

[miss-cincaide]

Pretty Broken Things

Summary: Toji Fushiguro was a cruel, possessive man who didn’t like it when someone played with his toys. He was especially unhappy when someone touched his favourite toy. The last straw was when you decided to not do as told. it was just jealousy, pure and simple.. Or was it?

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Toji Fushuguro  Kinktober prompt 5: Jealousy sex:  WC: 3.7 K Warnings: Dark Content, Minors DNI!This fic contains: toxic relationship, Toji is a huge red flag & yandere, dirty talk, object play in mouth and v (weapon), hj, dub-con, yandere behaviour, dirty talk, alcohol and cursing, mystery and murder (side char) Author note: Am I ever gonna write a healthy, green flag Toji? Honestly, not sure.. But what I am sure about is that, that day is not today!  Enjoy

Toji had the emotional maturity of a pre-schooler!

The spoiled brat kind with a ton of games and toys always cried for new ones, yet once he got them, he’d play with them for a week before discarding them in the back of the closet, never to be touched again. At least until someone paid attention, or, god forbid, played with them. In that instant, Toji would have a change of heart, and those unused things he hadn’t touched in months became the very best things in existence. 

Except toys weren’t toys, but human beings and unused things were the countless women he seduced with his bad-boy persona. All those poor bitches who thought they’d be able to change Toji. To melt his jackass persona, to claw their way into his heart and nest there for life while he burned the world that wronged them. Be special to him, his ‘one and only princess’.

Fucking idiots. Including yourself. 

Still, you knew that no matter how many women he eye-fucked on the dance floor, how many women he had in his lap at the drinking booth or how many throats he shoved his tongue down, the second someone showed interest in you, you would have his full and undivided attention. You were his ‘favourite’ for a reason, after all. 

So you knew exactly what you were doing when you sat at the half-empty bar beside a suit-clad man instead of joining the other fawning girls at Toji’s booth. Before you even managed to get comfortable, the man turned to face you, flashed you a smile and leaned just a little too close for comfort. “Hey, pretty, you alone?” 

You saw his eyes trail down your cleavage, which moderately showed through the little black dress you picked for the evening. The dress was moderately modest and stopped a few inches above your knees, but it hicked up deliciously up your leg as you crossed your legs in your seat. The man’s eyes dropped instantly to your bare thigh, then back up to your face. The lewd grin on his face clearly said he appreciated your beauty. 

You, in turn, resisted the urge to slap that smirk and wiggling eyebrows right off his face. If the bastard thought he could pull off Toji’s signature move, he had another thing coming. Instead, you just gave him an awkward smile that looked a lot more like a grimace. That didn’t deter him; if anything, the man seemed to relish in your smile- the lack of an immediate rejection was taken as an invitation to continue. “Tell you what? Let me buy you a drink, and we will get to know each other a little better.” 

The hell no died on your lips the second you felt Toji’s menacing stare in your back. The scalding glare made you shudder. You knew he disapproved without turning around and seeing his frowning expression. You straightened your back a little and turned your entire body to face the stranger. Then you leaned against the bar and rested your head on your propped-up arm as you looked him up and down with a slightly more pleasant smile. “In that case, an old-fashioned, on the rocks.” 

The man whistled lowly, “A woman with character, I like that; I’m Tom, by the way” he motioned for the bartender to fix you your drink and put it on his tab, completely oblivious to the approaching threat, aka Toji, who abandoned is booth and made his way towards the bar. His baritone voice and the girl giggling on his arm enough on an announcement to draw heads, either in jealousy or frustration at his shameless loud behaviour. You heard him and the girl settle a few chairs away from you and order drinks of their own. 

You saw Toji from the corner of your eye, the unmistakable tension in his jaw and the warning stare that so obviously ordered you to quit playing about. Flipp the wus you were with and come over to him like a good girl. Be good. Be obedient. 

You turned your back more to him, avoided his stare and focused on the man in front of you. But you knew precisely what you were doing as you reached forward and accepted the drink. And then another one and a third. With each promile of alcohol, you became more and more relaxed, your smile less forced, and you even genuinely laughed at Tom’s awful jokes. 

You were entertained, far from happy, but at least you weren’t wasting away another day attention-less and pitiful, waiting for the off chance that Toji decided he was done whoring around and came back to you. 

You snorted at the thought, at your own damn foolishness, and masked by the half-quiet music of the bar and the clang of ice in your glass as you finished yet another drink. You turned expectedly back to your companion. Rather than refill your glass, he flashed you a toothy smile, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “How about we take this somewhere private?” 

You gaped. You also heard Toji snort into his drink. That was all the motivation you needed to agree. You let Tom help you off your barstool, then trail behind him towards the back exit of the bar. You doubted the two of you would make it very far from there. As you passed Toji, he froze you with his mere sideway glare.

“You’ve had your fun, doll” Toji growled, his dark blue eyes almost rage-black. “Behave.” 

You stepped in Toji’s direction, and his interest returned to the drink and the older woman that clung to him like a school girl. If you were pathetic for being hung up on Toji; this woman was just pitiful.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, noticed you didn’t follow him and stopped walking. An awkward look on his face, his hand in his hair as his eyes flickered from you, to the woman and then Toji. “Do you know this man?” 

You tore your eyes away from your competition to the stranger, then to Toji’s smug expression as if he expected you to settle on his other arm or replace the old hag he got bored of. Maybe, if you did it cleanly and with a good cat-fight, he’d even get you a drink as a reward. You glanced away from Toji, unable to look at that condescending look that clearly stated you weren’t going anywhere without him. You were His doll, his property through and through. 

 “No clue who that is.” 

You didn’t look at Toji, didn’t spare him a second glance, or even acknowledge the hackling woman on his arm who loudly made comments about you. Clearly, she was familiar with Toji’s favourite routine and intended to provoke you into a catfight. To secure her place beside him for a few more hours. To feel mighty that she could beat someone clearly 20 years younger than her, and to feel better about her own shitty self. 

You followed Tom outside the bar. You tried to look calm, but inside you were freaking out. What the fuck did you just do? God, you just knew Toji was going to make you regret it. Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that. You should not have said that. Maybe there was still time to go back and apologize? 

You realized you were fucked.

The stranger pulled open the flimsy metal back door. It gave away with a squeak and your numb legs carried you into the cold outside. You felt sick to your stomach; anxiety spiked to unimaginable levels. You wobbled, stumbled, caught yourself last second without making it far from the damned bar. Tom came to stand in front of you; his hand on your arm steadied you.  “Hey there, you’re looking kinda–” Pang

You didn’t have time to react before hot blood sprayed over your hair and face, some of it dropped on your clothes. Your ears rang, the sound from the gunshot behind you deafening. For a second, everything was still, and your mind could not comprehend what had happened. You just stared at Tom’s face—how the concern look morphed into shock. His mouth opened and closed, a gurgling sound was all that came out. His hand tightened on your arm, then let go, and his body collapsed backwards onto the concrete floor with a ‘duns’. 

The reality came back. Your panic was unmistakable and unmanageable anymore.“Ahh-” 

“Shut up, whore!” Toji’s authoritative tone came from behind you, inside the bar, instantly silenced you. You glanced over your shoulder through the open door. The sight of him with his gun raised will forever be embedded in your memory. You swore it was still smoking, the comic-like white smoke poofing off the nuzzle, but it couldn’t be; that’s not how guns worked… did they? 

Toji stepped towards you, and that small act snapped you out of your trance. He was gonna kill you too; you were sure of it. Your legs moved towards the exit without registering it. No, you weren’t ready to die, you weren’t— 

Slam 

Your back slammed against the wall as Toji pounced on you; his entire weight restrained you with ease. Like a rag doll, he could manoeuvre you how he wanted to with practiced ease. “Owi-” Your whine was cut off as you caught sight of the gun, fliched as he brought it to your face. You could feel its heat and weight on your lower lip, the barrow aimed at you, angled at an awkward angle up. Would he shoot you in the face too? Shoot off your face? 

You froze, too afraid to move. To stunned to make a pip. 

“What don’t you fucking understand, whore? I said Shut. It.” Toji was furious; his eyebrows frowned, and a storm brewed in his expression. Such fucking jealous fury that you could have thought you had pissed in his cornflakes and then hand-fed it to him. A fury not warranted of you leaving a bar with another man. 

“ I decide what’s warranted you brat.” Toji snapped, having easily read your thoughts. “And I told you ‘behave’, loud and fucking clear, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?!” 

“ Yes”, you breathed, your eyes flickered to the side, your gaze landed on Tom’s lifeless body.  Your stomach turned, and bile rose in your mouth until Toji pulled back an inch and then slammed your body against the wall again. Stars danced in your vision, the need to be sick faded as your eyes landed back on his face. Another pained moan fell from your lips. 

Toji used that opportunity to push the gun barrel in your mouth. 

“ You look at me when I’m talking,” he growled, pushing the gun as far in as it would go. “The heck I’m supposed to do with you? Tsk. I turn my fucking head for a minute, and you’re whoring yourself out to some slimeball. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” 

You couldn’t tell what made Toji more furious; the fact that you were ‘whoring yourself out’ or the man you had picked for the occasion. Why the latter would matter you had no clue but you weren’t about to question him when he was in that mood. 

Seconds ticked by, yet to you they felt like agonizing years.

You swallowed thickly, the only movement you dared to do. Toji’s eyes flickered to your throat, then back to your face. The furious expression shifted into a toothy grin. “What are you waiting for? Special fucking invitation? You wanna slut around, then go on, suck this fucking gun like it were that filth dick.” 

“W-what?” You gasped; the words came out muffled. Surely he didn’t just-

“Suck it!” 

He did.  Fuck. How did you even..? Okay, no choice, you had to pretend it was a dick. Or a dildo. Yeah, that could work. It wouldn’t be the first time you sucked off an inanimate object. You just need to get your head in the game, focus, make it look sexy. Believe it. Or you’re done for. 

You took a deep breath through your nose, forced yourself to think of the last time you gave a blowjob, then shifted your head back just a little to give yourself more room to work with. Just a dildo, you told yourself before you started. You bobbed your head back, stuck your tongue out and ran it over the warm metal. Wiggled it over the barrel, lingered on the opening, and then took it back in your mouth as you could. Your eyes water,  lips brushed against Toji’s calloused fingers, then moved back as they twitched. 

You repeated the movement until the anger in his face melted into something carnal. Until you felt his bulge pressed against your thigh. You shivered despite yourself. Fuck he was getting off on this, wasn’t he? You glanced up at his face, and Tojil looked ready to fuck your brains out. 

 “Mmm, good little bitch. Rock that mouth. You look like such a slut sucking on my handgun.”Toji hummed; his eyes never left your. His gaze flickered between your eyes, your lips and the drool running down your chin“God, your mouth is the best thing bout you, isn’t it? Can’t wait to have it on me.”

You flushed, your hand moved from your side to him. You wrapped your fingers around his cock through his sweatpants, the material loose enough for you to grasp him firmly. You could tell he wasn’t fully there yet but fuck he wasn’t soft either. You moaned; Toji bucked into your hand, and you twisted your wrist in time with his thrusts. Your breathing grew laboured, closer to his. He slapped your hand away from himself before he could cum in his pants like a teenager. “Not gonna ah happen.” he rasped, punching the wall beside your head to clear his mind. 

You jumped, flinched off the gun, a string of saliva between you and the barrel. “You say that but...” 

“ Take it back; I like you quiet,” Toji trailed off, readjusting the grip on the gun. His fingers of his other hand over the barrel of the gun gathered some saliva from the corner of your lips and rolled it between his thumb and finger. His eyes ran you up and down before he kicked your legs open. Those coated fingers went straight under your dress, rolling the damp digits over panties, then under in slow, steady circles right over your clit until you threw your head back, moaning.  “Such a nasty slut, I own” 

“Hmmm” you groaned, cracking an eye open as he pressed a kiss to your puffy lips, pushed his tongue it, swirled it in that breath-taking way that only Toji could. You broke the kiss first, panting pitifully. “L-lets go home, baby?” 

“mmmpgh. Nasty sluts don’t need privacy.” Toji sneered; although he was smiling, his eyes still showed nothing but pure jealous fury. “You were gonna fuck that bastard in this very alley, no need to get shy now” He pulled his hand back, gripped the fabric of your panties, then tore them open. “Dumb sluts will fuck anything and everything, won’t they, Y/N?” 

You gasped, whined shook your head; your eyes grew to the sizes of saucers as Toji grabbed your free hand and forced it around the momentarily forgotten gun. The hilt felt warm and clammy, sticky and much heavier than you imagined.

 “T-toji What?” you gasped, shuddering as he trailed your finger over the trigger. 

“Press here, bunny, and you’ll blow yourself a fourth hole, got it?” You didn’t manage to react as Toji lowered the gun between your legs and pushed it in. 

“Toji!” You screamed, bucking away from the metal. His hand, with yours in it, followed your movement.    

“Shh, shh shh like that doll, just like that” The gun pushed deeper into you, coming to a stop at the hilt. He leaned back and took a look at your, your petrified expression, the gun in your pussy and cursed. “That’s it, doll, Treat it like a small dildo, c’mon no need to look so scared, you’ve handled bigger.” His hand let you go and you almost dropped the gun, but Toji caught it and pushed it back into your hand.

 “You drop it- you’ll shoot us both.” Toji growled, waited until you nodded before he removed his hand from the hilt. Your hand remained frozen, unmoving. Toji didn’t care. His fingers went straight back to your clit, rubbing quick circles on it until you arched your back and clenched, then lowered yourself, seeking release on the metal. 

“Ahh y-you’re a monster Toji.” You twisted your face away from him. Toji chuckled and dropped his head on your shoulder, biting at the exposed flesh. 

“ The worst one.” He agreed his fingers picked up speed, so did your hips. Your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around the gun, hand trembled. A little more, a little– “N-nnooah” you threw your head back; despite your protest, your pussy did the opposite, gushing around the gun. Gushing turned to squirting as Toji’s fingers kept going; his other hand dropped down to your hand and the gun and thrust it in and out of you.

 You screamed, and dug your nails into his forearm, the only thing that kept you upright. 

“Fucking nasty” Toji bit your earlobe until you listened. “ You think some random stranger can get you off like this? Match your freak, babydoll? Squirting on my loaded gun in your pussy.” Toji chuckled. “Will you start creaming if I take the safety off too?” 

You mewed, then heard the harrowing click you hadn’t realized was on. Knowing it was off, however, was a completely different story. Your eyes widened, pleasure replaced by panic. He was still jealous? Still not done?!

Fuckfuckfuck. 

“I get it, I am sorry Toji, Please, please forgive me!” you sobbed, your thighs shaking as much as your hand on his arm. 

He was gonna kill you. He was gonna fuck you then kill you. Humiliate you, then pull that fucking trigger straight in your pussy.

FuckingFuckFucktown.

You didn’t want to die; you weren’t ready to die. And you most certainly didn’t want him to pull the trigger inside you. “I’ll do anything just.. Just give me another chance. Please baby, To-bear” 

Toji hummed, his teeth left your skin and his head dropped on your shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Hmm you’re lucky I like you.” He whispered, waited, then twisted the gun a little inside you. 

“I love you, I love you too Toji!” you squealed. 

“ Good. Now then out of love here’s what we’re gonna do, doll” Toji pulled the gun out of your pussy, and stared at the slick dripping thing before he returned it to its holster on his hip. “We’re gonna walk back to m’car, take a trip, and you’ll show me just how sorry you are. And if this happens again-” 

“ It won’t, I promise!” you stared up at Toji with earnest eyes, ready to beg and plead you case as many times as it took for him to go from this to the less manic usual. 

Silence passed until he chuckled, took half a step back, and pulled you to his side. His arm around your shoulder and your face buried in his side, almost as if he tried to shield you from the corpse behind you. “That’s a good doll, don’ make me regret it, cuz if you do…” 

Toji didn’t need to finish that sentence. He didn’t need to. You knew that if you disappointed him again you and the left-behind body would have a lot in common..

— 

The last of the warm sun rays set and were replaced by barely-there moonlight before anything changed in the small behind-the-bar alley. The metal door to the significantly livelier bar creaked opened, and a pair of heel-clad feet stepped out and then shut the door behind them. 

The owner of the feet stood still for a moment, sighed, and then moved closer to the chilled body. As she drew closer, she raised her shoe and kicked the man hard on the fancy dress shoe.

“Oj how long are you gonna waste time laying in the middle of the shitty alley?” A female voice carried through, shortly followed by the light of a cigarette. She made a few more steps, came to a stop in front of her face, and stared down at the man with a bullet wound in his head. She took a deep drag of her cigarette before  she flickered some ash sight onto his chest “And what kind of cover name is ‘Tom’ anyway?” 

“Hey, don’t disrespect the dead, Shoko,” ‘Tom’ cracked an eye open with a lazy grin. He stretched his limbs as though he had just taken a long nap before he slowly sat up, each bone and muscle groaning in protest from laying on the hard pavement god knows how long. Reaching up, he wiped the blood and gunk off his face onto the back of his fancy suit sleeve “- And what’s wrong with ‘Tom’ anyway?” 

“ I’d respect you if you were actually dead. ‘Tom’ sounds like you’re over compensating for your lack of personality with a foreign name. ‘Toru would have worked just fine”, Shoko replied, ignoring his silent request to help pull him up. Satoru whined in response. “Now, let's go before someone actually calls the police on a ‘deadbody’. Last thing I need is to type up another death certificate for you-” 

“-Please do! Then I catch a break from the higher-ups-” 

Shoko kicked his leg, making sure to dive the heel into his thigh until he yelped and shut up. “-Shut it and lets go. Jesus, Toji is a horrid influence on your already awful personality.” Shoko grew tired of waiting for Satoru to pick himself off the ground and turned to leave, not waiting to see if he’d follow.

“ Aww, love you too Shoko, Owie, ow ow ow everything hurts.. huh-hey! Wait for me!” 

Author note: Well this is my attempt at two things at once, Dark dark content and Mystery. Well what do you think? Why was Satoru under cover (Tom?) and was Toji really 'just jealous'?

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All fics are unique works by © miss-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[macsimagines]

I’m so sorry that you’re getting hate. and I’ll make sure to reblog your works more to make sure you feel the appreciation you deserve!

but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask for a request! Headcannons with Izana, Mikey, and Kisaki that have a photo of their darling on there desk, but when their secretary comes in to the office to hand them paperwork but knock down the photo in the process on purpose. the secretary obviously has a distaste for you being their lover so how would they react to it?

I love a jealous bitch. You just make things a little more interesting for Darling and their man. also this borders on a hyper specific scenario and i hate those so please if you have a fic idea try writing it yourself

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, NSFW, JEALOUSY, TOXIC BEHAVIOR, MURDER MENTION, NSFW

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

Let that bitch secretary of his stick around because he knows she makes you insecure. No joke, he really does let her act out how she wants because he wants to keep you in check.

Izana will allow her to flirt with him in front of you, maybe even give you some attitude and practically lets her roam around his office flaunting her goods because he wants you to feel bothered and belittled.

He's basically saying; "Look at what I can have and feel blessed I still choose you." without ever saying it.

But he knows he's pushing it and never lets her do anything further than those few things. In fact he treats very coldly if he's alone with her. He only goes out of his way to be nice when you're watching.

Truth is, he can't stand her. Hates her perfume, hates the way she looks, hates the way she speaks. She's only good for one things and that's keeping you in line he doesn't need or want her for anything else.

Then one day, she got cocky, one day she really fucked up. "Oops, knocked over your wife's picture. But it's fine sir, you don't really want to be looking at her when you have me right~?"

After that you never see her at the office again. Her replacement is actually a man hired by Kakucho, who went out of his way to find a proper replacement because he pitied you.

"My old secretary? She got too comfortable. I don't need an annoying woman like that. Now come over here and thank me for my kindness."

Yandere!Manjiro Sano (AKA Mikey)

Hates that bitch but can't get rid of her. Apparently everyone in the office has had a taste and his underlings convince him that's good for morale. Also she does her work well enough and he can ignore her.

He kidnapped you, robbed you of all your autonomy. He didn't go through all that trouble to just have some cheap whore when he already has you.

But then you keep trying to hold out on him, you're not breaking even though he loves you and on the bad advice of probably Sanzu he tries to use her to make you jealous.

Lets her flirt and even flirts back in front of you, just because he wants to know you still care. At one point you loved him, maybe its still there?

But you're a brick wall, maybe even amused by his antics. And he just goes back to despising her, because she's not you. Not your hair, not your smile, not your smell. She's fucking wrong wrong wrong wrong.

The unfortunate thing is that she's gotten ballsy. She thinks she has a shot, even though he was just trying to use her to get at you. This bitch actually defiled your picture by pushing it out of the way and Mikey...

He sees red. He doesn't like hitting women, maybe that was just the little bit of honor left in him, but he can kill this pig with his bare hands and not even flinch.

Mikey doesn't hear her screams, her begs or even her sorrys when its all said and done. Just a bloody pummled mess on the floor.

Maybe she can be good for something because he calls you into his office and makes you watch his men clean up her corpse and get rid of it. Just as a reminder of how much he loves. And what he's still capable of.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

He hates her. You're his whole world and perfect Darling. He showers you every day in affection that he only gives to you and she thinks she has a place?

Kisaki had hired her as a favor to business partner. His eldest daughter. And to keep good morale and images with this other company he gave her a job.

Don't worry, he was going to bleed that company dry and toss her out on her ass when he was done ruining her family's name. She was just a pawn, but you are everything.

But all that doesn't make her obvious attempts at winning him over any easier. Her father probably had sent her to seduce him and probably take your place as his new wife.

The thought makes him want to puke. As if that ugly cow has anything on you, the reason he lives and breaths and conquers the very business world.

You don't even know about the games this Secretary is playing because he doesn't need you to worry you're perfect pretty head about it. This is his problem and he will handle it when the time comes.

But that happens sooner than later when she DEFILES your image by accidentally knocking your photo into the trash. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I was only putting it where I thought it belonged~"

Well Kisaki was a patient man, but if it was time for action... Her father's company is destroyed, her family name ruined with scandal and defamation, and her corpse was somewhere floating all alone in the ocean.

And you were at home with Kisaki suddenly planning a surprise vacation. "You deserve it, Honey. I just want to spend some time with you."

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Stepdad!Hopper x Reader • age gap (reader is 21, Hop’s in his 40’s) • angst, mutual pining, masturbation mentioned, troubled marriage, Hopper is a pervert wracked with guilt aka my favorite kind of Hopper… 🤪

You wiggled on Hopper’s lap, causing him to stifle a groan. God you were beautiful. So fucking pretty and sweet, using his lap to sit in while you did your makeup at the dresser mirror.

“Thanks for the boost, by the way,” you told him, smiling at his serious reflection in the glass. “I’m too short for this dresser, I swear.” You giggled, patting your cheeks with a rosy blush. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be stretching on my tiptoes just to put my makeup on.”

Hopper swallowed back another groan as you adjusted on his lap. “But with you in this chair, and me on your lap-” You finished slicking your lips with a cherry-flavored gloss, and popped them. “-We make a great team, don’t we?”

Hopper forced a polite smile back at you, struggling internally. He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, or doing it at all. You were so trusting of him, so naive in many ways. Even though you were an adult now, Hopper was aware of the fact that you had next to no experience with boys. He wasn’t doing anything wrong right now, by letting you sit on his lap…not technically. But because of the feelings he’d secretly had for you, for awhile now, even the most innocent gestures Hopper made toward you felt taboo…

When he’d met your mother, you’d just turned nineteen. And without an older, stable male figure in your life, you became attached to Hopper quickly. After marrying your mother the following year, Hopper hoped you’d finally begin dating, forming relationships with boys your age. But now, at twenty-one years old, you still insisted on designating Hopper the only man in your life.

He hadn’t minded, at first. Not when his relationship with your mother was going well, when she and Hopper were still being intimate together. But things had soured between them over the last six months or so, to the point that now, Hopper couldn’t remember the last time he and his wife had made love. There never seemed to be any interest on her part, leading Hopper to wonder sometimes if perhaps she were having her sexual needs met by another man?

With the tension in his marriage at a peak and its intimacy completely evaporated, Hopper found his desires traveling elsewhere in the home. He hated himself for it, despised the way he came almost daily to the thought of having you…but the woman you’d become was a temptation too great for Hopper to ignore.

Seeing you every morning, moving about the house in just your pajama shorts and a tank top like it was nothing, Hopper realized how disgusting he’d truly become. You obviously trusted him, just as you had for years, enough to prance around him half naked and think nothing of it. This realization only added to Hopper’s guilt, making him hate himself a little more each time he masturbated with your body in mind.

“There,” you said, capping your mascara and placing it on the dresser. “All done. What do you think?” You fanned your fingers around your face and batted your lashes dramatically, smiling at Hopper’s reflection.

“Beautiful,” he replied; and from the almost reverent sincerity in Hopper’s tone, you knew he meant it.

You slid off his lap, his hands immediately moving to your hips to steady you as you dismounted. Hopper rose from the chair, turning aside so you wouldn’t see him discreetly adjust himself in his pants.

He sighed with relief, feeling as if he’d passed some kind of test. “Hey,” he said. “You really do look great, kid. But-.” Hopper moved his finger to boop your powdered nose. “-Who’s all this for, anyway? You gettin’ all dolled up just for the hell of it?”

You glanced down at the floor, a blush warming your cheeks beneath the makeup. “I…uh,” you stammered bashfully. “I have a date.”

Hopper’s eyebrows lifted, his lips parting in surprise. “A date?” he asked, before quickly softening the accidental sharpness in his voice. “Oh. Who’s the lucky guy?”

There was a pause before you answered Hopper, and he found it a bit strange that you didn’t answer him right away. Maybe you were just shy, he wondered? This was the first date Hopper had ever known you to have, in the two years he’d known you. Maybe the situation was so new, you didn’t know how to talk about it casually?

“Uh, just a guy from work,” you explained. “You’d like him, he’s funny. But serious too, when he needs to be.” You bit your glossy bottom lip, chuckling. “He kinda reminds me of you, Hop.”

Your stepdad’s eyebrow quirked curiously, as if he doubted your sincerity. “Hmm,” he muttered. “You meeting this guy somewhere?”

“At the new mall they just built, yeah,” you replied, checking your look again in the mirror. “We’ll probably see a movie, or something.”

Hopper nodded, another polite smile once again fixed onto his face. “Well, be safe,” he told you, and gently squeezed your shoulder before heading for the door.

“Just, one more thing,” Hopper said, lingering in your doorway. “What’s this kid’s name, anyway?”

You froze outwardly, but your mind was scrambling for a response. “Jack,” you blurted. “His name’s Jack. He’s a nice guy, really.”

Hopper’s brow was creased in ‘detective mode,’ a familiar expression for him, but one you rarely saw directed at yourself. He nodded silently as he exited your room, patting the doorframe on his way out. You watched Hopper leave, exhaling the knot of tension you’d been holding.

“Like I said,” he called from the hallway as he walked away. “Be safe.”

Be safe. A sentiment that struck you as both ironic and unnecessary, as you observed your made-up reflection in the mirror…the mirror you could easily access, without having to strain. You hadn’t needed Hopper’s lap to boost you; you wanted him to be there. The innocence you feigned around your stepfather was as fake as your date for the evening, Jack.

The truth, which as always is more complicated than fiction, was that you’d been in love with Hopper for awhile now. You weren’t as naive as he (and your mother) thought you were. What you lacked in actual life experience, you made up for in observing others. And as you began to see problems in your mother and Hopper’s marriage arise, you watched each crack form on the surface with a growing interest.

Although Hopper didn’t realize it, your choosing him as the only man in your life was not an accident. You didn’t want anyone else; you wanted him. Tonight had been a test, to gauge his reaction to you actually having a date for once. And from the way Hopper had reacted, his change of tone, his sudden and deliberate need for details, you were convinced that jealousy was at play in his response.

Reaching for your bag, you checked to make sure you had your car keys and enough cash on you for a movie ticket and some popcorn. You’d go to the mall and see a movie, just as you’d told Hopper, minus a date…

…or at least, you thought you’d be going alone. You didn’t notice, as you exited the driveway and drove through the streets of Hawkins, that another (very familiar) vehicle was discreetly following a few cars behind you.

Hopper wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see, with his own eyes, the boy you’d suddenly, uncharacteristically, made the choice to go out with. The expression ‘know your enemy,’ may have been resting at the back of Hopper’s mind as he followed you to the mall; but more accurately, Hopper was hoping to know his competition…

PART TWO

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * “Parent Teacher Meeting” — Toji Fushiguro

Synopsis: Toji Fushiguro was not exactly the father you expected to meet when he showed up for his kids’ (aka Megumi’s) parent teacher meeting—especially not when you find yourself being the one punished for bothering him by wanting to talk about Megumi’s behaviour.

— Word Count: 1.9k

— A/n: Based on this ask here by @misaki-the-lotusflower . Thank you so much for requesting sweets<3 and uh- dilf toji? Yes please

— Warnings: AFAB! reader; MDNI!! Porn without much plot; toji is a bitch; slightly naive reader?; cursing; name calling (slut, whore, etc); age gap(?)—reader is in her mid twenties and toji in mid thirties; face slapping; mutual masturbation; degradation; oral (male receiving!); not proof read, might have typos

He was late—you huffed in annoyance.

After 8 tries of trying to schedule a meeting with him, the least you could expect was the insolent man to show up on time—he was a good kid, Megumi but a genuine concern flashed you everytime his behaviour came to check.

A hefty talk with a parent was always the way to go, it was useful to say the least—but it was well past half an hour that the school had ended and he still hadn’t shown up—and as a teacher, things like this made were sure to infuriate you. After all, no wonder Megumi Fushiguro acts up.

Your eyes bummed onto Megumi and Tsumiki—contrasting, they both stood and yet so similar, a sincere smile you passed them—fingers reaching out for the fifth time to call the concerned man.

“No need to call me again,” his voice deep—the first thing you noted, then his hair and face, Megumi was an exact replica in most sense of the word. He wasn’t very old— and whatever age he carried, he did it well—certainly appealing to your eyes.

Megumi’s distasteful expression could never go ignored by you—but you passed a thin smile, pressed—“After noon sir,”

“Fushiguro’s fine—or Toji, if you prefer,”

A nod you passed, “Mr. Fushiguro,”

“I prefer Toji,” your jaw clenched, released as you looked at the kids—ignoring his comment you smiled, “can you guys give us just a couple minutes? We’ll be done soon,”

And ever the lively kid, Tsumiki was quick to pull Megumi out with her, a pleasant smile—all so different from the man who sat across you.

“Mr. Fushiguro,” you began—“You’ve an issue by taking my name woman?”

Your blood boiled, lips pursed, you stared at him.

“Excuse you sir?” Your words were steely- firm, any other person would’ve noted onto your frustration and beckoned it—Toji Fushiguro? That was a new challenge you’d seemingly encountered.

“Cut the ‘sir’ bullshit—what do you want?”

Head tilted to your side, you stared at him—“Your son’s behaviour, Mr.Fushiguro,” you stared into his eyes, emerald just like Megumi’s—gorgeous, really.

“He’s a nice kid, good student and he’s fine at academics too—”

“—is he?” The man drew out, a subtle smirk resting on his face.

You looked at him confused—“I mean with that slutty skirt of yours?” Your mouth hung open—ears burning and embarrassment fresh upon your face—“But then he’s a kid, it doesn’t matter right? It’s for men like me isn’t it?”

From ears to your face, slowly it spread—flushing all over.

A denial lay loose on your lips, unsure—you felt dirty from his mere words—he chuckled.

“Mr Fushiguro I assure you that’s not the sort of language-”

“-shut up,” he snapped, another grin—wolffish this time, hungry as if—“I’ll keep it short and simple for you, I’m sending my kid here because I can’t deal with him. He’s your responsibility,” he paused letting his words process, “next time you call me, I’ll fuck you so good you wouldn’t be able to walk—let alone talk,”

Mind a mess, you stared at him—bewildered, not a single part of it was unserious, you knew and yet, even threatened you couldn’t help the certain feeling of need emerging, sprouting in you.

“You can’t- I- sir this isn’t…” your words fumbled, his mere gaze piercing enough—“what?” He promoted once and you were putty in your seat.

“You can’t talk to me like that- I’m a teacher for fuck’s sake-” you internally cursed at the outbreak, but regret lay a thin line—“well in all particularity, you can’t wear such clothes either,” eyes gazed down—it wasn’t all so bad, per se.

But it just passed the dress code so it wasn’t much better either—a sheer white blouse and black slacks that defined your figure—it was all so intentional, but nothing bad when the context be the kids you taught.

But then again, Toji wasn’t a middle schooler—and his eyes were seemingly stuck onto your chest.

“Nor is the way you just talked the protocol, is it?”

Your face burned all the more—Toji knew the effect he had, all so evident in the way your thighs were pressed together, face flushed at his words and lip bitten all so cute—he knew you liked it.

“Now,” he paused, getting a look at your desk to catch your name, “Y/n,” he grinned and you couldn’t help the butterflies emerging in your stomach as he did so—“You know what would happen if I complained? To your authorities?”

Blood running dry, you coughed out a “excuse me?”

His grin only widened, “You’ve pissed me off woman, calling me these many times—even the whores I fuck and leave don’t bother so much,”

And in the moment, he could see the discomfort on your face—a roll of the eye, he softened, “I won’t call your mistake out alright?” He smiled—as if treating you a miracle—even when you had no mistake in particular, “But I do want something in turn for it,”

Eyes narrowing in confusion, you paused, “money?”

A laugh he barked out, “Had money been an issue I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you doll,” he smirked, “just need you to use your tongue the right way,”

A deep pit seemed to have dropped on you—you stared at him, dumbfounded.

He stared back—hands moving slow as he pushed his chair back, an invitation

“It’s either this or losing that pretty job,” and in that particular moment, you lied to yourself, that all of this—propping yourself on your knees between his thighs—you looked at him through hooded eyes, a slight pout on your lips.

“You’re shameless,” you whisper, staring at the tent in his pants—he was huge, he raised a brow, “says the slut on her knees for me,” he chuckled—“Sucking your students’ dads—is that what you do Hm?” A soft hand caressed your cheek as his eyes bore into yours—contrary to his degrading words.

But you stayed quiet—nimble fingers working fast, any and every pretence dropped as you focused eagerly upon the hook of his best, pulling carefully the zipper down.

And there it was, you smiled, it was hard—it’s tip leaking with precum and you passed him a knowing smile, proud of your affect upon—the moment lasting only so long before you felt his hands grab your hair.

His grip was rough—a yank, hard, and your face was at level with his cock—salivating you stared.

“Beg for it,” he ordered, voice gruff as he stared down at you—“beg for it like the whore you are,”

He was all so mean, with the way his foot nudged at your clothed cunt—with the way he pushed your body a little —“please,” you whispered, desperate.

“Please let me ah!-” a cry you let you as his hand came crashing onto your cheek swiftly, sharp—“that’s the best you’ve got?”

You felt tears at the brink of your eyes, “Please,” you began again, voice breaking—perhaps it was the tension that did so, “please let me suck your dick Toji—mm!” Words interrupted by just another slap—“Ah ah ah,” his tongue clicked at your mistake.

“Who’s Toji baby? Mr.Fushiguro, right?” You gulped and sniffled at his words, “Yes,” you but your lip, a pout resting there soon—“Please let me suck your dick Mr.Fushiguro,” expectant eyes encouraged you for more—“Wanna- wanna make you feel good, wanna taste you,”

And just then he snickered, pulling your head hard towards his base, “Open yoour mouth slut- tongue out,”

You followed numbly, instantly—tongue plopped out for him as you stared at him with big eyes, “Such a good pet,” he groaned—same hands caressing your head as he slapped his cock on your tongue—plop-plop-plop—until thick fingers squeezed your mouth open suddenly shoving his entire length into your mouth.

Every groan gagged by his thick length, you could only let your tears out as he abused the back of your throat, pulling your hair in a messy ponytail—and shoving you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You could hear him groaning loudly, carelessly—after all your reputation barely mattered to him, “Fu-ck so eager for my dick, my pet,” you continued moving your mouth around him, experimenting hesitantly.

A roll off your tongue around the sensitive tip and simple, swift suck at it too—a moan he let out.

Your eyes shot up, fascinated as he chuckled—“hmm~? Is this what you want? my taste? the way i stretch your mouth?”

You nodded to his words, ready to seek his pleasure.

“you can’t keep your mouth off of me can you? Some teacher” a scoff he passed, the embarrassment you felt never truly stopped.

Broken moans fell from his mouth—and obscenities that would have you hurling but you loved it, loved the way he feel apart for you.

“Wanted you- ah…” another suppressed moan, “since the day I saw you in that fuckin’ sundress—always dressing like a cockslut aren’t ya?”

You could feel the wetness between your legs grow—begging to be touched, desperate.

“Wearing all these skirts—just ready to be fingered yeah?” The pressure he applied on your head increased as you gagged—daring not once to pull away, hair and makeup ruined minutes ago.

You could tell he was close—in the way he twitched, in the way groans and insults had suppressed into breathy moans.

You looked pretty though, hair disheveled, and lipstick all over your lips and his cock—a pretty mess of his.

A needy, desperate mess for him, especially in the way your fingers—laying bare for Toji was fully face-fucking you then, broken and choked out cried you let out—fingers inching towards your throbbing pussy.

You needed it—he did too.

“Don’t touch,” a warning, “not until I tell you to,” your movements came to a hault—a ‘ok’ you whispered as pulled away from your warm mouth—hands pumping his own cock fast.

“Remove the blouse,” he was close—so very close—“now,”

Shirt lay unbuttoned half way when he stopped your frenzied movements, “cup your boobs,” a confused glance you would’ve passed had you had the chance—but a glare from him lay more than enough to continue.

Tired your fingers felt as they moved to grab your boobs together—squeezing them, pressing them how you imagined he would, you sat there kneeling before him.

“Shit—you’re so fucking pretty,” he groaned, voice breaking as his head hung back, pushing his own climax—“pinch yourself,” and so you did without hesitation.

It was simply erotic, the sheer image of you two, your mouth hung open too—in the pleasure the pain provided you—“touch yourself,” he moaned then.

And just what you needed then for you found yourself touching yourself through your pants—applying just the pressure you needed—so wet.

Filthy—in the way the sound of his hand pumping his cock—flesh on flesh; your moans and his filled the room.

“C’mere” he growled—and you did, closer to him, musky his scent—you were so close, just a little more and—

A gasp you let out as sticky, white hot mess he spilled on you—your boobs and neck and face—cum spilling out in thick ropes as he pumped.

And just at that—you came too, mouth hung open as you traversed your high—it felt the best it ever had, under his panting gaze.

A series of sweet nothings he provided you, putting your head as you settled back—a frown on your lips and a chuckle on his own.

“Get decent,” he commanded and your frown deepened further—“you’ve got plenty of kids for me to fuck you anyways,”

A roll of your eyes as you too, beside him started getting dressed—“and anyways,” he grinned, “I’m sure gumi’s gonna act up soon,”

A sharp slap on your ass and a squeeze and just like that he was leading his way out as non-chalantly as he entered.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

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Taglist: @4sat0ruu @illogicallyx @rizzmin @lavendervogh @kazoomas @spaceisfarfarawayy @gojoismybitch

[bowlofsoob]

BUSINESS PROPOSAL

yeonjun x gender neutral reader

ceo yeonjun x secretary reader drabble, he needs to marry due to his father’s wishes so he chooses the first person he sees, aka you

“What do you mean I need to marry somebody?”

“Mister Yeonjun, I’m merely relaying the message your father sent me. He said you must marry someone to keep the company and produce an heir.”

Yeonjun drops his pen on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The young CEO just got here, and his father is already jumping down his throat with things to do. Shit, he learned all of his employee’s names only last week. And his father already wants him to knock up a girl? The fucking balls on the guy.

“Mister Yeon—“ his father’s representative begins.

“Just call me Yeonjun,”

“… Yeonjun, I’m sorry but this is non-negotiable.” his father’s messenger continues, nervously pushing his glasses up.

“I’m going to marry the next person that walks through my office doors. Woman or man. How does that sound,” Yeonjun concedes, lolling his head back to rest on top of his desk chair.

A sigh of relief escapes the man in front of Yeonjun. “Your father would prefer a woman but that’s fine by me, I can negotiate.”

As if on cue, you—his ever so sweet and ever so responsible—secretary swings the door open, two coffee cups in hand.

“Yeonjun, I have your—“ you stop in the doorway, eyes flickering back and forth between the young CEO and the business man standing in front of his desk. “Am I… interrupting something? I can come back.”

Yeonjun almost feels bad for how clueless you’re going to be when he drops this bomb on you. “Actually no, your timing is perfect. I have something to ask of you, Y/N.”

Suspiciously eyeing him, you take a few tentative steps forward and place the coffee on Yeonjun’s desk. “… Yes?”

“Well, Mx Y/N—“ the nervous businessman next to you begins.

“Ah, allow me, if that’s okay.” Yeonjun cuts the man off and he merely lets out a sigh of acknowledgment, scribbling things down on the notepad in front of him.

“If this is about making another powerpoint with everyone’s headshots and names, I already emailed it to you. You need to work on your memory, old man.” the playful smile on your lips from calling Yeonjun old even though he’s only a year older than you quickly disappears as you furrow your brows. What could you have possibly forgotten that he’d asked you to do? “And I set up your lunch with Soobin. Is there anything I’m missing?”

Yeonjun almost has to laugh at your innocent face, wholly unprepared for what’s to come.

“Y/N, let’s get married.”

“Excuse me?”

[thenightshadowqueen]

The best character from each longform

(in my biased opinion)

This is (obviously) a long one, so if you do want to read it, more below.

(Also I left out the Patreon plays. I might do a separate post for them later; we’ll see.)

Jimmy (Tom, Toby’s Secret Pocket)

Look, Jimmy is the best. He’s adorable. He’s the representation we as the autistic community needed. He has happy flappy stimmy hands. He can’t walk through doors. We love him. (STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAW!!!!!)

André Beetroot (AJ, Burglary and Bobsledding)

André Beetroot (André Beetroot) was iconic the first time around, but his return as the first recurring SFTH character obviously had to be memorialised.

The boy witch (Sam, Moist and Magical)

I was tempted by the witchfinder general, but the boy witch won out with “Henry Cavill with a wasting disease” and his thick accent. Also the cheeky little look he gives his grandma (Luke) when he flips her off wins him a lot of points.

Hugh’s mum (Tom, Marigolds Bluebells and Hugh)

She’s, like, a fair bit unhinged, but she has good intentions. She’s got amazing quotes, too; “why couldn’t you have just stayed in my womb forever” and “if you love something, lock it up” are both deeply concerning, but I love them.

The wife (Tom, Murders in Space)

This one is kind of an obvious choice. I mean, her quotes are glorious, and honestly “have you ever heard of feminism, James?” gets her top spot automatically.

Mario the sheep (Sam, the Lighthouse)

Was this even a question? I love Mario intending to be a one-scene character and then being forced to star in the whole play. I love the human bits. I love “🐑fuck you🐑”. I love the sheep (aka Sam) having a fucking breakdown at the end. 10/10 all around.

Titch (Luke, the Unrelenting Aubergine)

Listen, I was very tempted by Old Lady Margery (and by Derek), but in the end, canon queer guy with commitment issues and insane amounts of blindness around his own feelings won out. What can I say, I have a type in fictional characters.

Troll Son (Luke, Wine Under the Bridge)

Everything about this character is perfect. Screaming as hello? Colourful troll as a metaphor for being queer? Correcting a geography fact? It’s got it all. It’s perfect. I love Troll Son and his wine bar in Ipswich.

Juliet (AJ, Caesar and Juliet)

Is anyone surprised? She’s a murderous girlboss. “[My mother] said you have to be careful about men; they can be corrupted with power. But what she didn’t know is that so can woman.” They can, and I’m here for it. She’s bathing in blood and her skin is glowing. I love insane women.

Watson (Sam, the Mystery of the Midnight Circus)

Watson, driven mad with grief over his divorce and his one-sided love for Sherlock, becomes a murderous clown. Am I supposed to not love this? Is there even another choice in this play? And his breakdown at the end was gorgeous.

Priscilla (AJ, Pricilla’s Final Petal)

I was very tempted by both of her mums, and also a bit by the groundsman, but ultimately, Priscilla won out. She’s the title character. She’s confused, but she’s got the spirit, and she’s working through her trauma with a buttercup and a piano lesson. Good for her.

Marty (Sam, the Evil Make-a-Wish Kid)

I considered the seven-year-old detective, but in the end, Marty won. He’s evil. He’s a make-a-wish kid. What more can I say? He’s got an iconic smirk. He burns down all the petting zoos on the entire planet (and his mum). He dies at the end. He’s brilliant.

Derek (Tom, Susan’s Holiday)

There were a lot of great options in this one, but “I like looking at the back of another man’s head” was too good to pass up. Also, I adore the whole monologue he has while he’s waiting to be buzzed in.

The gasoline salesman (Luke, Beetroots and Murder)

Okay, I know he’s only in, like, a quarter of a scene. I know that. And I can’t tell you why I love him so much but I do. He’s just. I just love him. I can’t explain it. There are so many great characters in this play, but the way he says “could be, could be” has captivated me. If you understand the way my brain works, please contact me, because I don’t.

Peter Steven (Tom, the Milkman)

I love so many characters in this play. I love Gareth, and I love the Texan bartender, and I love David the milkman. But Peter Steven is the sweetest, most traumatised little boy and I want to protect him. I will adopt him and I will never make him walk on his knees again. I will throw away the PS5 and I will let him dig up the back garden as many times as he wants.

Johnny and Janae (Luke and Tom, the Neighbour’s Under the Bed)

I know they’re two separate characters, okay, but they’re a set. I want to keep them together. And I just can’t choose, okay? They’re two autistic children whose neurodivergence presents in opposite ways, and their parents don’t know what to do with them, and oh look, I’m back to wanting to adopt traumatised children.

Captain Egbert (Luke, the Leftenmost Window)

Shoutout to the mum, but Egbert won this one. He’s, like, kind of an idiot. I’m here for it, though. He’s got the iconic “diluileayilybilyeilysilym” speech. He wants to go to the ~astral plane~ but he’s waiting for his birthday. He lets his wife dip him into a kiss even though it’s 1940. I love him.

The king (Sam, the Prime Minister’s First Day)

Listen, I love several characters from this one, but I’m going with this one. He’s unapologetically a dick. He wears impenetrable armour made from diamonds stolen from Indian subculture. He’s impossible to beat. He’s brilliant. (Also did anyone else kind of find Sam hot as the king or is that just me?)

Franz Haberburg (Sam, the Excited Chinchilla)

Obviously fuck Nazis (god I hope that’s obvious). That being said, some of SFTH’s best characters are Nazis, and this is one of them. He’s glorious. I have never seen such a brilliant rendition of a Nazi chinchilla.

The Italian detective (Tom, the Ingredients)

He can’t pronounce paella. Do I need another reason?

Chip (Sam/AJ, the Cardboard Stegosaurus)

Oh look, another traumatised child! I want it. (No, but seriously, I love Chip and his English/French seizures.) Also he’s one of the few characters who switches actors mid-play, and I love that.

Persephone (Tom, Wild Wet and Worrisome)

She’s amazing. “HEY!” is a gorgeous siren call and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. She deserved a happy ending and I’m still sad we didn’t get one. I like to think she swam to the shore and found Geoff again, and they lived happily ever after on a boat at sea, singing and not having to kill anyone.

Full Set O’Hands and his love/bother (Luke and Tom, No! I Always Loved that Caravan)

I know, I know, another set of characters, but you really can’t separate these two. They’re insane. I adore them. They’re just… Honestly, these two are comedy gold. Good for them because they are fucking timeless.

Andrew (Luke, All Eyes on Nigel)

Listen, Andrew is a naive little thing, and he must be protected at all costs. He goes through so much shit in this one, and I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and send him to rehab.

Magnus O. Puss (Tom, BUS)

Okay, this was a VERY close one between them and Arthur B. D., but Magnus is a genderqueer icon and we love them for it. Also, I feel like this is some of the most unhinged Tom content we have and I live for that.

Jeremiah (Luke, Inside the Mysterious Cube)

I was so torn because I love Bubba, too, but I’m trying to avoid putting sets of characters where possible, and Jeremiah just edged past Bubba because his death scene was gorgeous. (That is a mildly concerning reason to have a favourite, I will admit.)

Lord Lafayette (Tom, the Midnight Mystery)

You may be noticing a pattern; I adore Tom’s insane characters. We just don’t get to see that often enough. I love his very sexual flirting with Lady Lafayette (Sam). I love him making fun of the detective’s (Luke’s) shirt. I love “what does any self-respecting rich man do when he has a little boy in tights” followed by “captured—and only captured” as a save. I love him.

Dangerfield (AJ/Tom/AJ again, Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum)

I love the confusion when Tom briefly takes over as Dangerfield; it’s not often we get to see AJ understanding something that Sam doesn’t (I say this with all the love in the world). Dangerfield is so fascinating to me. He’s a “cleaner” for a crime lord, but he has mixed feelings about the things he does. I want to know how he got into it in the first place. How did he come into this life? I want to know.

Barry’s wife (AJ, the Hare who Wore a Sweater)

I don’t remember her having a name, but I could be wrong about that. She’s so sweet; she just wants to knit sweaters for the hares in peace. And then Jimmy the hare gets shot, and she and her husband go on a revenge plot. I’m here for it. I love her.

The king/tank commander (AJ, the Oopsie Daisy Bulge)

He’s obsessed with tanks. He used to have gay sex with his fellow tank commanders, but only as a joke. He sailed all the way around, through the other landlocked counties, into the east of France, and they never saw it coming. He drove tanks into the ocean. He’s so stupid he’s almost smart. I love him.

The landowner/farmer (Luke, Too Big to Be a Jockey)

He farms peasants (Luke, you genius). He’s such a dick, with his classist remarks about Johnny Jones, but somehow I love him anyway. His interview process is looking at a photo of someone and then hiring them, and he’s honestly wonderful. I love him.

Larry (Tom, Long Johns—Strike!)

Literally the only thing he does on screen is die. That’s it. That’s his whole purpose. And he does it beautifully.

Wizard Asceroth (Sam, the Dark Moons of Slough)

ASCEROOOOTTTHHHH!!! (I don’t have another reason. I don’t need another reason.)

The French waiter (Luke, Lost in Your Eyes)

I don’t know. I really don’t. But something about this character has stuck with me since the first time I watched it. Gorgeous accent. He kisses Amanda (Sam) for no reason at all. He gets stabbed by a gun. I love him.

The Lady of a Thousand Don Juans (Luke, the Meringue Haberdashery)

She tricked her husband for years. She murdered her own child. She has been a curse on all the Don Juans in this town. She’s one of the only villains who win at the end of a longform, and that’s very impressive. I love her.

Xavier (Tom, Oh my God is This a Joke?)

(Please refer to my previous statement about Nazi characters.) Okay, look. He’s a horrible person. But we as a fandom choose to disregard that because Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. I am not above this. I am, in fact, a part of this. Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. “I will die as I have lived…. Shirtless!” has to be one of the most iconic lines of all time. There was never any competition.

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

A Witch Hunt, Moonlit Solace (1):

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: M (16+)

Summary: While on a witch hunt, you and the boys unknowingly walk yourselves into a trap. A trap that opens up old feelings you have long tried to forget.

Warnings: Minor mentions of violence and blood, supernatural elements (aka witches and hex bags), mild language, heavy angst, mild unwanted physical contact (witch taunting the reader), Implied childhood trauma (is only in the final sentence but will be marked a different color and font, as well as will have a warning leading up to it. Implied childhood trauma is spoken about 'being that little girl again' and 'feeling alone'.) Reader experiences illness. Cliff hanger!

Genre: Supernatural, action, slow burn, hurt/comfort (in a sense), angst.

Word Count: 2,923

Master list: Coming Soon!

"Find anything?" Your voice echoed in the bunker's library as you leaned over Dean's shoulder, eyes on the laptop screen. One of your hands rested on the back of his chair while the other was on the table, both supporting your weight.

Dean glanced up at you, unable to keep his eyes on you for long after your last encounter in the garage. It wasn't an awkward moment, so why did he feel so...vulnerable...looking at you now?

"Yea. Some people went missing in Salem, Massachusetts. Looks like it could be worth taking a look at." His voice was slightly rough, well, rougher than usual. Dean lifted his hand off the laptop, bringing it to run over his lower face, thumb trailing his jaw.

"Sounds like you found us a job, Dean." You smiled brightly, relieved for a reason to leave the bunker. It had been a few weeks since the vampire hunt and your itch to see something other than the same damn walls was coming back.

"I don't know if you should come this time." Dean spoke up, sighing as he leaned into the chair, his back pressing against your hand.

"Wait, what?" Your eyebrows rose in surprise, had you heard him, right? He didn't want you to come? You had been with them for almost three years! Sure, it wasn't until recently that you had taken up the stabbing side of hunting, but you worked hard to be helpful!

Dean looked up at you, a frown falling on his lips. As if he could sense every single thought in your head, he spoke, "You just haven't been in-the-field hunting for very long, sweetheart." He lied, hoping his excuse was enough to mask the concern he felt. Dean couldn't just tell you that he suspected witches to be the perpetrators in Salem. Or that everyone disappearing were women who had similar features to you. He didn't need you to stress, to worry, or worse- to insist on coming even more so. You had always been so protective of others in your gender group. Dean could remember the day a man was hitting on a woman who wasn't the least bit interested in a bar you lot were at. He had never seen you rise into action faster than that moment; your fist met the man's face before Dean could even blink.

"Dean." Your serious voice broke him from his trance, "I don't give a flying fuck whether or not I've been in the field long. If people need help, I want to be there." A mutual, unspoken need to look out for the other passed between you. God, your stubbornness frustrated him. Despite how much it aggravated him, it was also endearing. You stuck up for what you believed in. That was something he admired about you.

"We don't even know for sure what we're hunting." Dean countered.

"Do you have any ideas?" You argued back, arms crossing over your torso as you stood strong.

Dean scowled softly at you, a look you returned instantly. A beat passed between you, a silent battle raging. Non verbalized words floated between the two of you.

'You're not coming,' he adamantly straightened his shoulders.

‘Yes I am. You can't stop me.' Rising to his challenge, you also straightened your shoulders, eye’s narrowing.

'Wanna test that theory?' You watched as his eyebrow lifted in the corner just slightly, a small cue to the deep rooted determination he felt. 

Finally, Dean let out an exasperated huff. "Damn it, fine. Just don't do anything stupid, got it? Don't be a hero." A beaming smile crept onto your face at his surrender, it wasn't every day you won an argument against Dean. With a victorious stance, you eagerly leaned down and pressed a thoughtless peck to his face. You knew he didn't want you to come but, boy, were you glad you could. Perhaps you did it because you wanted to cheer him up, to show him appreciation. Or, maybe, it was because of the bad feeling burrowing itself deep into your gut. All too suddenly, you were fully aware of your lips pressed to his cheek. You were aware of how delicate the action was, how your eyes had fluttered for a split second at the contact. Your eyes widened as you froze, you wanted to pull away, you were desperate to. Your face paled just before the storm, humiliation filling you. 

Pulling away far too quickly than you should've, you brought your hand to your lips. Desperate to say anything, to relieve the suddenly uncomfortable awkwardness you felt, you started to speak.

"I...."

Your face burned red hot- a dead giveaway to the deadly embarrassment flooding you. Why on earth would you kiss him?! Why make it awkward! Why wasn't he responding? You watched his jaw clench slightly, the bones of it flexing and unflexing. Dean wasn't moving, his gaze focused ahead. Oh god, what if he tried to talk to you about it? You could only dread the possibilities. With a stutter, you ushered a quick apology, racing towards the stairs in an attempt to escape the situation. Despite having reached the top of the stairs, you paused, looking back at him for a split second, waiting- no, welcoming him to say something. When he didn't speak, or even move, you left.

Dean hadn't untensed from your touch until after you were gone, his face pale as his mind wracked any form of connotation behind the kiss. He wished you had stayed longer and had given him a chance to speak. He wanted to explain why he tensed under you. He wanted to tell you that he was terrified to move only to find out you weren't there. He wanted the kiss to mean more but he found himself scared of that. Dean was petrified of caring for you, and you getting hurt because of it…of him. He looked towards the stairs you had raced up, a frown on his lips. If he had moved, had leaned into the kiss, had grabbed you before you could leave; would you have stayed? Deep down, Dean wanted you to come back, to tell him what it meant.

The only sound in the quiet drive to Salem was Sam. You and Dean had avoided each other for the last few hours, trying to hide from the awkwardness from earlier. 

"All women victims, none have been found..." His voice drowned on, just becoming another distant sound as you stared out the window.

Pain.

Searing, red-hot pain filled your limbs.

You looked down at your shaking hand. Before your eyes, claws sprouted from your nails. Jagged, desperate pleading fell from your lips but all that all that came out was an angry, pained roar.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean's hands shaking your shoulders brought you back to reality, "You alright?"

"I..." Your gaze was frantic as you looked around, eyes finally landing on Sam and Dean. They had opened the door you sat next to; Dean was leaning inside while Sam peaked in. Concern was evident on both of their faces. "Yea, yea, I'm fine. Sorry." You murmured, shaking your head to get the delusions off your mind. The lingering stretching pain in your limbs continued to haunt you. "Just...spaced out there for a second." You shrugged, grasping Dean's hand as he helped you out of the car. Looking around, you immediately noticed all the small mom and pop shops filled with gothic or Victorian style elements. The town really seemed to embrace they're witch-rich history.

"I'll go get us a room." Sam spoke up after a beat, his eyes moving between you and Dean who still held onto your hand. You glanced at Sam, nodding. You remained silent; your mind still focused on what you had felt in the car.

Pain.

Soul-breaking pain. Your limbs cracked and snapped every which way, followed by a howl of pain each time.

"Hey," Dean called out to you, voice soft and low. His thumb trailed over the back of your hand, grazing along your knuckles. The action was simple enough, but it was exactly what you needed to return to the moment. The warmth of his skin was the perfect reassurance, the comfort of having him so close seemed to soothe the tremble of your fingers. "What's going on?" He asked, concern evident.

"I don't know." You confided, free hand finding your head. "But my head aches like hell." Dean frowned softly, pressing the back of his hand and knuckles to your forehead.

"You're super pale, and sweaty." He observed, brows knitted together as he wiped your sweat off onto your hoodie. Dean kept your hands together, savoring the feeling of your skin against him. He hated the circumstances that surrounded it though, he hated knowing you only let him do so because you needed the comfort.

"Yea, I feel like my body's stretching past its limits." You admitted, voice shaky.

"Why don't you stay in tonight?" Dean offered in a demanding tone. It wasn't a choice he was giving you, even if it was phrased as one.

Instantly, you shook your head, "No. I'll be fine, I just need to eat something, I think." You argued, eyes watching his jaw clench in reluctance. "Really, Dean. I'll be fine." You pleaded with him, hand tightening around his. You watched the internal struggle behind his green eyes. On one hand, he wanted to be able to keep an eye on you. Dean wanted to make sure you were fine, and he couldn't do that if you were in the hotel room. However, he was also worried about you. You were acting odd, spaced out. Like your mind was in a hundred different places but nowhere all at once. He wanted you to rest, to get better.

"We both know if you don't let me come with you and Sam, I'll just wander about by myself." You informed him, as if you could read every thought in his mind.

With a sigh, he finally relented, "Fine but you're staying in the car." He watched your grateful smile form, his hand squeezing yours slightly. He was happy you were smiling, proud even. Although, as the evening went on, Dean couldn't help but wonder if the price was really worth it.

You had been getting worse by the hour. You grew paler, face sickly, your limbs ached and burned more by the minute. Your hair had begun to stick to your face from sweat despite the freezing temperature of your body. Every time Sam and Dean returned to the car, Dean instantly noticed the slight differences in you. You no longer asked about how their questioning went. You never even noticed they were back in the car until the doors slammed.

"Sweetheart." Dean called out to you, snapping you from your trance. The look of concern on his face spoke volumes. Guilt swarmed you, you didn't want to be another burden- another issue. Not when all these women were going missing.

"They tell you anything?" You flashed a sweet smile that failed to reach your sunken eyes.

"Yea, they told us a lot. It's bigger than we thought." Sam added, "Maybe we should check in for the night. It's pretty late anyway." It was late? Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you looked out the window, it was practically night.

"When...?" You started, startled by the sudden time shift. It felt like it was daytime not even five minutes ago. The cobblestone streets and iron decorative light posts added an eerie feeling to the neighborhood. Dean began the drive back to the motel, casting occasional looks at you through the rearview mirror. He hoped that if he stared long enough then the answer of what is plaguing you would be revealed.

Sam's voice filled the silence as he told you about what they discovered, "Supposedly, these women had started acting weird before they disappeared. They would start to look super sick. Stopped showing up to work, constantly talked about their limbs hurting." Sam shared a look with Dean, both of them clearly disliking how similar the experiences sounded to yours.

"Aint I flattered." You grumbled; voice hoarse. "So, who did it? Some kind of siren? Maybe a dragon?" You listed off the first creatures that came to your mind.

"It's a witch. We found hex bags in the victim's purses." Dean sighed.

The car fell silent as Dean parked at the motel.

"Hex bags...?" You frowned.

"Hex bags." Dean echoed, and, with sudden determination, hopped out of the impala as he strode towards the room.

"Dean?" Sam called out; voice filled with confusion. You shared a glance with Sam, brows furrowed, before you both clambered out of the car and raced to follow him. The door to the motel room was wide open and Dean was inside, your bag in his hands as he tossed your clothing and essentials out.

"Dean!" You gasped, racing forward to stop him. "What the hell are you doing?!" You demanded.

After a few minutes of trying to wrestle your bag from Dean's ripping grip, he pulled out a small hex bag.

"That's it. We're leaving." He adamantly decided. "Sammy, back our shit up in the car. I'll go pay the receptionist." Before either of you could interject, Dean was already out the door. You and Sam shared a look, confusion and concern evident. You cast your gaze down, staring at the hex bag that Dean had thrown aside angrily.

"Sam-..." You started, voice pleading. Women were going missing here, and maybe using this situation to your advantage could help you save those who had yet to fall target.

"Dean's right." Sam voiced; lips pursed with concern. On one hand, he wanted to help prevent other women from becoming victims. But on the other hand, he refused to let you sacrifice yourself. He and Dean had lost so much to the hunting life, and he refused to let you be another name on the list. He wouldn't do that to Dean, he couldn't. Gathering his and Dean's bags, Sam turned to you. "Look, I'm going to put these in the car, then we'll wait for Dean to get back. We'll find a way to fix whatever is going on." His tone was filled with a promise to you. You nodded, guilt and relief wracked your system as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone. You wanted to help these people, wanted to stop whatever was happening to them. Yet, you couldn't deny the relief you felt at the idea of leaving the town haunting you.

It had been almost fifteen minutes since Sam and Dean had left the room. You expected at least Sam to be back by now. With protective hesitance, you stepped outside the room. Cold night nipped your skin as you looked around the parking lot, no sign of Sam near the impala.

"Sam?" You called out, voice holding a strength you currently didn't have.

No response.

Looking around, you stepped towards the impala. "Sam...?"

Still nothing.

Sucking in an ice-cold breath, you frantically looked around, "Dean?" Any strength in your voice was gone when Dean hadn't responded. You could feel your heart pick up its pace as you moved towards the main area that the front desk resided in. Stepping inside, you noticed just how trashed the room was, as if a fight had occurred. Papers and utensils were scattered, chairs flipped and torn. Blood coated the walls and wood lined floor in inconsistent splotches. You knew Dean wasn't here, but that didn't stop the frantic call of your voice. "Dean, please." You stepped into the room more, hand reaching for the small silver pocket knife in your jeans. "I swear to fucking god, Winchester..."

"I don't think God would take too kindly to that." Someone interrupted you. The voice was cold, icy. Whipping around, your eyes landed and a brunette witch with pale eyes, a grin on her lips. Her presence was overwhelming. Just her stare made you want to run away and cry for your mommy. Standing straight, you pulled out your silver pocket knife, arming yourself.

"What in hell did you do to him?" You growled out, prepared to fight. "Tell me or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Pretty me to death?" The witch taunted. You stepped towards her, suddenly aware of how sluggish your body was. How exhaustion wracked you. With determination, you continued to move towards her despite your failing body. Your jaw clenched when you found yourself stumbling to your knees in front of her, blade falling from your hand. The ache in your limbs was overpowering, and your eyes felt as if they hadn't found solace in sleep for almost a year. "You fought pretty damn well." The witch pointed out, patting your head as if you were a new trophy, "Lasted far longer than the others. And you're still going!" She laughed. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Darkness closed in around you as you fell to the floor, no longer able to fight back whatever charm she had put on you. You felt alone, scared. Dean wasn't there, he wasn't there to take your hand, to call you sweetheart. Sam wasn't there to tell you lighthearted stories that humiliated his brother.

(Warning: Implied childhood trauma)

It all came crashing to you how alone you truly were right now. How you hadn't felt this alone since... A sob wracked your body.

Just like that, you were the little girl you tried so hard to leave behind. 

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Anywhere

Summary: Let’s thank Hozier for whatever this is because I can only think of it as brainrot. I had a part of this written for almost a year in my docs and couldn’t find inspiration to finish it but thanks to the incarnated Irish god I did.

Pairing: Hook x F!Reader (aka Tiger)

Warnings: Angst, mention of uncontrolled feelings, toxic relationship, self doubt, worthlessness, possible happy ending? idk

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @mjfass , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore , @wickedval

It's the sound of it that brings me there

This city locked into the song of prayer

That finds no melody

Every moment of the working day

The twitching muscles in each step I take

The prayer is all of me

The Black & Mild hung from his lips and sent a white smoke up to the night sky, the burning tobacco somewhat was helping him soothe his instincts but Tyler asked himself for how long the warm smoke inside his mouth was going to be enough to keep his mind distant from the one place it didn’t want to stay away from.

Tyler chose to be absent from work for yet another week, and the backstage gossip was starting to build up to the point of annoyance. Even Tyler’s father had given him one of his famous earfuls earlier that night when he texted to say he wasn’t coming to work that week, and even though hours had passed by, Tyler could still hear his dad’s screams through the FaceTime call.

Another wave of warm smoke filled up his mouth before traveling down to his throat and lungs, all along carrying within itself the one word his father repeatedly had so vehemently: “obsession”.

“You’re obsessed with her, Tyler! Obsessed with a relationship you can’t stop fucking it up, snap out of it, son! Move the fuck on! Leave that poor girl alone, Tyler. You’ve done too much damage to get her back now, so put on your big boy pants, accept the results of your damn mistakes, stop destroying everything around you, stop destroying your fucking career, let her move on, get over this unhealthy obsession, and grow.the.fuck.up!”

This wasn’t obsession though, it was love in its raw, ugly, perverse, and deepest form. “Love doesn’t have to hurt”, they say. Yeah, sure, tell that to someone so desperate to make a relationship work that they commit every single possible mistake one can make. Perhaps this was what had doomed Tyler, he loved her too much.

That I'd be

Anywhere that you are, that you are

That I'd be

Anywhere that you are, that you are

When Tyler was 15 years old, his father took him to Joe’s barber shop two blocks down their house to have his first proper ‘man’ shave. As the older man began to spread the shaving cream on Tyler’s face, his father began “See, son, a man may like many women, we may grow fond of several females and keep them in our heart but if there’s one thing you should know is that a man only loves once. Real love will only be found once, in one single woman, and it doesn’t matter whether your relationship ends up working or not, you will forever love that woman until the day you die.”

“No matter how many girls you know afterward, no one will be able to replace the one woman who owns your heart. So once you find that girl, son, make sure you love, respect, and care for her. Do everything in your power to treat her like a queen, because that will be the woman who’ll forever live in your heart”.

Tyler did his best to treat her like a queen, but some things escaped his ability of self-control. Tiger is gorgeous, she is breathtaking, has the most wonderful personality, she’s incredibly smart, the most beautiful smile Tyler has ever seen, whenever she smiles it’s like the world has been put underneath a bright spotlight. She’s funny, caring, loving, she’s the best friend anyone could ever have, and the most addicting lover, sex with Tiger is out of this world, an out-of-body experience. There’s something special about sex with her, every touch is meaningful, every kiss is a silent promise of eternal love, and with every thrust, Tyler always felt their souls connecting.

He’s aware of how this sounds like some sort of hippie talk, but there was something incredibly spiritual and powerful about Tiger that only seemed to grow during sex. Although he wasn’t one to brag, Tyler has fucked a fair share of girls ever since he was 15 years old, and until he met Tiger, he was sure no woman would ever be able to handle him properly.

But even though sex was important to Tyler - and had been the base of every relationship he had until Tiggy came up - it shockingly wasn’t the sole reason why he loved her.

Tyler caught himself craving for her in more than sexual ways, he craved her affection, her touch, her capacity to begin a conversation about anything from something she saw on the news to curiosities about religions worldwide. He craved to see her smile, to hear her loud awkward laugh, to watch her cooking while using the wooden spoon as her own personal microphone. Tyler craved her advice on life, friendships, and work. He craved to hear her voice after a nightmare, to listen to her whisper-singing as a way to help him go back to sleep. He craved her, just having her there with him, craved the knowledge of having her waiting for him somewhere. Above anything else, Tyler missed how Tiger could bring peace to his soul just by existing.

And such peace seemed to be so distant to achieve now, that the world resembled a dark pit of miserableness, emptiness, and death. A limbo Tyler was certain he would never be able to leave.

Maybe I have yet to venture out

See the places that I hear about

Planes and trains and cars

Carve their lines into a curve like blades

All I get to are mistakes half-made

Leave the door ajar

Her wet footprints were unnoticeable against the damp concrete. Her eyes wandered around the streets, searching, wondering, pretending…She tried to make it work, but trying became tiring once it turned into a routine.

It was all too much, the arguing, the outbursts of jealousy, the lack of communication, the distrust, the assumptions..those killed her the most.

‘Where were you?’, ‘Why was he looking at you like that’, ‘Why didn’t you answer your phone if you were really with your mom?’, ‘Why do you smell like aftershave?’, ‘Why are you lying to me, Tiger?! Just tell me the fucking truth!’

Jealousy is not as glamorous as the books make it seem, it’s quite the opposite actually, it kills your mind along with your feelings until there comes a day when you realize that you don’t feel anything at all, and that’s when sadness takes over.

Mourning over something that once brought you so much happiness is a strange feeling. Looking at someone who used to be so dear to you and slowly watching them become the most despicable monster before your eyes is the most brutal thing one can go through. Love is such a delicate feeling, it’s alarming to see how quickly it can die when it stops being nourished. Tiger never believed it would be possible to stop loving Tyler, but life and its cruel - yet valuable - lessons showed her otherwise, it showed her how fairly easy it is to stop loving someone.

She never saw it coming, the day that she would leave the small one-bedroom apartment in New York behind, yet she did. Otherwise, how could she still be living? Even more so, how could Tyler still be alive if she hadn’t left that place for good?

Tiger loved freedom, while Tyler didn’t understand its meaning. Tiger wanted to be free with Tyler, as for Tyler, there was no freedom if he was with Tiger.

But I'd be

Anywhere that you are, that you are

That I'd be

Anywhere that you are, you are

She was the air that filled his lungs, so how could anyone live without air? Tyler tried to explain that to her over and over, but all he heard back was ‘You’re killing me, Ty! You’re suffocating me so much that I feel like I’m dying’. She said other fumbled words in between but that phrase was the only thing that sank into Tyler’s ears. He went deaf after that.

Tiger tried to find a middle ground, she thought therapy could help but how do you talk to someone who doesn’t want to utter a word? It’s pointless to try to fix a relationship when for it to work is a double-sided sword. Tiger couldn’t fix something that didn’t depend only on her, but Tyler was the king of perfection, Mr. There’s Nothing Wrong. So she just gave up, she couldn’t play tug-war anymore, she just wanted to leave and never go back to the Hell she was living in.

Love is not enough, it would never be enough, not if it was all it takes for a relationship to work. And both Tiger and Tyler learned that the hard way.

His eyes found her across the street, holding her small notepad and iconic glittery pen. She never came to this part of town, which made Tyler frown with worry. But her features seemed relaxed, serene even, as she observed the tall trees and how the thin rain droplets splattered the green leaves. ‘This is such a weird hobby’ Tyler thought to himself when they first met ‘Watching the leaves on a tree and scrambling down how it makes you feel’.

Tiger categorized it as ‘therapeutic’, and once she explained how it helped her ease her racing mind Tyler began admiring her for it.

Ironically enough, that was how they met back then, and now is how he meets her again after 6 months of their break up.

Watching her now, after everything Tyler knew and went through with her had him contemplating Tiger under a new light. ‘Perhaps she is happier like this, without you’ Tyler caught himself thinking, noticing how the lightheartedness that once was Tiger’s biggest quality seemed to have returned to her eyes now that she didn’t have him in her life anymore.

It’s sad to notice how the only person that you love so dearly seems to be better without you than when they were with you. Only now Tyler notices how he had killed Tiger during their time together. He killed her lightness, her freedom, her carefree nature. He transformed her into this sad caged bird that didn’t find happiness in singing anymore.

‘If you could go back in time, would you be different? Act differently? Approach things from another perspective?’ Tyler’s conscience asked him.

“Yes” Was his answer out loud, his eyes fixed on the wet pavement, without being able to keep looking at her.

‘Why? Because of your selfish reasons? Because you knew that you’d lose her if you didn’t?’ It asked him back.

But prayer

Is all of me, all of me

The prayer

Is all of me, all of me

“No” Tyler answered sincerely “Because I now know that she deserves better, way better than I ever was…way better than I could ever be”.

Tyler’s eyes tentatively looked up again, in the hopes of imprinting her true self into his mind one last time, until his orbs stopped at her caramel-colored coat standing right before him.

Tiger’s eyes wandered his face, focusing on his eye patch for a couple of seconds before asking “Are you a pirate now?”

For the first time in 6 months, Tyler let out a chuckle, “Maybe…If you like pirates then sure, I’m a pirate. But if you don’t, then I’m just a loser. The biggest asshole to ever walk the earth”.

“Yeah, that you are” She smiled sadly “Have you learned anything from it though?”

“Yeah, I did” Tyler’s fingers twitched to touch her, but he would never allow himself that, he didn’t deserve it. “Are you really here, Tiggy? I’m afraid I’m dreaming…but I don’t to be dreaming, I want this to be real”

“It could be real, Ty” She caressed his smooth cheek before smiling and sitting down beside him on the damp concrete “Wanna tell me what you’ve learned in life so far?”

But I'd be

Anywhere that you are, that you are

That I'd be

Anywhere that you are, you are