#but i was just slapped back to lucidity.

[skunkes]

thsi is so mean and evil but sometimes I'll stress over not drawing smunker accurately enough and then immediately have my worries quelled upon looking at. any given popular [within fandom] rendition. Of an anthropomorphic skunk.

[yawnderu]

>Being invited to have sex on camera was never in Simon's plans or Part II of Simon being obsessed with a pornstar.

Half-lidded brown eyes struggle to focus on you, shivers running down his spine at image in front of him. You're riding his meaty, long cock on your feet, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs and your wet cunt mix in, forming a symphony he's never heard before.

His rough, calloused hands guide you up and down, feeling his numb nuts getting stickier as your cream leaks down his cock, perfect, pierced tits bouncing up and down right in front of his face. His eyes drift to the set up of cameras in different angles, all of them being displayed on a large TV as you record.

“Fuck, angel...” Simon grunts out, muscles bulging as he squeezes your pretty waist, trying his best not to cum yet despite how your experience mixes in with the desire, fucking him nice and hard, your hands using his hard chest as support.

He's barely lucid enough to push you off of his dick, registering your expression of surprise when he positions you in all fours, one of his warm hands coming up to make your back arch, getting a better look at your sopping, slutty cunt.

“Give 'em a good show.” He whispers only for you to hear, voice dripping with dominance. This is all he ever wanted; the chance to prove he could fuck you way better than any of your co-stars, better than any of the many people he's seen you fuck on social media.

His grip tightens on your waist, slamming into your needy cunt without a warning. He manages to catch the surprise on your pretty face first-hand, a small smirk forming beneath the mask when he sees you give the camera your trademark smile. Simon doesn't hold back, his thrusts aggressive and unrelenting, the natural curve of his cock hitting your spongy cervix in such a perfect angle that you're not even able to follow your regular dialogue.

“Harder...” You manage to moan out, a sharp gasp leaving your lips the moment the intensity in his thrusts builds up, becoming faster and more erratic. His hand snakes around your pretty throat, applying just enough pressure to add an extra edge of pleasure.

“Yeah...? Like that?” He growls in your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. You can barely nod your head, your hand coming up to hold his tattooed arm as he chokes you, holding you even closer to his imposing, burly body, his grip possessive and demanding. He can feel your walls tightening up around him, louder moans escaping your fucked-out body that only seem to encourage you to go harder.

“That's right, sweetheart...” Despite not being a porn actor, Simon's words contain a hint of affection that can't be denied by either of you, only making the tight knot in your stomach come undone. Your long nails grip the sheet, feeling the familiar sensation on your core before you're cumming all over his cock, coating every single inch in your needy juices.

Simon's thrusts become more intense when he realizes you're cumming, fully lost in the primal need to drag out your orgasm as he fucks you raw with pure hunger.

“Show 'em how much you love being fucked.” His hand drifts up to your jaw, applying light pressure and lifting your head up, making sure that your audience gets a perfect look at your face when you have a real orgasm for the first time on camera.

With his own words as the catalyst, Simon follows close after, his release washing over him with the intensity of a tidal wave, shooting ropes of thick, hot cum deep inside you.

Part I | Part III

taglist: @gazsdirtysocks @infpt-zylith @love-simon @chrishy973 @just-another-personal-side-blog @ghosmooth-operator @b100dr0t @bisky-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @li85367 @thenonweeknd @jamesrifftapes @lastofabbyy @xxshadowbabexx @yumimak @cherryblossomandpeace @kodiackwrites @angelaut0matec @fell4fictionalman @winbinw

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you. Masterlists

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[im-ovulating]

Hear me out:

Demon ruts.

Like imagine-

Lucifer getting so painfully hard and needy that he has to swallow his pride to press you to "Please! Please let him fuck you!" He's practically on his knees begging you. Bonus points if you play hard to get. If you manage to play your cards right, then he'll actually devolve to groveling on his knees, precum absolutely dripping from the head of his cock as he grabs at your hips in desperation. He always has to be the epitome of control, but he secretly lives for these times where he finally yields and lets you take the reins. A whole week of not having to worry about anything more than filling you to the brim? Yes, please.

You'll have Mammon going absolutely feral with the slightest brush against his chest or shoulders- He'll be so greedy for your touch that you won't be able to leave yours or his room; one of the other brothers having to bring food and water for you to consume during the small lucid breaks between his rounds of salacity. I hope your stamina is good because you're scarcely going to be let out bed for the next few days...

On the edge of practical insanity, Leviathan wants nothing more than to watch as you bounce yourself on his cock, the smack of your thighs against his pelvis being the most erotic thing he can imagine. He's nothing short of mesmerized by the jiggle of your thighs as you continue to slam down onto him. Mixing that with the purely pornographic expression and sounds you're letting trickle from your pretty lips has him bucking his hips into your with renewed vigor. He's almost envious for everyone else because they'll never get to see you like this. No, this sight is reserved for him and him alone...

Satan holds your wrists in a bruising grip behind your back as he pounds into you from behind; it's as if he's furious. Probably because he is- how dare you speak to that lowly demon? Don't you know your his? He's growling in your ear how "you belong to him" and how he'll "kill anyone for touching what's his". Your ass is red from the sheer force behind each thrust. You can't bring yourself to mind, though, not when the tip of his cock is brushing so deliciously against that special spot.

Your body molds together with Asmodeus in the most beautiful way. The lust filled air, hot and heavy as you work each other towards your crescendo. There's no work from Picasso or Van Gogh or Monet that can rival the pure art that is the the two of you during this week. He holds you just as close as you hold him as your hips roll rhythmically together. Hickies grace each of you in a constellation that traces out the testiment of you connection.

You're sticky with a mixture of sweat, cum, and all of the sweet drizzles Beelzebub used. He's grunting out the most obscene things you've ever heard as he rumbles about "how sweet you are for him". His tongue lapping up the remnants of the whipped cream he used earlier, the sweetness mixing deliciously with the salty, savory taste of your combined cum. His large hands holding you in place as he moves to lap up the bit of caramel still coating your aching slit. Don't even think about trying to shower- you're his for the taking this week and he wants to taste everything you have to offer...

It's the mixture of slow, deep thrusting and animalistic fucking that has you slowly losing your mind with Belphegor. The few hours of sleep you get are interrupted by his familiar weight settling in top of you as he slides home for the first time of many that day. The slow, tired rolls of his hips turn into rough thrusts that have his heavy balls slapping perfectly against your ass cheeks, the sound mortifyingly vulgar in the quiet early morning hours. His hands gripping yours in a way that almost makes this feel intimate in comparison to the carnal fucking that it actually is.

(I don't know what this is either... I wrote this instead of socializing at my family's 4th of July reunion 🥲🔫)

Reblogs are appreciated!🛐 Happy 4th to everyone who celebrates it🎉

[planet-dusk]

Mirror sex with Hyunjin!! Being able to see his gorgeous face while he fucks you from the back, he's so pretty😩‼️

🏷️ hwang hyunjin x fem!reader. cw ; dom!hyunjin, fuckboy!hyunjin, mirror sex ofc, unprotected sex, dubcon elements, degradation, dirty talk abt forced breeding, pet names: doll, name calling: slut, whore ( 576 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

“would you look at that, doll. prettier than any picture.”

he was, of course, referring to the way his cock slid in and out of your slick cunt. his eyes hadn’t left the sight since he’d first buried himself into your tight heat. but your gaze was focused on his face instead: his perfect profile, beautiful features twisted in pleasure.

black strands of hair stuck to his damp skin. if it wasn’t for his large hand pressing down between your shoulder blades you’d attempt to twist around and lick the sharp slant of his jawline.

“filthy slut, letting me hit it raw.” hyunjin punctuated his words with a slap to your ass. you clenched around his cock, every ridge and vein causing delicious friction. you knew he was a fuckboy and you should know better than to have him use you like this… but the memory of his gorgeous face lighting up when he spilled onto your back was enough to throw all care out of the window again.

“bet you wouldn’t even protest if i didn’t pull out.” he wrapped an arm around your torso and lifted you up, your sweaty back pressed against his chest. the change in angle and the risqué suggestion had you gush around him. hyunjin laughed. “i knew it. sluts like you get their brains fucked out once and they turn into cum-hungry whores. what do you think, should i give you what you want?”

“n-no,” you stammered, just lucid enough to know this would be a terrible idea, ignoring the spark of heat in your tummy rearing its ugly head. 

hyunjin hummed and grabbed your chin, tilting your face towards the mirror. 

“do you see my cock? see how wet it is? that’s all on you, doll. you wanted this.”

heat flooded your cheeks at the sight of your bodies tangled together. hyunjin slowed down, pulling out as far as he could. his impressive length glistened with your juices. even if you hadn’t been able to see it the wet sounds would’ve told you enough. you were thoroughly soaking him. 

“hyune, we shouldn’t…“

“we shouldn’t. but we can.”

his hand slipped down to rub circles on your clit, your trembling body fidgeting in his tight grip. for the first time you wished he wasn’t this perceptive. regretted how he could read your body so well. how he left no doubts about feeling your orgasm approaching fast. 

“your mouth’s saying something different than this tight pussy’s telling me.” hyunjin’s hand around your chin moved down to your throat, fingers flexing in time with the fluttering of your cunt around him. “so who’s speaking the truth?” 

“hyun-ah!” you managed to whimper before his fingers found their way into your mouth, effectively silencing your pleading no’s. the twitching of his cock inside you told you he was close, too. it was that thought — the idea of his cum filling you up and leaking down your trembling legs — that pushed you over the edge. 

one, two, three, four thrusts. hyunjin pulled out, white ropes of cum painting your lower back as he stroked himself to completion, your empty pussy clenching around nothing. 

a pang of disappointment rekindled the heat in your gut, embarrassment mixing with the afterglow of your fading orgasm. hyunjin’s dark eyes found yours in the mirror. a smug grin now graced his features and he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot on your skin. 

“thought so.”

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

[puff0o0]

You had a crush on Barrage, a big one at that

It was very obvious, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. The way you snuck glances, gushed about his achievements on the field, and the way you got so nervous when he was around which seemed to be all the time as he was everywhere

Gaz and Ghost were the first to notice, given they are the two most observant in the team. Gaz kept pushing you to go for it and so did Ghost, they wanted you to happy afterall!

You didn't know exactly how to go for it since he doesn't seem to talk much and you two weren't exactly friends

Which makes your crush on him even more frustrating

Soap eventually found out about it and tried helping you out by befriending Barrage himself but that didn't really turn out well...

At least you know what his voice sounds like!

This lead to Soap getting the idea of going on a mission with him

It was the only way you could talk to him without feeling too weird afterall

But you would have to wait for the day you even get the chance to go on one with him since it's completely random :(

But Soap was willing to find a way for you

Price also found out about it (he eavesdropped on the conversation you and Soap were having) and he also wanted to help

He didn't bring it up a lot, only mentioning it when he was around and telling you to go for it. Most of the time it was the perfect opportunity but you didn't want to risk embarrassing yourself

Of course, like Ghost, he teased you a bit but nothing compared to the way Gaz was teasing you

Anytime he walked in the room, Gaz was elbowing you to look and chuckling when you averted your eyes the second you noticed him

There was even a time where Gaz called him over for 'help' in hopes that a conversation between the two of you would spark

It did not.

"You have to introduce yourself"

Price said, Gaz nodding as it's what he's he's saying this whole time

"I'm sure he won't yell at you for asking him out and I'm sure he wouldn't reject you. He'd have to be blind and brain dead to do that to someone like you"

Gaz said, trying to boost your confidence so that you would finally go and get to know him

You just stared at them, shaking your head no as you continued cleaning your gun

"Ye aren't gonna get anywhere if he doesn't know ye!"

Soap said with a grin, hoping that the conversation would inspire and push you into making a move

It did not.

All 4 of them could tell how much you really liked this guy and all 4 of them really wanted you to be happy, so they hatched up a plan in their free time

And it worked!

Somehow Ghost managed to pull some strings, getting you and Barrage on a mission together. It was an easy mission too, the ride there would be longer than the actual mission

And yet you just couldn't bring yourself to actually say something

The air felt so awkward

You didn't want to say the wrong thing and get him to dislike you

Crushes were so hard.

but then he spoke, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts

"You've been lookin' at me this whole time. Is there something you want?"

His voice held some irritation to it, which only made you more nervous

Yet you knew you had to say something back and make it good so that you could actually get to know eachother. But what could you say for that to even happen???

"..I want to get to know you"

You immediately started to feel embarrassed from your reply. It shot out quicker than you could stop it

You couldn't see his facial expressions, his mask covering it and only making you more nervous

Is he disgusted? mad? embarrassed?

Then he chuckled a bit, catching you off guard

Now you were REALLY worried

"If you wanted to ask me out you could just ask normally"

You were shocked, pinching your arm to make sure this wasn't some lucid dream

There was a moment of silence between you as you didn't know what to say and he was waiting on a reply from you

"..I want to ask you out then"

You hesitated, mentally slapping yourself for it. You barely- Well, he barely even knows you

He was probably just baiting you so he could reject you

Or at least that's what your mind thought

If only you could see how his eyes lit up behind those glasses, glad that he finally managed to strike a conversation with you

He wasn't the type to be nervous around a crush or beat around the bush

But you were different! You intimidated him with your looks and personality. He assumed you were wayy out of his league, he was sure you wouldn't even give him a second thought if he asked you out

So he ignored you the best he could so the feelings would go away

But it was not easy, not at all

He even caught himself redirecting his usual routes to match up with your schedule so he could see you more

He quickly put a stop to that

Your smile, your laugh, your eyes, your face, it was all too perfect

Everytime he saw your face he could feel his face heating up a little

A moment of silence before he spoke again, facing your direction

"Then it's a date"

[doki-doki-imagines]

Hello

I saw your post about the linkuei trio arguing with the reader and I really liked it <3

I would like to make a similar request if it is not too much trouble.

What if instead of a kiss the reader slapped them?

author note: anon talks about this post. For this prompt I only got smut ideas, hope it's not a problem!

tw: smut, afab!reader, reader is referred as wife in Bi-Han part.

-Your husband is a idiot, head harder than concrete. It is easier to convince a brick wall to bend than making Bi-Han understand why he is wrong. -You want to make him understand that you also have power, that you aren't dumber than him, and that he needs to respect you. -Maybe the punishment doesn't look like one. Riding him in his office while leaning on his wooden desk sounds more like a prize than penance. -Your position is anything but comfortable, grinding your pelvis in his one, chests as far as possible and hands gripping the wood of his desk making it tremble enough for the ink to fall and stain the documents splayed on it. Not to talk about his fingers, digging painful moons into your skin -"Look at me the entire time." It's what you ordered at the start. Bi-Han didn't nod, your previous argument brushed off, already savouring your body. -And he doesn't listen to you, eyes piercing where your bodies meet, where your cunt drip on his skin and his cock penetrates you. The sight must be arousing, you feel him twitch inside you, a soft groan only trained ears could hear escapes his chest. -You slap him with the back of your hand, and he stops to look at you. His dark eyes look at you full of fury, ready to overturn you, making you cry for the outrage. -But Bi-Han doesn't have time to react. Your hand grips his dishevelled bun, pushing it down to make him look straight into your eyes. -"Look at me." You show your teeth even if your voice is barely a whisper. -There is fury, as intense as his one. Bi-Han has to admit that it is stronger than his one. He gulps and nods, lips trying to get closer to yours, but you keep him in place, your hips finally taking up the rhythm of before. -Maybe the job of the grandmaster's wife is to tell him also when he is wrong and not only nodding along his choice. -Maybe a good grandmaster should listen to his wife. Bi-Han needs to improve, but for now his only goal is getting fucked stupid by that hurricane that is his partner.

-"Why are you so stubborn?!" If Liang has something in common with his older brother, it's his hard head. Unwavering. Unchanging. Even when he is completely wrong. -"Stop screaming! You're hurting my ears." Liang snaps back, angry scowl prominent on his face. "If you stopped to talk instead of running away like a fucking coward-" and then something hits your face; it's the back of Liang's hand. -You know he hasn't done it on purpose, you've seen that it happened just because he turned around at the right time for your face to step in the movement of his arm. -His eyes widen, in fear mostly. Liang may be angry, but he'd never hurt you. -But right now you would, adrenaline making your mind not work. You slap him, straight on his right cheek. -You look at each other, gaze intense and breath heavy, but nobody dares to talk. -You are the first one to move, your lips finding your lover ones, hands already running on his body, trying to pull off his uniform by the collar. -Groaned excuses are chanted on your skin They come as fast as they go, Liang's warm lips running on the exposed skin of your neck and chest. -"You are more stubborn than a bull-" You are able to spit out in a rare moment where Liang's lips aren't on yours. "But you enjoy it getting fucked by me, just like a cow." Liang smirks into your lips, not before biting your lower one. -You steps toward your shared bedroom, hands and lips still keeping your bodies connected. -"But please, never hurt each other again." Liang whispers into your ear, in the last moment of lucidity before bliss takes over. You nod, completely agreeing with him. -"But in bedroom it could be nice-" "Then show me how you'd make a bull obedient, fireball."

-"Know your place, T-Tomas." you say sitting in the comfort of your bed, while your right hand plays with your clit. Tomas listens, or better his body doesn't move, still in its place, the pale skin of his right cheek red from your slap. -You are wearing just your panties and a matching undershirt, all grey silk and white lace, gifted by Tomas a long time ago. -Your hand is playing with your sex, legs open, but Tomas can see the imprint of your fingers playing with yourself, covered by the fabric of your panties. Your nipples are hard, he notices them hidden from undershirt. -Tomas is drooling, his mouth wet with the excess of saliva. "Y-You can just look. Don't you dare c-come closer." -And Tomas follows your order like a good dog. You can see his abs twitching, the tent in his boxer evident. -And honestly? So hot. -"Ah-I bet. I bet you'd love to have a taste of me" You pull out your hand from your panties, a drop of your essence stuck on your index finger, pointing right at him. -Tomas loudly gulps, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, blue irises lost looking at you, or better, at the droplet on your finger. -It takes a second for Tomas to sprint towards you, mouth already open and tongue sticking out, ready to savour you. It also takes you a second to push your foot into his sternum to keep him in his place. -Not that far, but still too much. -"Sorry, but this 'whore than just know how to yap' is busy. For sure, she doesn't have time for a dog like you." You spit out. You would be more convincing if your voice wasn't a whine and your eyes got more anger than tears in them. -Tomas can sense your weakness. He brushes your leg off his chest, and simply pull on the side your wet panties, tongue already deep into your core. -"T-Tommy!" Your hands immediately grip harshly his hair, some tuff escaping your finger. -His rough finger push into the back of your thighs, digging into the fat. Tomas keeps your legs up, far from his face to get as much movement as possible while eating you out. -If only you had a mirror on top of the ceiling, you could notice his back muscles flexing and his biceps twitching to keep your legs in place. -Your moans fill the room, your hands tugging on his hair, which means that your arms are close, squeezing your chest in a delightful sight. Now Tomas has to show you how good of a dog he is. -Later, he will excuse himself for his words.

[4wkjun]

✴ Kinktober, day seven: accidental stimulation with Sunoo

✴ Word count: 1,5K ✴ Content warning: kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), little bit of an oral fixation. ✴ Taglist: @starsareseen, @lucid-sombra, @enha13, @karinashairdryer, @kim2005bomi, @hyun00

✴ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ✴

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

“Jesus Christ, we should’ve bought a cake”, you laughed.

“Ya! It’s not that bad!” Sunoo responded, pretending to be offended.

The two of you were decorating a cake for your nephew’s third birthday. You told your sister you’d buy him a cake, but your lovely boyfriend suggested that the two of you bake it.

Baking wasn’t the problem at all. You two agreed on a chocolate cake, Sunoo mixed the batter while you worked on the filling. However, none of you seemed to know how to work around chantilly, the counter gross and sticky because it took you three tries to finally achieve the right consistency.

Now, the cake was weirdly covered in a heavy mass of chantilly, looking almost like cement all over it. You laughed while Sunoo tried to move it around with a spatula to cover the holes. You collected an excess of it with your (clean) fingers and placed it on the spot without any chantilly at all.

“Maybe we should make more, I think a can of heavy cream wasn’t enough.”

“Do we have any heavy cream left?”, he asked with a chuckle. “Plus, what if we forget to add vanilla again? It’ll taste like nothing.”

“Nah, it’ll taste like whipped cream.”

“Nobody likes plain whipped cream.”

“I do!”, you responded in a higher pitch, ready to playfully fight him. “I’d punch you if my hands weren’t sticky right now.”

Sunoo laughed, putting the spatula down. “Let me see”, he asked, reaching out for your hand. You let him grab your hand in his, only to watch him wrap his lips around your fingertips to suck the chantilly out of them.

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but it sent a shiver right down your core, turning you on instantaneously. You just watched him sucking your fingers (without any sign of dirty thoughts behind his eyes) without a single reaction, not being able to move.

Sunoo removed your fingers from his mouth and smiled, leaning in to peck your lips quickly.

“So much better than plain whipped cream”, he winked, laughing a bit. He turned around to toss the spatula on the sink, and you stood still, your brain suddenly fogged. “Hey, you ok?”, he asked after a few seconds, looking at you over his shoulder as he opened the tap.

You cleaned your throat, nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure?”, he asked, pouting. “You got quiet all of a sudden.”

You moved a bit, leaning your back against the counter. Your mind couldn’t forget that scene and how it made you feel – only making it worse.

“Nah, I haven’t”, you said, voice an octave higher.

Sunoo turned the water off, turning around to face you. He arched an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

“Do you actually think you can fool me?”

“Sometimes, yeah”, you shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

With a sigh, Sunoo walked towards you (took him literally three steps), standing still in front of you. “Do I need to tickle the truth out of you?”

You scoffed, leaning in to lay your forehead against his shoulder. Sunoo crossed his arms behind your back, holding you as he leaned his cheek against your head.

“It’s a little gross.”

“Not possible”, he said softly. “I can take anything that comes from your weird-ass head.”

You playfully slapped his ribcage before wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m just a little embarrassed ‘cause I got a little turned on.”

“Oh”, Sunoo said, eyebrows raised even though you couldn’t see. “Should I ask how that happened?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and holding him closer.

“When you… sucked my fingers.”

You needed no other word for Sunoo to get it. He stayed silent for a few seconds before rubbing your back. He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head before saying:

“What should we do about it?”

You looked up, confused.

“Nothing?”

Sunoo scoffed, shaking his head. He moved one of his hands towards the side of your neck, part of his fingers placed on your cheek before leaning in to connect your lips.

His soft lips moved slowly against yours, melting you beneath his touch. Every time your tongues brushed against each other’s, you felt a sparkle. Your hands moved to the sides of his body, holding tightly his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”, you asked once he broke the kiss. Sunoo didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your hand from his clothing and dragged it towards his lips.

He started kissing your hand gently, just by pecking your fingers – already turning your pupils dilated by the feeling – while keeping eye contact. He didn’t know your hands were that sensitive, but now he wouldn’t let it go.

“Ya, Sunoo”, you tried warning him, but your voice sounded shaky. He scoffed, slowly licking your fingertips. Your eyes closed involuntarily, the excitement growing by the second.

Sunoo held your waist more strongly than he normally would, while his other hand held yours against his lips. He sucked your index and middle finger up to your knuckles, making you sigh heavily.

“How do you want me to make you cum, love?”, he asked gently after completely removing your fingers from his soft mouth while his fingers brushed your waist softly through the fabric of your shirt.

You mumbled something incoherent and lay your head against his shoulder again, completely embarrassed. Sunoo knew not only you but also how your body reacted to his touch. He knew you were wet and growing desperate for him to touch your whole body.

“I guess it’s up to me, then”, he chuckled. Sunoo used his hand to hold your chin and raise your head, looking at your flustered face. His inner self wanted to smirk and make some mean comment about your state, but it was just so hot for him that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With care, he kissed your lips. His actions were sweet, but his intentions were just the opposite, his cock getting hard at the thought of you so desperate because of him. 

“Will you let me take care of you?”, he said in almost a whisper, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. You nodded, eyes still closed.

Sunoo used to go big or go home, so instead of torturing you, he dropped to his knees. His fingers reached the button of your jeans, undoing it in such a peace it killed you. Your cheeks burned hot as he calmly pulled your jeans and your panties down, embarrassed for not wearing anything sexy and for that little wet patch on them. Your right hand reached for his soft hair, caressing his scalp as you leaned against the counter. He took your bottom clothing completely off, making you feel exposed. His hand reached for the back of your right thigh, pulling it over his shoulder.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, once Sunoo’s warm tongue licked a stripe from your slit to your clit and made you hold your breath. His lips focused completely on your clit from that moment on, making patterns in it with his wet muscle and eventually sucking it.

“Jesus, Sunoo”, you meawled, almost melting beneath his touch. Your eyes barely stayed open, but Sunoo’s were focused on your face. Your expressions and soft moans of pleasure were way too amusing for him to miss.

Without a warning, Sunoo’s middle and ring fingers were abusing your velvety walls from the inside. The way he curled his fingers and massaged your g-spot with ease made your eyes close even harder and your hand left his hair, now both of them supporting your weight better against the counter.

Sunoo absolutely loved how fast you’d cum when he eat you out, never lasting more than three minutes of his tongue abusing your swollen clit. He knew how and when to press all the right spots to make you melt beneath his touch.

“Hmpf, Sunoo”, you mumbled, biting your lips in between the words to keep the moans from floating out of your throat. “I’m so close.”

Sunoo scoffed, already knowing that. With no warning, his left hand pressed down your stomach while the other one worked harder and faster, pumping in and out of you and massaging your g-spot with ease.

Within seconds you were a babbling mess, grinding your hips against his face. He only stopped stimulating your g-spot and your clit once you whined higher, letting him know it was too much.

Sunoo got up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, a big smirk on his face and a bulge on his pants. You were panting, knuckles white from the strength you put into them to keep you standing up while your lover gave you a mindblowing orgasm.

“So, how do you feel?”, he asked, gently even though his face had the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“I…” your chest raised fast. “I think I really love you”, you said, playfully.

“Maybe you could show how much you love me”, he said in the same playful tone, right hand pressing his boner over his pants.

You laughed, nodding.

[artyandink]

whiskey, baby

SUMMARY: Dean’s no longer a demon, and in order to deal with the horrors of all that he’s said and done he retreated into his own shell. Drowning himself in whiskey and his own problems because that’s all there’s left to do. Then there’s you, his demon self’s esteemed fuck buddy, who comes up with a two step plan to feeling good, only for a little while. Step 1? Let you take the reins. Step 2? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

TW: MOC!Dean, angst, demon trauma, post demon!Dean, Reader’s not a stone cold bitch and actually worries about Dean in this but in her own weird way, Dean doesn’t hate her for an odd reason, smut

STW: switch!Dean, riding, oral (m + f receiving), temperature + whiskey play, lipstick play (does it count?), marking, switch!reader, thigh riding (brief), pussydrunk!Dean, fingering, face sitting, ass slapping, thigh slapping, slight overstimulation, ring kink implied, major praise kink, dirty talk, damage of clothes, vocal Dean, threat of exhibitionism

A/N: Yes, this is a sequel to lipstick, baby, and you guys can make the comparison between Dean as a demon during the smutty parts and Dean post demon and more aware. Hope you enjoy!

NOW PLAYING: RIVER - BISHOP BRIGGS

Dean felt kinda empty, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Being a demon didn’t suit him at all, and now that it was over he was left to deal with the reality of it all. The killing, punching people’s lights out, hurting Sammy, hurting in general— he hated it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“Fuck.” Dean growled under his breath, staring at himself in the mirror and finding he just couldn’t damn do it, looking away after barely five seconds because holy hell, he wanted to smash the mirror in just to please the Mark throbbing on the skin of his forearm. “Shut up, why don’t you, you… I don’t even know what you are.” He hissed at the Mark, but it didn’t shut up or stop pulsing.

The bunker door being banged on drew his attention away from his own flaws - thank God, if the bastard even existed - and prompted Dean to walk out of his bathroom, grunting an affirmation that yes, he was coming to whoever was behind the door.

When he wrenched it open with an expression that looked like the human equivalent of a ticked off chihuahua, he saw… you. Oh, fuck, oh, shit, you. The woman that he as a demon had incredible sexual escapades that may or may not have been the star of his dreams for weeks on end after the whole demon thing got cured. Pouring the whiskey on your body, you riding him till you both were spent— it felt almost lucid.

“You.” Dean murmured hoarsely, his throat feeling dry upon the sight of you and your gorgeous, sexy self. Today you were in denim shorts and fishnet tights - of course you were in something that made his senses go wild - with the same red plaid that was buttoned up this time, tucked in and the sleeves rolled to your elbows.

He kind of felt a little out of place. Out of place in his own home— that’s the kind of effect you had.

“Gee, how enthusiastic.” You drawled, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in one hand. “I really thought you’d be more inclined to see me, Dean, I’m partially offended.” You gave him a cheeky smirk, then grasped what was in the bag, showing him the neck of a bottle of Jack.

Oh. That changes things.

Dean’s lip twitched up at the sight, warming up to you like he would when drinking the good stuff. Then again, he knew that deep in that roughed up heart of his, he had a soft spot for you in particular. “That’s my girl.” He took the bottle, examining it with a chuckle as he let you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“So, Dean, how’ve you been?” You asked, following behind him, your boots clicking on the tile of the bunker’s floor. You looked around, pouting in approval at what you saw. Place was damn impressive. But you were also perceptive to Dean. The way he clutched that bottle like a vice, the slight tightness in his gait, the set of his brow. All subtle, but you’d had sex with this man enough times to know when something bothers him.

What? You were perceptive during sex too, you’re not only in it for the physical stuff. You’re not a monster.

However, Dean just shrugged, making a grumble of an ‘eh’, ambling with you towards his bedroom. “As good as a man can be, sweetheart. You?” Bullshit.

“I mean, how’ve you really been?” The question stopped him dead in his tracks, and he swallowed, eyes furtively glancing to you in a way that screamed ‘oh, shit’. But he didn’t say anything, just prompted him to trudge up to his bedroom, you following, rolling your eyes.

Dean Winchester was the sexiest man alive, but… my god, was he irritating sometimes.

“Three fingers, sweetheart?” Dean asked you as you stepped over the threshold to his bedroom, the guns and random trinkets he’d collected adorning the place as usual. His bed was messy, pillow and blanket askew, which he tried to sort out but only ended up messing it up further.

You smirked, winking as you closed the door behind you, kicking off your boots and moving to sit beside him on the bed, cross legged while he was propped on his hand, legs outstretched. “You know I can take it, handsome, don’t be shy.”

Dean couldn’t stop the visual from popping up in his head. Damn demon him for being so attracted to you. Then again, he couldn’t really say anything.

He poured you three fingers of whiskey in a glass and handed it to you with a soft grunt under his breath, his eyes flicking over you for the umpteenth time before pouring his own. “Here y’ go.”

“Cheers.” You smiled, clinking your glass with his before sipping some of it. “I know you better than you think, y’ know that? You’re struggling, even a blind man can see that one.”

Dean just grunted again, shaking his head. “M’ fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it? Damn, you really are struggling.” You snorted, taking another sip of your whiskey. “C’mere, babe.”

Dean scooted closer, clearly not anticipating how your lips would ghost his jaw before pressing an open mouthed kiss to it, humming and sucking on the skin, making his breath hitch and eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Darlin’—”

“Shh.” You continued kissing down his stubble, drawing a quiet moan from him, not protesting as you plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it on the bedside table, guiding his hand to your hair.

Fuck. This is what he gets, for not having a woman’s touch in a while.

“Mm, baby.” Dean couldn’t help but groan, especially as your hands pulled off his flannel — wait, when did you unbutton that thing? — and tossed it aside, his back hitting the mattress, eyes hazy and hands flying to your soft thighs as you straddled him.

Not like he was roofied, he just felt so drunk. Not on whiskey, but on you, your lips, your gorgeous body.

Now he saw why his demon self liked you so much.

He exposed his neck to you, which earned a hum of approval from you, your hand cupping the side of it as your thumb brushed his pulse. “Attaboy.” You whispered, one hand smoothing back his hair (the whimper that left him was almost embarrassing). “Lemme take your mind off things.”

You returned the favour from the first time, grabbing the whiskey glass and pouring the contents on his chest, the cold compared with your warm body making Dean shiver.

His belt clattered to the floor.

Jeans went after.

And your tongue was on his chest.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen something filthier in his life, it rivalled the likes of Casa Erotica— your tongue flattening against the divots and ridges of his muscle as you collected the burn of the whiskey on your tongue, moving down and down, kissing his v-line, nuzzling his thighs.

“Don’t you stop, sweetheart.” Dean pleaded, voice strangled, hips bucking as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his cock, which was already needy for you.

Damn, the effect you had on him was ethereal.

You chuckled, licking from his base to his tip while your thumb spread his precome, his hips bucking into your hand with a needy whine. “Not gonna stop, don’t you worry.”

“Gonna taste you,” He panted, his skin glowing already with a thin layer of sweat as his hand twisted in your hair, “when this is done. Mark my words, pretty girl, gonna eat you dumb— son of a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.” You murmured before you took him into your mouth, working him fast while grinding into the bed.

The sight of him with his head tossed back, eyes rolled and freckled cheeks flushed like that was incredibly hot, ok? Don’t blame a woman.

You pulled off him to suck at his tip, which had him fisting the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in bliss. “So good, handsome. Taste so good.” You murmured, which earned you a sinful whimper.

Praise kink. Noted.

Your signature scarlet lipstick smeared on him — good — and left your mark, sucking and licking until Dean came, spilling into your mouth, but you’re a trooper, so you swallowed the whole thing.

Before you could register, however, you were being yanked up the bed and Dean’s hands were undoing your shorts, shoving them down — ripping your panties — and taking your fishnets to your knees, hauling you onto his face and barely letting you register before his tongue fucked into your soaking pussy, your eyes rolling back like his did, moaning in sync as one hand shot to the headboard and the other his hair.

His hands were so fucking reverent, gliding up your thighs, kneading them, one moving to deliver a light smack and grope to your ass, moaning when you began to grind down onto his tongue because you just couldn’t help it.

And then his hand slid up your back, around to your front, unbuttoning your plaid so his fingers could pay extra attention to your nipples (you would obviously show up to his house braless, y’all out there’d understand) as one long, thick finger thrusted up into your pussy, ring pressing against your g-spot in a way that had his name tearing from your throat.

How was normal Dean better than demon Dean? Or Deanmon. Whatever, either way, he was fucking you right.

“What if Sammy comes back, huh?” Dean growled into your cunt, licking every inch of it while he pushed a second finger into you, then a third, stretching you out and sending vibrations and electricity through your body. “Gonna give him a show, sweetheart? Show him how much you fucking need me?”

He ripped an orgasm from you, drinking it up like he was parched before flipping you over, getting your plaid off and entering you in one clean stroke while his mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

“Shit, Dean!” You cried out, the first coherent sentence you could make since you rode his face and even that meant don’t you dare stop. And if any other man threatened you with exhibitionism you’d probably slap him and leave.

But this was Dean Winchester, so you’d make a thousand exceptions as long as he fucked your legs out.

He marked your neck, pounding into you like he just couldn’t help it, entwining your hands and pinning them above your head. “F-Fuck, baby girl. So tight— shit. Could fuck this pretty pussy forever.” He rolled over, putting you on top, and you took the cue to ride him, moans in tandem as Dean reached down to rub your clit. “Ride me, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, need it all. Please, need all’a you.”

Well, how could you say no?

“So good,” You panted, which earned a whimpering moan from Dean. “Gonna give it all to you, promise.” You clenching around him and his cock’s ride brushing your g-spot and all of it reaching places you didn’t know you had sent you over the edge, and before you’d realised it, he’d come before you with a strangled grunt of your name, hands moving to your hips to help you through your high despite being in it himself.

Once you’d come down from your high, and he his, you pulled off him, collapsing on the bed next to him, both of you flushed red, panting and so damn satisfied.

“C’mere.” Dean rasped, holding a hand out to you, and you were confused. The hell is he doing? “C’mere, baby.” He looked positively wrecked — you most likely did too — but that didn’t distract you.

“Why?” You tilted your head, pushing sweaty strands out from your face.

“To cuddle, why else?” Wow, he was a secure man, saying it outright like that. “I wanna hold you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hold you as a demon. Nobody had.

So you scooted up to him, laying your head on his chest and allowing his arm to rest around your waist, other one acting as a pillow underneath his head.

Dean felt upset that demon him hadn’t taken the courtesy to hold this gorgeous woman, but now’s not the time to address that.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He kissed your hair, “I needed that.”

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦�� 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[minnaci]

gojo satoru x gn!reader · nsfw · wc: 650

when satoru offers you a reward for your good behavior, you immediately tell him you want to ride him. unfortunately, you may have overestimated your ability to focus with him inside of you...

contents: lightly implied dom/sub dynamics (d!satoru x s!reader), gentle but teasing!satoru, light praise kink, dirty talk, insertive sex (reader receiving)

reader details: reader has a non-specified "hole", and is described as being "lifted" by satoru. no other body or gender descriptors used.

a/n: this fic is a request from @attractedtopeoples for @ficsforgaza! thank you so much for donating to help dr moath abu samra and his family evacuate!

“C’mon, you can do it,” Gojo levels a shit-eating grin at you, big hands sitting hot and heavy on your hips. You shiver in his lap, straddling his thighs, filled to the brim of his throbbing cock. Fuck. He’s so thick inside of you, stretching you open perfectly. “You were so good today— you earned yourself a nice, big reward.” 

Your thighs quiver as you attempt to lift yourself off his cock, and you slap a hand against his chest when the sensations overtake you, sending you straight back down onto his cock. “Satoru.” You aim for chastising, but, much to your dismay, it comes out closer to a fucked-out whine. 

“What? I’m just giving you what you wanted.” He leans back, his smile softening into something more appreciative. “Isn’t it good, baby? Didn’t you want to ride me— how did you put it? Oh, yes. Didn’t you want to ‘ride me into oblivion’?” 

Something tender and vulnerable trembles in your chest. A heady cocktail of embarrassment and desire seeps into your voice. “Don’t tease. This is my reward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sorry, sorry,” he chuckles, leaning down to give you a mollifying kiss. “You just look so cute when you’re frustrated and horny.”

You don’t dignify him with a response, instead focusing on your next attempt at lifting yourself up and off his cock. His length slides out of you slowly, and your breaths grow heavier as your hole clings to him as if begging him to stay inside. 

“Let me help you,” he murmurs. Before you can react, his hands clamp down over your hips, and he pulls you back down onto his cock, shoving every overwhelming inch back into you so deeply that you swear he’s fucking the thoughts out of your brain.

“Ah!” A wretched, wordless noise escapes from the back of your throat. You scrabble for coherency, trying desperately to pull yourself together—

He lifts you up and slams you back down again, using that truly unfair strength of his to fuck you up and down on his cock, like you’re just some— some pleasure toy. It’s hotter than it has any right to be, but still, some stubborn part of your brain protests. 

“Sa— Satoru—” Fuck, you can barely speak between each mind-melting thrust, especially when he begins to fucks you harder at the sound of his name on your lips. You sob a truly humiliating slew of whines and whimpers into the crook of his neck, losing yourself to the pleasure for a few brief, blinding seconds of pleasure. “I wanted to ride you.” 

He leans in until the warmth of his breath washes over the shell of your ear, letting his voice drop into that dark and delicious register that he knows makes you turn to putty in his hands. “Mmm, I know you did, baby, but I also know that this needy body doesn’t know how to act when I’m inside it. Besides, doesn’t it feel so much better like this? You don’t need to answer that. I can tell by all the pretty faces you make when I do this—”

He forces you down even further on his cock, and your eyes roll back into your head as you collapse against his chest, lucidity overpowered by all-consuming pleasure. You find yourself agreeing, nodding mindlessly, even as your hole sucks needily at his cock. There’s no headier high than submitting to Satoru, no deeper pleasure than being good for him. Obedience is a reward in and of itself— but the sheer, irresistible pleasure he showers upon you is what keeps you coming back for more.

“Ha! There’s my pretty baby,” he smiles as you blink up at him with that blank, fucked-out look that makes his cock twitch hard inside of you. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure this reward is still worth your while. Just sit back and let me take care of you.”

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

[carolmunson]

baby, as if | flashbacks pt. 2

welcome back to the jungle, babes. baby as if: masterlist (read with caution.)

welcome to the second part of the flashbacks. here we see what happened, where the sour parts began. here, we semi-answer the questions for why he's like that. tw: 18+ (21+ preferred), p in v sex, drug use, references to violence, active violence (domestic and non-domestic), references to gun violence, references to violence with a switchblade, references to club going/getting lapdances, established couple arguing, verbal abuse, psychological abuse/gaslighting, screaming matches, etc. dead dove, do not eat. for a more extensive list of trigger warnings please look at the master list.

5 Years Ago

“Oh, fuck that’s it,” Eddie huffs, sweat making the underside of his hair curlier than normal against his neck, “Ride it juss – mmm, shit, just like that.” 

“S’good?” you whine out, eyes glassy and begging for a morsel of his praise. You both still had your clothes on, panties pushed to the side under your diner dress, jeans shoved down part way while he leaned back on the driver’s seat of the van – parked hidden away beyond the trees outside the diner parking lot. Your lunch break spent sucking him in between your thighs.

“Mmmfuckyes,” he hisses out, voice gravelly and deep, “Always so good, sweetheart. Fuck, this pussy’s all mine, isn’it?” 

“All yours,” you yelp while his palm comes down in a loud crack on the side of your ass, “S’yours.” “That’s right, s’all mine,” he whines, eyes rolling while your hips slap against his pelvis. His hips stutter upwards and still, fingertips sinking into your skin where he grabs you, “Shitshitshitshitshit.” “Ooh yes, cum for me, cum for me,” you gasp, riding him through his orgasm, only slightly lucid from your own moments before. He grins at your encouragement, brows pinching in the ecstasy of his aftershocks before he pulls you in to kiss him while you both come down. 

“Fuh-hu-hu-uck, I love you,” he whispers while he catches his breath, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too,” you smile into his neck, pressing yourself flush against his chest to hold him tighter. 

His palm grazes your back, a soft hum pouring from his chest before he presses a kiss to your shoulder, “You gotta get a new dress for the diner soon, honey. This one’s a little tight, don’t you think?” 

“You callin’ me fat, Ed?” you ask, abruptly leaning back from him. 

He laughs, shaking his head, “No sweetheart, not at all. M’just sayin’ it’s showing you off a little more than I’d like it to.”

“How else am I gonna get tips, handsome?” you wink. He lets his eyes roam over your for a moment.

He shrugs with the cock of his head, “When you’re right, you’re right, I guess.” 

Eddie leans in to kiss you again, one rough hand comes up to cup your cheek, “If things keep goin’ how they’re goin’ you won’t even need to work at the diner anymore, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah?” you mumble against his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ll be takin’ good care’a you,” he smirks, mouth pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “Keep you at home with a couple babies, far the fuck away from Indiana.” 

“Oh, I gotta stay home with the babies?” you giggle, “I can’t be an award winning journalist while you’re home with the kids?” 

“I can do that,” he laughs, nuzzling against your skin, “Be a stay at home dad, watch you be great.” You give each other a few more kisses – soft and gentle, “I’ll see you at ten, kay?” “Okay,” you whisper against his lips, crawling off of him over the console and getting in the passenger's seat so he can drive you back into the parking lot. You touch up your make up in the mirror while he watches, lower lip tucking between his teeth. “You’re too pretty,” he scolds, “Who said you could look so pretty like that?” “Shut up,” you laugh, dabbing your chapstick on with your finger. You give him a final peck on the cheek before getting out of the van altogether, “See you later.” 

Time ticks on at the diner and it’s a quiet night besides of the corner booths of your regular construction guys. You always take your time with them because they tip the best right after payday and even if you hate to admit it – they’re a little funny. They’re cute, too.

The grease and oil on their clothes smells like Eddie after a shift at the garage, smells like your dad’s coveralls. It’s what you expect men to smell like these days, never scrunching your nose the way some of the women do who walk by. “Who do you think’s winning Smackdown this season?” Bryan asks you in front of the guys. “Bry, you ask me something about WWE every time you’re here and every time I gotta tell you I have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” you laugh, writing out the check and slipping it onto the table. “We gotta educate ya, girl,” the guys chime in, “Maybe one of these nights we can have the remote and put it on. We’ll tell you all about it.” “Over my boss’s dead body,” you roll your eyes, “No rush on the check fellas, let me know if you need anything else.” They always hang around late but you never mind too much, they don’t ask a lot and they never get too rowdy now matter how many beers they clear. Bryan and his closer work buddies have been coming around here since long before you were working behind the counter. He knows your birthday and you know his, you met his mom a couple of times, his grandparents twice. His daddy left when he was a kid, but his papa basically raised him. 

The bell on the door clinks and you can smell the acrid tobacco from the Camel’s Eddie smoked when the air whooshes in with him. He smiles at you, soft pink lips splitting his face when he sees you behind the shiney linoleum. Ten o’clock on the dot. You pour him a cup of coffee when he sits on the stool across from you. “How long you think it’s gonna take to close up tonight?” he asks, tossing a glance over at the group in the corner booths. His brows raise slightly before he brings his attention back to you: the smear of your mascara under your eyes, the slight dampness at your hairline – too pretty. “Should be ready to hit the road around eleven,” you pass him a couple of creamers and a sugar packet which he always ignores. Sandra tries not to get mad when you flirt instead of closing up.

He leans up on the stool, lips pulling in for a smooch. You oblige him every time, never realizing all the reasons he does it. He wants those boys to know you aren't on the market, well taken care of by a man with his budding reputation. Eddie Munson wasn't really someone you wanted to get on the bad side of, at least that's what people were saying in town under their chitters of day to day gossip. His posture stiffens when the guys get up to pay about a half hour later, when they make jokes with you, when they imply they'll see you tomorrow. Eddie's jaw clenches and releases, rolling his shoulders when they file outside to smoke their end of night cigarettes.

"Busy night?" he asks once the bell stops dinging. "A little," you shrug, you walk around the counter to clean up their table; smiling to see they've stacked everything together to make it easier to carry. "Good tips?" he asks. You nod, patting your apron while you disappear in the back, letting Peter know that was the last of the dishes. Eddie catches you when you reappear, closing in on a slow kiss. "Thought about you all day," he smiles, "Your dad was pissed, I dropped a wrench twice under the hood of some new customer's car." "Don't test him," you tease, "He's a hard ass." "I'm his favorite," he winks, "Gonna be his son one day, right? He can't hate me now." You start to count out the register, catching his eye in between the change of bills -- he winks each time, making your heart race. But your smile falls when you see his phone start to buzz on the table.

“Don’t get all pouty, it could just be Gare,” he says when he catches your change in expression. The soft breath out of his nose tells you enough. “M’sorry baby, I gotta go,” he says, one foot already hitting the white and black tile below him, “Big move over by Rick’s and they need extra support.” 

He leans over the counter again to give you a kiss, but your frown is evident. "How am I gonna get home, Ed?" you ask softly. "Aw, honey," he pouts, voice stuffy with baby talk, "M'so mean, huh? Why don't you call your dad? He'll come get you. Unless you wanna wait for me. I’ll be back in – I dunno, two hours tops. Come back a few G’s richer than I was before." "I'm not waiting around outside the diner until one in the morning," you sigh, reaching for your phone in your apron, "I'll figure something out." Your frustration is evident.

“C'mon, look'it me," he says softly, smiling when he meets your eye, "I’ll get you somethin’ pretty tomorrow." He leans forward to kiss you again – short little pecks, “Whatever.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “Don’t make this a regular thing,” you warn, crossing your arms and trying not to smile after the kissy assault. He nods, leaning in again to kiss you on the mouth more seriously than before. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he says, gathering his keys and bouncing up off the stool, "Text me when you get home. I love you." “I know, handsome,” you nod.. He blushes at the name, you know it’s his favorite – he never really thought he was handsome before you came around to remind him all the time.

“Hey,” he pouts at you from the door, “Say it back.”  "I love you, too," you sing song, leaning on your elbow on the clean counter top. That's how it's been -- always with a promise of something pretty, of something new, of something he wants to see you in, to smell you in, to kiss you in. New shoes, new dress, new mascara, new lip gloss, new, new, new. But you were starting to miss the old Eddie who didn’t have to be on call all the time. Eddie, who'd be excited to see Beau at the shop, who wasn’t too tired from being with Rick and the boys, from making deals all night – from pushing bricks in different states.

When 11 hits you make your way out of the diner, your dad didn't answer your call -- both your parents and Beau fast asleep by now. You light a cigarette, seeing the headlights of a car turn on in the dark parking lot headed your way. "Hey, where's your man?" Bryan says from the driver's side, another friend in the passenger. "Had somethin' to do," you shrug, flicking your ash into the bush behind you. "I can give you a ride, if you want."

You weren't in any position to say no to a ride.

A few weeks pass and Eddie hasn't been able to drive you home from the diner at all these days. Date nights coming in a little farther and few in between. Even Beau had been asking where he'd been lately. But tonight it was just the two of you, back pack filled for a night over at his place. Movies snuggled up on his couch, two different kinds of pizza and the cinnasticks you liked so much -- extra iceing. You could barely stop smiling during your mid-shift, giggling at every text message, every smiley he sent your way.

You jump at the harsh sound of the horn outside, expecting him to come in and give your mom a hug like he usually does. He's idling outside of your family's house, knee bouncing and fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Hair tied up, bangs curly and over flowing on his forehead, damp with sweat. 

“Is that Ed, honey?” she calls from the kitchen, organizing pins back in her trusty tackle box of hair fixins that she keeps in the cabinets closer to her hair cutting chair.

“Yeah!” you yell back, shoving some essentials in your purse before running toward the door, “Um, I’ll probably see you tomorrow!” 

“Okay, tell him I said hi!” she offera while you head outside. He flashes his high beams at you, honking the horn again while you squint under the harsh bright lights. Your keys jingle in your hand while your sneakers sink into the mud from the summer rain, hurrying to open the door. 

“Hi handsome,” you smile, but he doesn’t look happy to see you, “You okay?” 

“Babe, what’re you wearing?” he asks while he looks you over, “We’re goin’ to the club.” 

You look him over, blackest black slim fit slacks, shoes shined, leather jacket newly conditioned while all the hardware glinted back at you in the light above him. You look down at your sweatshirt and jean shorts, your dirty sneakers, “Oh, um, I can go change.” 

He sighs, big and heavy, leaning his head back on the headrest,  “We don’t have time, I gotta meet Rick beforehand.” 

“You didn’t – you didn’t tell me. I thought we were just going to yours tonight,” you say, hoisting yourself into the passengers seat, “So don’t act all – I don’t know – fuckin’ exasperated with me for not dressin’ up.” 

He takes a deep breath through his mouth and out through his nose, eyes closing and fingers tightening on the wheel while you click your seatbelt into place, “M’not exasperated with you. But now I gotta leave you at Rick’s ‘cause I’m not gonna be late for this play just cause you don’t read your texts.”

Your furrow your brows at him, his tone feels clipped, sharpened – he was tense like a stretched elastic, waiting to snap, “You didn’t text me.” 

“Yes I did,” he huffs, pulling out of the driveway and onto the street, “Why don’t you check?” 

You do, even going as far to open your text conversation, his last message from the last hour in his shift: see u in two hours, qt :)

“It’s just from when you texted me from work,” you say, turning the screen toward him, “See?” 

He scans it, knee bouncing, fingers drumming, he swipes his hand under his bangs to push away the sweat, “You have bad service or something? Did you delete it?” 

“No, babe, I think you just didn’t press send,” you laugh lightly, “Unless you got some other bitches you were supposed to meet tonight.” 

His head had never whipped so fast around, “Why would you say somethin’ like that, hm?” he snaps, “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Ed, babe,” you say softly, “You serious? I was joking. It was just a slip up, I’ll hang at Rick’s.” 

“Well it’s not funny,” he says, leg bouncing so fast it shakes the van at the red light you’re stopped at, “I don’t like that shit.” 

Your heart sinks, watching the whites of his knuckles flex and relax on the wheel. Your suspicions might be right about why he was acting like this tonight, “You gonna kiss me hello, or no, Munson?” 

His shoulders slump, turning to you to lean in for a kiss, but you catch his eyes in the streetlights – pupils blown to block out his pretty brown irises. Your brows pinch and you reach out to hold his chin in your hand. 

“Wait – are you -- are you fucking tweaking right now?” you ask, the anger present on your face. 

“Stop it,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and dragging his face out of your grip to look back on the road, “I had a little blow, m’not tweaking.” 

“So you’re gonna do this play all revved up? Thought you weren’t ever gonna touch your own stash,” you snap. Eddie wasn’t innocent and you weren’t either, but he was always – always adamant on not touching what he sells. 

“I’ve been awake for two days,” he boredly explains, raising his voice to drown out your disappointment, “I needed a boost.”

He grabs your hand from your lap, pulling your knuckles up to his mouth to kiss them, “Don’t be mad, please?” 

“I’m not mad you just…you don’t have the right personality to be playing around with that shit,” You huff, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on your fingers. 

“M’not playing around with it, it was just for a boost,” he pleads in a whine. You stay glaring at the windshield while his thumb caresses your hand. 

“Baby…” he says sweetly, casting his hook, “Don’t be mad, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

Line. Sinker. You try not to grin but can’t help it, warmth pools through your body when he talks to you like that. He presses a kiss to your fingertips this time. 

“Do you love me?” he asks.  “Unfortunately,” you groan sarcastically. 

“I love you more,” he says, keeping your hand with his on his lap, “Love you the most.” 

You get to Rick's, hand in hand with your boyfriend while he guides you inside. To anyone else it would look like a party but the group was too small, it's what Eddie would call a gathering. He says his hellos and you say yours before Ed finds the man of the hour in the corner with Steve Harrington -- budding favorite dealer amongst Indiana's elite. "Harrington," Eddie nods, his arm skating around your waist. They nod at eachother mid conversation, you both wave. You try not to listen to whatever they're talking about, not wanting to get caught up in the stress. The smoke in the air burns your eyes against the neon pink light fixtures burning on the wall. You wonder where Rick ordered these one's from -- or stole them. Something. "Alright baby, I'm gonna head out with the guys but I'll be around later, alright? I'll come get you," he promises, pressing kisses on your cheek that offer you whispers of his cologne. It's not too long before a joint is perched between your lips, hearing the revs of cars and Steve's motorcycle outside, all headed to he same place. But Eddie didn't show up -- popped up two days later with a cross tattoo on one of his knuckles -- fresh. His eyes were dark, under eyes darker -- tense and overwhelmed -- but much richer than he was two days before. Not showing up became regular. Countless texts and calls of: ‘Sorry baby, things are running late.’ ���Sorry baby, have to run some plays for Rick.’

‘Sorry baby, gotta go to Michigan with some of the guys.’

'Sorry baby, I'm just so tired.'

Bryan drove you home every shift for two months, ever since Eddie stopped coming by. Started spending his nights at clubs and bars to deal, ignoring your calls and texts for days on end.

You let Bryan start kissing you goodbye.

Four and a Half Years Ago

Eddie got another cross tattoo a month after his first, hunkering down and laying low for a while, especially now that his daddy was out of jail. No one liked Mack Munson the way they liked his son, not the same criminal he was. Mack did crime for sport, how far can you go? How many people can you hurt? How many envelopes can you push until you've pushed too many? He's normally out for a few months before he's back in again, but that's easy when you've got no where to go.

Eddie was different -- making a name for himself in all the right ways. Oh, a kid at the park's bike got stolen? Eddie got him a new one. Wayne's car broke down? He covered the cost to fix it. Mrs. Costner couldn't pay her heating bill? Don't worry, Eddie will be there with the cash before you can say 'hypothermia.' Even the cops were starting to let him slide if he could spare a few pills, a few ounces, a few dollars. It felt good to be bad if he could get some good out of it. Not that he was telling you anything, this was through the grapevine. Checking your phone to some of your friends with pictures of him at the club. 'This your man?'

Maybe.

He'd come see you sometimes at the diner, fresh and clean, nails shined and silver shinier. Eddie would look at you with those love sick eyes, watching you work in the overhead light. Your smile, your laugh, the way you hold one hand on your hip while you pour coffee. His phone would buzz and then he'd leave, sometimes without saying goodbye.

Your boyfriend, the ghost. Sex felt different when he offered it, he seemed distracted. You could've sworn you saw a girl's name pop up on the screen when he had a call come in but he'd flip it over before you were sure. Forehead to forehead, panting while he held your face in place to look at him. I love you, I love you, I love you. It was hollow, the dark blackness of his oversized pupils daring you to not say it back. You always did. How could you not?

Bryan was different -- he was long car rides and shared doughnuts. He always let you play your favotite songs on the radio. You weren't walking on egg shells, he liked when you bantered with his friends. There wasn't an underlying dread beneath every interaction the way it had become with Ed.

And Bryan's pupils always stayed the same size.

You aren't expecting to see Eddie's van outside the diner when you finish up your mid-day shift. The fall weather turned the sun down hours ago, but the night was still young and abuzz with life. You'd planned on going out since you had the weekened off, but it seemed like Eddie had different ideas for you.

He shoved the diner door open, looking disheveled and out touch, reeking of cigarettes he chainsmoked before he got in. "You done for the night?" he asks while you come around the corner of the counter with your jacket on. "Yeah, um -- why're you here? You didn't text me," you ask quietly, following him out into the crisp air. You wave your goodbyes through the newly repaired window to a dissapointed Sandra -- even if Eddie paid for the fix, she still didn't like that boy.

"We're goin' for a ride," he mumbles, "Gotta talk to you about somethin'."

You heart sinks and then hammers when you get in the passengers seat of the van. Fear floods through your veins, even overpowering your disappointment when you see a lipgloss in his cup holder that you know doesn't belong to you.

You take the moment that he's distracted from a phonecall with Gareth to text Bryan that you won't need a ride, shoving the phone in your pocket where he can't see. Eddie takes you to the lake where you both used to sit in talk in the summers when you were first getting to know each other. This visit didn't feel friendly in the same way, this time you knew he wasn't going to awkwardly reach for your hand or fumble over his wors like he used to.

“So you fucked some other guy?” he asks, flicking his cigarette into the lake, “You cheated on me?” 

“I – Eddie -- we've barely been seeing each other. You've been dodging for months,” you explain, “I thought we were done.” 

“Did I say that? Did I break up with you?” he snaps, “Cause I’m pretty sure your dad still thinks I’m your boyfriend. Pretty sure all the guys still think I’m your boyfriend. And now I look fuckin’ stupid ‘cause you’re goin’ around with some asshole.” 

You shook your head no, feeling his anger radiate off of him, so quick to find it these days, “M’not goin’ around with someone. We aren’t like, together or anything. He took me on a few dates, he drives me home, we kissed, we–” 

“You fucked him,” he spits, “And I know you did cause you can’t fuckin’ look me in the eyes. You at least owe me that much.” 

You reluctantly make eye contact with him, your reflection shining back in his wet angry gaze. You take a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth shakily, “Yeah, I fucked him. At least he’s fucking around for me to fuck.” 

“Oh, s’that what this is?” he scoffs, “Not getting enough attention? God for-fuckin’-bid huh? God forbid I got shit to take care of so I can help out my uncle and get ‘im set up in an apartment. God forbid I start movin’ up the ranks so I can start making some more cash. And-and-and god fuckin’ forbid I take some different shifts at the garage so I can sleep in a little after being up all night tryna not get busted by Hopper and his fuckin’ pig brigade. So sorry I wasn’t comin’ home to you with flowers every night, I had to take care of some other shit. I mean Jesus Christ do you ever think about anyone but yourself?” 

Your eyes meet the earth again, watching the way your calves flexed and unflexed, the crease and re-crease of your sneakers. 

“You’ve been at the club, Ed,” you murmur quietly, “So you’re not so innocent either.” 

“At the club?!” he balks, “You mean sellin’ drugs at the club?” 

Your eyes burn with tears because he’s not hearing you, “You’re n-not just selling at the club. The girls’ve been showing me p-pictures. You’ve been hooking up there long before I started seeing Bryan.” 

He lights another cigarette, letting the smoke billow out into your face, “So his name’s Bryan, huh? Okay.” 

He takes a step toward you, sticks and wet grass crunching under his boots, “And what’s so great about Bryan, baby?” 

You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of his looming presence, how big he can make himself seem when he’s angry. He takes another crunching step towards you, only a foot between the ends of your sneakers and the tips of his Docs. You feel the smoke of his next drag kiss your face again, hear his arms cross over his t-shirt. 

“You forget how to talk, princess?” he bites. You shake your head no, matching his posture by crossing your arms over your chest. The straps of your tank top bite at your shoulders uner your jacket when you do, your bra straps pulling along with them. 

“He cares,” you say quietly, “He’s not…he’s not giving me up to go, I don’t know, have strippers dance on him so he can make a buck at a bar.” 

“He cares? Is that what you call it?” Eddie laughs bitterly, “So it wasn’t me caring about you when you’d call me every night from your dorm? Not me helpin’ watch your little brother when you needed to take an extra shift or two? Helping your mom with her errands? It’s not me caring when we’d drive out to the dunes cause you wanted to put your toes in the sand – you know how much money I lost that day?” 

Your eyes pool with tears when you remember that day, he’d tossed his phone in the trunk. Nothin’s as important as bein’ with my girl, baby.

“Buying you a new TV for Beau so he can play video games in his room and not bother your dad? Fuck, takin’ your dad out to lunch so we can talk about the future I want with you? But I don’t fuckin’ care? Askin’ him your ring size but I don’t fuckin’ care?!” his voice raises with every sentence. 

You wince when he shouts, not expecting the anger to be so explosive. His pupils are blown, but that was starting to become more expected than before.  He shakes his head, "You know what, babe? You're right. I don't fuckin' care. I don't fuckin' need you." Eddie tosses his cigarette to his feet, stomping it out. "Plenty of other pussy to keep me occupied, right?" he asks, head tilting when he looks at you, "Since that's who I am, huh? Didn't bother to ask me if I was fuckin' around did you?"

"S'not like you'd tell me the truth," you argue back quietly, voice meek while you hold back your tears. "Pffft," he scoffs, "Better watch that attitude on you, girl. You're gonna run that mouth to the wrong person one day. Not every guy is like me."

He crunches back toward the van, lingering his eyes on you while he stands at the open door on the drivers side. His face is pale in the light of the moon, eyes aching for you to say something. Almost yearning before he hardens again. "Bryan can pick you up, right?"

Four-ish/Three-ish Years Ago

Bry asked you to be his girlfriend two weeks after your fight with Eddie. Pulled out all the stops with that union money; good dinners, nights out on the town, all the boys knew how to do was drink beer and party. You finally started to understand WWE in a way you weren't sure you were supposed to, but it was as fun as it was ridiculous. Boys nights became boys nights plus you, the crowd favorite. Pulled in for soft kisses on football Sundays and baseball games, borrowed jackets if it got chilly. Eddie never let you wear his jacket. After a month you were sure that you'd made the right decision. The soft way he looked at you, his sandy hair, the callouses on his hands from a hard day of work. He was a good boy, good enough that Sandra made sure to give them discounts every time him and his friends came in. You only thought about Eddie when you'd run into him or that crew in town, cigarette between his full lips and a snarl to match.

Eddie didn't like to be made a fool of the way you'd made a fool of him. After another month, you barely thought about him anymore -- you had other things to worry about.

Bliss has its costs.

The first time Bryan hit you it was a blip in time, followed by a water fall of apologies. Before you noticed how much beer he was backing when he was out with the guys, why he started off so nice. You never saw him after he got too drunk -- angry and ruddy in the face. Stumbling into his apartment where you'd be there waiting for him. He stopped liking it when you'd joke around with his friends. He stopped liking it when you'd come to boys nights. He stopped letting you listen to your favorite songs in the car.

But when he was good, he was so, so good.

When he was bad, he was horrid.

Eventually, your parents noticed that you stopped coming around. You never showed up at the shop, stopped bringing Beau to and from camp and school. Your mama never saw you, you hardly came home. Your daddy would text you in the morning and ask if you’d be in the diner that night to get a glimpse of you. Bryan would snatch your phone at every incessant call.

“Why do your folks wanna talk to you all the time?” he’d ask, “Did you tell ‘em you wanna leave?” 

You got so many bouquets over the next five months you could open a flower shop or a funeral service. Either way, they were more often than not. The 'sorry's' never stopped coming and the bruising started to match. You went through concealer like the diner went through cooking grease -- opting to start wearing readers to work to detract from the caked up product on your cheeks, by your lips, on your throat. But no matter how bad it got your heart would soar at his smile, at his gentle touch, at the softness of his kiss. You knew now why it was so hard for all those other women to leave.

You started hearing stories about Eddie -- more erratic than he was before but somehow more beloved around his part of town. A violent type of Robinhood that you didn't want to cross. Gareth came by the diner one night when you had finally gone in, sitting across from you with a smile while you caught up on a slow Tuesday. Told you all about it, about him, about what was new with the guys. It felt nice, like old times -- a fondness in your chest blooming when you watched him leave.

Two days later, your phone buzzed in the darkness of Bryan's apartment -- RESTRICTED popping up on the screen. You didn't have to guess who it was; Gareth wasn't coming in for a late dinner. He was doing rounds. He was keeping tabs on you.

Bryan had passed out on the couch hours ago, the deep steadiness of his snoring echoing through the living room. You reach for your phone, tip-toeing to the back porch while you consider denying the call -- but you know he'll just keep calling. He hates being left in the dark.

You answer shakily, “Hello?” 

“Where are you?” you hear him ask in a low voice, menacing, “Sandra told me what’s goin’ on. Where are you? Now.” 

“Nothing’s goin’ on, Ed,” you say quietly.

“If nothings goin’ on then why’re you whisperin’, hm? You keepin’ quiet for what?” he challenges, “Are you at his house?” 

“I’m not telling you where I am.” “You think I won’t find you? I got eyes all over this place,” his laughs, “You don’t think if I tell Sandra I’m comin’ to save your ass she won’t give me your schedule?” 

“There’s a reason she doesn’t give it out to you,” you hiss, “It’s literally illegal. Can you stop your fuckin’ hero shit? You think you’re any better?”

“Hero shit?” he growls, “Your mama keeps calling me crying on the phone asking if I’d seen or heard from you at all. Your daddy hasn’t slept in days thinking maybe this asshole finally snapped your fuckin’ neck. You keep skippin’ out on shifts at the diner and you wanna shit on me for tryna help? Fuck outta here.” 

“I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth, “Stop. Calling.” 

“And yeah, sweetheart, I do think I’m better,” his voice raises, blaring through the receiver, “When’d you ever hear that I’m beating on the bitches I take home? Who am I beating on? Don’t make shit up just ‘cause you wanna be stubborn.” 

"Fuck off," you hiss. "Why did Gareth tell me you got bruisin' everywhere, hm? Why did Sandra stop me the other night at Melvald's to tell me to call you? I know she doesn't like me, so it must be serious -- right?" he challenges.

"I have it under control," you growl. "Yeah?" his voice lilts, argumentative and ready to go, "Well fu--" "Who're you talkin' to?"

Bryan takes your phone before you can answer.

When you show up to your shift the next day Sandra can barely recognize you, tears welling up in her eyes when you come in the door.

You do your best not to meet her gaze, simply nodding when she asks 'Was it him?'

You woke up late, knowing you couldn't miss another day or the owner would fire you -- already on probation for all the work you've missed. Didn't have a chance to shower let alone do your makeup, not that you could bare to touch some of it.

The morning is slow, she let's you sit in the back and cry it out to Paul while he flips burgers and flap jacks on the grill. You prep, chopping up whatever he could have you chop, anything to keep you back with him unless Bryan thought it was a good time to show up with his buddies.

He passes you a lemonade and two Advil at noon, winking in the way grandfather's do when they know you've had a bad day.

"Here ya go, sugar," he smiles. You smile back, igorning the sting of the tear in your lip reopening at the gesture.

"Thanks, Paul."

The bell dings during another slow period and you smell Camels before you catch a familiar whiff of Creed Aventus.

"She's in the back," you hear Sandra mutter through the server window.

“Oh, girl, what did he do to you?” You know that smoky voice anywhere, it pours like ice down your back. “You can’t be here,” you shake your head, stepping away while he steps closer to you.

“Hey, look,” he starts with his hands up, soft and gentle, “Look, look. Sandra called me, I’m just coming to pick you up.” 

“I have to be here,” you assure, “I can't leave early, he's gonna know.” “That’s fine,” Eddie shrugs, “I’ll tell him you’re comin’ with me.” 

You shake your head no, “It’s fine Ed, I can handle this. Please just go home.” 

“I’m not doin’ this with you,” he shakes his head in response, gruffer this time, “This isn’t for me. Your folks, they – they miss you. Beau misses you. Asks me if I’ve seen you every time he’s at the shop. I can’t be lyin’ to Beau like that. Don’t you miss him? Don’t you miss your folks?” 

Your lower lip wobbles when you think about Beau, all the basketball games you missed for his youth league. The voicemails of him begging you to come.

"C'mon, Sandra said it's okay if you dip out early," he says, ecouraging you with caution -- like you're a feral cat about to run away, "Come with me, I'll take you back to his so we can get your stuff." "Eddie please," you beg, "Please don't get involved -- he'll get the cops on your back I --" "I'm not worried about cops," he chuckles, a knowing smirk flickering on his lips, "Get your jacket, come get in the van." "I can't..." you urge again, throat tight with a threatening cry. You turn around, back to your chopping, drowning out the blood pumping in your ears with the beat of the knife.

"You can, c'mon." You ignore him, feeling his eyes on you, narrowing down to burn holes in the back of your skull. He doesn't have the same patience he used to. You hear his soft sigh, the cross and uncross of his leather jacket, the tinkling of his chains and hardware.

"Baby..."

The dam breaks as his smooth honey voice; it had been so long since someone had called you that. Said it like that, so low and pretty, like he means it. You let out a choked sob when you feel his palm slide over your back and around your shoulder.

"Oh, baby, baby, come here," he whispers, pulling you into him while you fall apart. Tears streaming over the bruises on your cheek bone, the tear in your lip, over your jaw.

"Let's go get your stuff, okay?" he asks, rubbing your back against the polyester of your work dress -- you got a new one in a size too big when Bryan said he didn't like how your old one fit, "Come on, let's go get in my car."

"Prince of the trailer park," Bryan grits toward Ed when he knocks on the door, "To what do I owe this white trash surprise?" "Comin' to get her stuff," he respons nonchalantly, "You gonna let me in or what?"

"Her stuff?" Bryan asks, sick smirk sliding over his face, bleary eyes peering into the van parked by the sidewalk. "What's she tellin' you?" he asks, arms crossed over his white tee, freckled arms flashing against the fabric.

"Nothin'," Ed shakes his head, "Just comin' to get her stuff." Bryan takes a step forward and that's all it takes to get Ed ready to go, arm out to keep his distance, to keep himself between your boyfriend and the van.

“I’m not playin’ around today, man,” Eddie warns, “Let me go grab her stuff and this doesn’t have to be a problem.” 

“Problem? You’re ninety pounds soakin’ wet,” Bryan laughs, his couple inches on Eddie helping to bore over him, “What’s she telling you?” 

“She hasn’t had to tell me anything,” Ed repeats, “S’all over her face. You’re all over her fuckin’ face man, now let me in the door before I do something you don’t like.” 

Bryan lunges, but he’s not quick enough, the soft click of a gun cocking puts him back at attention. “My uncle did two tours, Bry, you think I don’t know my way around a trigger?” Eddie smirks. You watch from the van, horrified, heart racing when you see the black metal gleam in broad daylight. Ignoring Eddie’s demands to stay in the car you throw open the door and run to the sidewalk. 

“What the fuck, Ed?” you rasp out, voice heavy with your earlier cry, “Put that shit away.” 

Bryan catches your eye, looking at you with a fuming rage, “This is all you, huh?” 

“No, it’s not – I didn’t say anything,” you plead up at him, “I promise.” 

“Listen pal,” Eddie continues, another step forward while his heavy boot finds its way over the door frame, “We can make this real easy if you let me.” 

They bark at each other like rabid dogs when the doors close behind the three of you, a barrage of insults from Bryan’s liquor soaked mouth. You grit your teeth, jaw tight while you decide what’s worth it to keep and what’s not. Your eyes glaze over with tears and the whirl of the place around you. 

When did Eddie start carrying a gun? 

When you’ve fit as much as you can in your duffle you make your way towards the door; hearing Eddie’s low growl of the threat when Bryan makes it way over to you. 

“If you think for one second you’re gonna see or hear from her again then I promise you, you are sorely mistaken,” he mutters, the scrape of metal on metal rings in your ears when his rings slide over the short barrel. 

“If I remember correctly, you’re not around too to find out are you?” Bryan bites back. 

Eddie chuckles smugly, a tight pulled smile across his face with his dimples deep on his cheeks, “I got eyes on every corner, chief. Don’t test me.”

“We’ll see about that, huh Munson?” Bryan nods, eyes settling on Eddie’s knuckles – another fresh cross tattoo blazoned across pale skin. 

“We won’t see about shit,” Eddie nods back, “I always keep my promises.”

He takes you to his place -- his uncle in a nice little apartment in the city now so the trailer's his. It looks the part, new repairs and updates the other people in the park couldn't believe when he started making them. You fret and worry the whole way there, not looking at him once for the ride, not even a thank you.

"He won't come to mine," Eddie soothes in the car, "I got a friend outside your folks place, too."

"Mhm," you nod, watching the town woosh by while he presses on the gas, two turns and it's just trees lining the street.

"You're okay," he says when he pulls in, hopping out to open your door from the otherside, "C'mere."

You follow him in, collapsing on his bed the moment you make it into his room. His sheets are fresh, they smell like him on his side, pillow laced with a few strands of his wavy hair.

"You know you're the only one I ever let in my bed," he says softly, kicking his boots off in line with his other shoes. "Hmm," you hum, too despondent to reply.

"Scooch," he mumbles, warm palm pushing gently at your arm. You make room for him, hearing his jacket slide off and his belt get undone. If it was a year and some change ago the sound would've sent your reeling with need, now it just sounds hollow.

He slides in next to you, encouraging you to flip over so he can see you. You haven't looked in those soft brown eyes in a while, it almost hurts. His brows furrow and then soften, yearning the way they did before he left you by the lake.

"You hurtin'?" he asks, hand reaching up to run over your hair, "Can I get you something?"

"I took some Advil at work," you answer, the ache at a dull thud in your face. Exhaustion starts to overtake you while you sink into his mattress, the first time you've felt safe in months.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, thumb sliding feather light over the bruise on your cheek bone.

"Didn't want you to be right," you croak out. "Sounds like you," you smiles back. He comes in closer, arm snaking around you like he used to.

"I missed you," he whispers, "All the time."

Your eyes water, "Don't...don't do that."

"Baby, I'm being honest," he urges, "Couldn't stop thinking about you."

"You don't mean that," you sniffle, your heart sinking while he pours out more confessions.

"Of course I mean it," he says, looking at you with desperation behind his gaze. He leans in slow, warm lips brushing yours, careful not to press to hard on the swollen corner of yours. You relent, letting him kiss you, letting his hands roam over your waist and push you in from between your shoulder blades.

"Didn't you miss me?" he asks. The pit in your stomach knows that you didn't -- you didn't miss him breaking off dates, you didn't miss the ignored calls, you didn't miss him fucking off for who knows how long. You didn't miss finding lipgloss in his car, hair strands that weren't yours.

But you missed this. The way it feels to be told that you're the only one allowed in his bed. The only one he sends someone to keep tabs on. The only one he misses.

You nod, your body moving this time to get close to him.

"I'd never hurt you like that," he mumbles against your lips, "Not my baby. Not my girl."

He holds your eyes in his when he puts you gently on your back, gingerly pulling off your diner dress. He presses kisses down your neck, across your chest.

"Let me make you feel special," he says down at you, light shining behind his head like a halo, "Let me show you how special you are."

He still knows your body like he wrote the schematics for it, pulling soft needy moans out of you like a never ending string of chords he's always known how to play. You almost forget the thumping pain in your head, peppered in gentle kisses at every wince. 'I love you' weighing heavy on his tongue when he keeps eye contact, but never passing his lips. Never passing yours. Maybe neither of you have to say it.

You both settle afterwards, two rounds have pushed you past the point of exhaustion -- fast sleep in his arms after a bottle of water and two more Advil out of the palm of his hand.

You wake up in darkness, a sea of dark blue and black with a soft green glow of his side table clock. A little past midnight.

Your head pounds, dehydrated from all the crying. You search for your phone in the blankets -- noticing the bed next to you is empty while doing so. You peer over the mattress, no light coming in from under the door.

"Ed?" you call out, but no one responds. You sigh, finally finding your phone somwhere under your hip. Your inner thighs ache from having his hips slam into them hours before, hips in their full extension while he pushed into you deeper and deeper.

274 missed calls. All from Bryan.

Your blood runs cold, looking out the window to see Eddie's van missing. A car you don't recognize sits a trailer away, humming with muffled music, a shadowed figure inside behind a cloud of smoke. A gentle moment of ease flits through you -- at least someone was looking out.

i just woke up, where are you? who's the guy outside?

You wait for a bit, going through your socials to make sure Bryan is blocked on everything. You delete all the messages, not bothering to read them so your fear doesn't spike again.

Your phone buzzes.

i'm out.

You swallow, hoping he's not making good on any promises -- not after that show earlier this afternoon. But you don't have to wonder past the next scroll on Instagram.

Grainy with a filter is a photo posted 45 minutes ago from a friend of a friend, a bottle girl at the club that all the boys love the most. With two girls on each thigh there sits Eddie in a VIP back room, laughing at someone in the background -- whiskey neat in one hand, cigarette in the other. The caption makes your heart hammer --

'our king on his throne. ♡'

[bbonnenuit]

The Smiths.

notes: chrollo is yandere, although the fic is lighthearted. the biggest warning is the fact that chrollo looks like he'd listen to the smiths /j, another bigger warning is that reader is an avid the smiths hater. im not tho, all for fun. female reader.

 “Daydreaming again, I see?”

   It would be a lie to say that Chrollo’s voice isn’t at the slightest bit pleasant to hear. It’s soft and smooth, but accompanied with a confident low timbre that you think might be the source of it’s charm. 

   You often wish you both don’t share a language to speak over, so whatever he speaks would be foreign yet pleasant gibberish in your ears. And maybe you’d be able to close your eyes and sleep. You’d be able to treat him as the background noise of some radio host talking about something as mundane as today’s newest dramas. 

  You don’t find the need to chase the impossible ideal this time. One doesn’t need to be a linguist expert in order to know no malice or warning is present in his voice, though one might need a bachelor’s degree and over four decades of experience in psychology to know he truly means nothing behind his calm demeanor. 

   You sign yourself to a fate you’re unsure of, and though it’s foolish, there’s nothing you can do anyway. You’re stuck with him, in a moving four-wheeled compartment, that’s also stuck in traffic. 

   “The music’s good.” Is all you say, and he hums in understanding. 

     Silence falls over the two of you again.

   You almost brought back the colorful reverie you were in before he decided to interject, until he reached for his phone to change the music. Oh, bluetooth, the convenient technology you are. His phone is located on the right of his steering wheel, far away from your reach. If he had reached for the audio system you would’ve been (maybe) able to slap his hand away. 

   “Hm, I’d rather you pay attention to me.” The lilt in his voice is unmistakable. And you almost gag, was that an attempt in flirting? Blegh.  

   “I’ll just stare at the cars,” Headlights and astigmatism can make a good duo, you remind yourself. 

   Chrollo hums again, You can almost laugh, so being stuck in your own daydreams and practically doing nothing is unacceptable, but staring at cars is alright? 

  You stare at a car, observing the way the light that emits from it’s headlights become blurry in your sights, they almost take shape of stars in your opinion. 

   So you set your sights on a particularly small black car in front of you, must be a Toyota or Avanza or something. You can’t tell, it’s got four wheels and headlights, so it’s a car. You could care less about what it is. That is why you weren’t all so interested when Chrollo took you a look into his….Rolls… Rolls what? Oh, right, Rolls Royce. It’s a fancy one, you can tell. He was exuding quite an air of importance when he was leading you towards the high-end vehicle located in the restaurant’s parking lot, there were some on-lookers around that spot that expressed interest at the car. It means something when even people of the middle-upper class are showing interest.

   Whatever ego that had probably swelled within Chrollo must’ve popped like a balloon, or so you hope, because you did nothing more than give him a thumbs up before letting yourself in the passenger’s seat. You also didn’t miss the way he was preparing to tell you about the car’s compartments and specialties that made it cost years of labor. Ah, you’re certain he didn’t gain this vehicle from labor, though. 

   Fancy car or not, everyone’s equally stuck in this traffic. 

   Fancy car or not, doesn’t determine that the song played inside the compartment is free from your judgment or not.

   “What song is this? You ask, although you know the answer. You somehow need an assurance that he is lucid. 

   “Please, please, please, by The Smiths.” He says, pleasant with his song of choice. 

   What an ironic song and artist of choice. 

    It’s harder to hide in a cackle than a scowl, you’d almost forgotten. Any voice you let out threatens to come out as sharp laughter and any breathe you intake threatens to become a wheeze. You could hardly contain yourself. 

   “Oh…” Is all you say before pausing, afraid anything else you will say will turn into a rowdy session of laughter. Unsure if you should speak further or not. But the inquisitive look he offers you somehow serves as a push rather than something that usually wants you to further seal your lips shut in fear you would say the wrong thing and earn his silent ire. It’s far, far harder to hide a cackle than a scowl, but months of training yourself to hide certain expressions whenever Chrollo is around has paid off. “What about Frank Sinatra?” 

 Chrollo smiles. Is he delighted that you find interest in one of his favorite artists? Though he’s never said it outloud, every long night drive has its silence filled with at least one Frank Sinatra song. 

   “Would you rather I change the song, dear?” He offers. And you would say yes, but this is one of the rare, rare moments where you are given the opportunity to take a jab at him. Although it’s nothing as deadly as anything a leader of the Phantom Troupe has faced, you won’t kill him or even hurt him for very long. But you are willing to do anything, at this point. 

   You feign the most pleasant voice you can muster, “Hm… That’s not really what I meant. I just didn’t think you’d listen to The Smiths.” 

   He lets out a small laugh, “Really? I have always listened to older songs around you, I suppose. I wouldn't say I like it… Hm, but it’s an interesting band.”

   So he does like it! 

   “Why do you think so?” You inquire further before adding, “Do you like this song a lot?”

   “Are you intending to interview me, (Name)?” Chrollo cocks his eyebrow, but it is only meant to tease you. 

  “Must’ve picked it up from someone.” A relentless pursuit, you press on further, “Okay though, but answer my question.” 

   Silence falls over him, as if he were in his own state of thinking so deeply, but you know it’s mainly a pretense. Whatever he wishes to say after, you know it must’ve been something he had thought of before. In any other situation, this silence often serves as to let a dreadful situation simmer in your mind.  But this time… Ah, you’re quite unsure. 

  Chrollo finally speaks,  “I’ll answer you of course.” The smile he gives you is anything but nice when you are very much aware of the condemnation those same lips bring you, “On the condition you’d kiss me after.”

  “Okay.” To his surprise, you agreed rather quickly. If that’s the sacrifice you need to make, then so be it. A kiss to soothe his soon-to-be sour, scorned face!

  He is satisfied, you can tell. He puts his elbow against the steering wheel, resting his face against his palm. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested, whatever designs you have in your head… Hm, I’ll know of it soon.” 

   No one fucking asked damn. You internally deadpanned, impatience is gnawing at your throat. He reminds you of how you’d write your essays when you have to reach a certain minimum word count by relentlessly dragging around a topic and beating around a bush so much that you end up writing a novel rather than an assignment. Ah… To make him anything alike to you doesn’t sound very right. Whatever, you digress. 

   Chrollo finally, finally starts. And you’re excited, elated, jovial- ah every synonym of the word happiness comes into mind. You can put any thesaurus at shame by now. “I remember the first time we met, you called me something of a hopeless romantic. At that time, I had only laughed because I found the sentiment rather off. Such nonsense. Me? An idealist of love? Love has always been a tool for me. You could only dream.”

   You cut to the chase,“Mhm, although you’ve found a contradiction because you actually enjoy those sappy songs right? Okay, what’s next?” 

   “You know me very well (You smile, excited). But that's not all (you frown, deflated).” Sweet, saccharine drips off of his voice. “I’ve never paid attention to such things, not for myself at least. I don’t ‘relate’ to those kinds of songs. But ever since I met you, it felt as if the world had shifted for me.” 

  He doesn’t stop, and for once you are glad he isn't, “My world has shifted and taken a hole in itself, one that has been carved into the shape of you.” 

  It is interesting how he is able to muse so freely about you, in front of you. Where is the shame and decorum?

   “And I do quite like this song, in all honesty.” His gaze meets yours, and grey eyes bore into your soul. “It really does remind me of the one I love so dearly.” 

   Please, please, please, let me get what I want… Those lyrics loop in your head over and over again. You should be sick with the abundance of affection he has for you that makes you seethe. And you would claw at the leather seats, avert your gaze, and try to block him out as much as you can. But tonight, you feel fucking amazing. 

  You can barely handle it. 

   “Dude, come on,” Your voice is off by an octave and you swear you can burst. Chrollo on the other hand finds satisfaction melting off of his face over the term being used to refer to him, outright calling him a bastard or a monster might be better. You make it a mental note to call him ‘dude’ more. “The Smiths is for losers.” 

   …

   “Pardon?’ 

   “The Smiths is for losers.” You repeat yourself before adding, “It’s for guys who can’t get any, for guys who waddle in sadness for something they can’t get, guys who are always up their own ass. Condescending guys who are secretly insecure, manipulative guys, guys who play guitar and get sad then do weed…” You are kind enough to give a long-winded further explanation.  Chrollo does not share the same sentiment. 

  Chrollo’s countenance seems unchanging at first, but it is not a waste, for you saw a split second of confusion, then something of offense written on his face before it smoothes out into the uncannily still expression he always wears. His lips open, then close, as if he’s mulling over an answer.

   “Are you insinuating I am that type of person, dearest?’ 

   "I mean if the shoe fits...? Well, what do you think?"

    He sighs like it’s obvious,  “That you made the wrong accusation over baseless data.” 

    “I’m not accusing you of anything!” You hold your hands up in mock defense, “Just telling you something everyone kind of agrees on. Things don’t have to be written in numbers or books… Sometimes it’s just a consensus. Everyone and their mom agrees on it."

   You are relentless tonight, so you continue again though Chrollo prompts nothing from your newfound talkative nature tonight, something you’re sure he would actually love in a different situation. 

   “These are the kind of guys girls avoid you know? People call it something of a warning. Like, ‘avoid guys who listen to The Smiths’.  I don’t mean to generalize or anything, but guys who listen to songs like that don’t end up to be very well in the head. And I also don’t mean to believe rumors but… Well…” You cough awkwardly, but it’s meant to deliver an unspoken message you know will only further test his ire. But you think you have had enough fun for tonight, you don’t wish to turn the night sour for you after all.

   …Or so you thought. 

   “So I’m just trying to say that you should treat me a little better, you know what I mean? I’m putting up with a lot” Everything you say here are meant to be a 50% insult, 30% jab, and 20% jokes. But the last thing you said, you can’t lie and say that you hope he’d take further thought on that. You yearn to hopefully be able to get out of the hotel room that serves as your grandiose cage more, and when you do, you aren’t being watched by an unknown amount of eyes that you know trail on to you by the shadows. That is all you wish for, really. That is to say, you can only wonder what his standards are for ‘treating you better’. 

   Ah, the smile he has on his face is different from before. This one is a sign that your fun is coming to a quick halt. 

   “So that’s what you’re getting at? Resourceful little minx you are.” 

   Why is he sounding so delighted over your insults, is he a masochist? Is he stupid? It’s your turn to cock your eyebrow. 

  “Have you enticed me in this long-winded conversation simply because you wanted to be treated a little better? And the way you had agreed so quickly to that kiss… " He puts a hand to his chest, a mockery of an apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blind to your need for affection. You've gone through lengths to communicate your need, I'm very grateful."

  You let out a humorless laugh, “Pardon?” He is just truly-! Argh, whatever! “Did you not hear anything else I said?” You make sure to enunciate your words properly, afraid he might have some sort of hearing problems, well he does and you’re certain it has a name. What was it again? Oh right, an unfortunate combination of delusion and selective hearing… 

  “I know you tend to turn a little childish when you can’t get what you want. That’s not a quality many men like either. So, be a little kinder to me, won’t you?” 

  “Women don’t usually like mass murderers either. Anyone in their right mind, actually.”

   He hums, “That orange container of pills by your nightstand says otherwise. Not the best defense, try again?” 

   “You'd have some too, you just don't have any because you don't go to therapy."

   “Hm, keeping up that attitude won’t make me kiss you any sooner.” 

   “Then I’ll gladly keep this attitude!” 

   Unfortunately you don’t. You’re angry enough to have the energy to spew a million insults at lightspeed against him, but too angry to form a coherent thought that you’re certain would give him a decent jab. And to be frank, you’re rather spent. When you (reluctantly) asked Chrollo what time it was, thankfully he gave you a proper response. A quick tap of his phone showed that it was two and a half hours above your usual bedtime. The clothes you have aren’t the most comfortable either, while it’s not short they certainly expose areas where the wind would have too much fun dancing over. 

   Traffic is clearing as you can see the hotel you are both staying in come into view. You relax at the sight. You can almost feel the warm bath you will be soaking yourself in, what scent will you choose tonight? Rosemary, lavender… Ah, you can smell them already. You prompt to close your eyes for a moment of rest, but you find yourself sleeping on the rest of the way back.

   You feel fingers combing your locks stirring you awake, they’re Chrollo’s, obviously. Although you are half conscious, you recognize that scent of sandalwood and amber anywhere, as much as you’re ashamed to admit it. 

  “Do you want me to carry you?” Chrollo asks, and you murmur something in between a noise of annoyance and a ‘no’. He chuckles at this sight. “Alright then.” 

   He gives a soft peck on your lips, it’s warm. You almost lean in when the warmth of his lips leave yours, this half-conscious state gives him a moment of your vulnerability he has set his eyes on,  the one he relentlessly pursues after so much. But you know that even when he has a grasp at your vulnerability, it won’t stop him from digging for more. Greedy, ruthless man that he is, he will never stop. 

  “You are absolutely precious, you know that? Even if your mouth tends to run without care” Is that condescension or admiration in his voice? Pity, you can’t tell in the state you are in. You’re drunk from the lack of sleep and the future victory you have in mind. 

  “Before I answer that…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, Chrollo merrily leans in closer to hear you. Your lips ghost by the shell of his ear… 

  …

  “Name five songs from The Smiths. Are you like an actual fan or is it just FOMO?” 

   He just sighs. 

header from https://id.pinterest.com/pin/334040497376021340/

[bunchofdoodlesinspace]

Stan and Ford Hcs because I Have More Things To Say

[also post-show, just for reference]

The Stan o' War has had some Serious upgrades done to it to suit their expedition needs. Most of these are courtesy of not just Ford, but also Fiddleford, who agreed to help him and Stan with some bits of the machinery. It's built to handle basically anything and everything they might encounter now.

Where Stan couldn't help with boat-construction, he helped with resources. Having lived on his own on such a low budget for so long, the man has had TONS of experience sorting out essentials, portioning out food, and so forth. Oh, and he also dumped most of his guns into it somewhere. Y'know, just in case.

(I say most because he absolutely left at least one of the guns with Soos with some cryptic messaging about the "Pug Mafia" or something. Definitely had absolutely nothing to do with him being concerned for Soos's safety, not at all, shut the fuck up-)

They decided to completely and properly dismantle and renovate the portal room for other uses. I can't decide if it's still a sort of secret lab type place, or if its been changed to be a storage room for some of the Mystery Shack's weirder and more precious items. Regardless, it's significantly smaller now. You would never be able to guess what it was housing prior.

The two of them also took a day to burn/destroy all of Ford's Bill-related items together. It was extremely cathartic and became a fantastic and much needed bonding moment for the two of them.

[Shuffles a deck of post-it notes with various labels written on them] [Slaps the Autistic one on Ford] [Slaps the ADHD one on Stan] yeah. I'll feel like this one's a given.

They frequently do things at exactly the same time (like adjust their glasses, stretch, sometimes they'll even say the exact same thing too) without thinking. It's a twin thing they've done since they were little.

Unfortunately, the memory gun has had lasting effects on Stan's mind. He recovers the memory of the summer immediately, and everything post-portal fight comes to him pretty quickly as well (I'd say over the course of a few days to a week). But many events prior to that remain unclear. Recounting the details of whatever happened and/or showing him pictures will usually bring at least most of it back, if not at least a strong sense of familiarity. Ford can't help but feel a pit in his stomach every time Stan can't remember something. And he feels it grow every time Stan still can't remember it even after Ford explains it to him.

Much like their great-niece and nephew, Stan and Ford help each other through their flashbacks, their panic attacks, and their nightmares, the last of which Ford undoubtedly has the worst of. If you thought my description of Dipper's sleep paralysis was bad, imagine lucid dreaming your body dragging you around to who-knows-where, unable to will it to change course, while a disembodied voice cackles at your futile resistance. And then not knowing if that was a dream or not when you wake up.

While Ford appears to be the more "put-together" twin, Stan is the one who is much better at things like cooking and keeping places tidy. Ford spent so much of his adult life either living in a dorm or a secret lab, and that on top of the way he hyperfocuses on research, regularly forgetting to eat and sleep- Yeah. Stan is usually the one dragging him away to eat something before he collapses.

(Stan is genuinely a good cook, btw. He took a lot of time learning how to do it better over the course of the summer with Dipper and Mabel)

Much like Mabel, Stan will frequently start making stupid jokes to try and bring Ford out of depressive funks. He's never been great with words, that was always Ford's thing, but he's always been good at making people laugh. Or, at the very least, making his brother laugh.

And much like Dipper, Ford combats Stan's low self-esteem with logical reasoning based on what he's seen since he was rescued. In fact, he nowadays often brings up the fact that Stan rescued him as a means to combat it. He wasn't grateful in the moment, for a lot of reasons, and ofc he still thinks it was extremely dangerous and reckless to reactivate it given the risks, but he understands Stan's position better now. He's glad he was able to return. And he's even more glad his brother still wanted him to.

They always try to plan to give themselves time to make the trip back to Gravity Falls right around the start of summer. Often, they're a few days late to the party, but they're determined to never miss the chance to spend time with the kids.

[glassica]

The Man of Your Dreams

Notes: M!yan spirit x F!reader, paranormal, reincarnation, implication of death & murder, supernatural, lucid dream, possession, sexual acts, implication of masturbation

Some nights, when you still lying awake alone on mattress, you could’ve heard the sound of banging on door and knob turning over incessantly. “It’s just the wind,” your roommate shrugged. Make sense, but you couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone is trying to enter the room.

Then some times later those eerie sounds stopped and finally you could put aside that unexplained fear for good. This was also around the time you started dreaming about a strange man. Not so model-handsome, but certainly charming and approachable. Right at first meeting you knew he was the perfect kind of lover you wished for. Even as dreams, the exchanges were more dynamic and effortless than with any dates you went to in real life. He was attentive to your thoughts, always recalled what brings you joys or sorrows, even the hidden secrets you had yet open up. It was safe to conclude he know more about you than yourself.

Dreams of him. Once every few months. Then fortnight. Then weekly. And now was every nights. You had discarded the real world. No longer looked forward to the first light of new day, your true life began when moon hung amidst sparkling stars and the mind drifted away into the dreamland, into his warm presence. So what if he was just an illusion, a likely product of subconsciousness? When he wrapped you tightly against chest, adorning on your neck thousands of butterfly kisses before taking off the fabrics witheld the treasure he’d craved to taste it whole. When he bit and sucked senselessly your nipple while pinching the other til both were pinky, harderned and wet in saliva. When his shaft hurriedly drilled in and out yours from the back while hands busy squeezing pair of dough so reddened from someone’s loving slaps. By the time waking up, panties embarrassingly sloppy and the tip of fingers solidated from you-know-what. Your roommates teased, what kind of wild thoughts you’d been entertaining lately?

But soon the teasing turned to clear concern. Forget close circles, everyone you met outside could sense the lifelessness of your manners. They started noticing the fatigue evident on those eye bags, the back hunched over and footsteps dragging wearily on floor. It was difficult to put in words, but it seemed as if the soul of yours was draining day by day, metaphorically and literally. You skipped classes, declined hangouts, even stopped visiting home on weekends just to get more sleeps. To get more time with him. 

So the roommates sat you down. They were glad your all-nighters had ended, nevertheless everything too much wasn’t good. Did you suffered from any illnesses or troubles, and if you needed to see doctors. In response you just waved hand with disinterest. Why should they care? It wasn’t that serious!

“You know love, my friends and family are so annoying. They keep nagging me that I sleep too much, when just some times ago it was also them telling me to stop competing with owls!”

You rolled over, nuzzling your face in his chest. It was after another steamy round, the two laid there cuddling, letting yourselves soaked in each other’s gentle warmth. Like always, you began telling him about things happened in real world, though you barely remember what your days were like anymore.

“In other words they want you to spend less time on your lover,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand on your back, “I told you so. They are a jealous, petty bunch. Not worth anything.”

“Um, that’s kinda harsh. I’m bothered by their scolding but that doesn’t mean I don’t get them. It’s true that I’ve been neglecting myself in reality a lot now.”

“...”

You got that chills running down the shivers again. Yes you were well aware how this man reacted to you defending your close people in real life, but wasn’t it time for him to start warming up on them?

…Nevermind, you should said something to distract him instantly. It was pure wish-fulfillment to hope he could be civil about your friends and family, please give up.

“A- Anyways, I’ve thought about this for long. Isn’t it tragic that we can’t see each other outside of dreams?”

“Indeed. If I could, I would’ve met and snatched you from these pests earlier,” he pulled your chin up, forcing your mouth opened for a wet kiss, “but God wasn’t fair. I wasn’t allowed to reincarnated on human’s realm again. That’s why I could only pine after you mindlessly as a lost spirit.”

“You don’t remember, but we were a couple in our previous lives. On your deathbed, I had sworn to find and keep you tight if we were to reborn in this world. You may look different from your past life, but I recognized your soul immediately. I’m such a wonderful partner, no?! I’m hurt that you went on dates with those worthless stupid guys when you had an amazing husband right there!” 

His words were sweet like honey, but the tone suggested otherwise. You thought you’d seen the worst of his madness, but that staled in comparison to the storm reflecting on his pupils. Towering on your body and both arms putting down beside your head resembling a cage, for the first time ever did you ever had an accurate visualization of how facing a devil feels like. 

“Well but you already know, I didn’t, or more like, couldn’t reborn. My soul is forced to wander on living realm for who knows how long. In the mean time, you will move on, you will marry some idiot, have kids, pass away for a second time in front of my own eyes, and I still not get out of this limbo!” - he growled angrily, thumbs caressing your neck, “So maybe, maybe if we can’t reunite in this life, you could join me instead. It’s okay. As long as we are together. As long as you stay by my side. As long as you’re forever mine.”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

Next morning, your family opened the phones to see hundreds of missed calls and texts from the roommates. Everyone woke up, except you.

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/755740224846528512/i-had-such-a-great-time-jayde-thank-you-so-much?source=share

Zizz: *concerned* “You…weren't able to get any sleep? Why?”

Jayde:thinking about taking SO's virginity with roses and candles scattered around the room. She's wearing nothing but the finest jewelry on her body. She's bashfully presenting her pussy to him “Please be gentle with me” “Ah~ Mhm~ Ohhh what's this feeling? I've never felt anything like this before!” “Oh God! F-Fuck I- I- Jayde! Jayde-

Zizz: -Jayde, Jayde?

[Okay, but like, you're assuming that Zizz doesn't regularly invade his dreams. Come on, he's been inside every servant's dreamscapes at this point.]

Jayde sincerely hates having dreams. He wishes he had nothing but dreamless, void-like spans of unconsciousness.

Because dreams have never been the same ever since he started working for King Zizz. Dreams are now not just a string of random events to which the imp is nothing but an immersed puppet simply obliviously going with the flow- They are now incredibly vivid and lucid ordeals he sometimes can't escape as easily as he'd like.

It's odd, to be entirely lucid, yet not have as much control over his "dreamscapes" as he wants to.

This puts Jayde in very uncomfortable and embarrassing situations, such as this one.

It must be like the fifth time he's had this dream now, in such a short span of time. Of himself above you, the two of you tangled together in a bed far too luscious to be real, the scent of perfumed petals and the flickers of restless candles providing an ambience that he can only hope he'll be able to capture when the moment comes.

The sensation of your skin on his are the most incredible thing he's ever felt in the land of the dreaming, and Jayde can only wonder what kind of embarrassing noises he must be making in the real world. Please Lords please, let the pillow not be between his legs this time.

" I've... Jayde please look at me. " Your suplicating voice has his attention instantly, the imp's eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets when you wrap your legs around his back " Th- That's how you do it, right? "

He's going to make a mess in his pajamas at this point.

" Yes- " He sounds choked from his own excitement, though urges you to set your legs back down. " But let's start this slowly, okay? "

He shows you his hand, face flushed almost as furiously as yours as he lowers it to let you know what he's going to do, so you have time to protest. There's never been a more erotic moment in his existence than watching dream-you's face twist at the sensation of someone else playing with your clit.

He's drooling on the sheets by the time he's got two fingers in your virgin cunt, tail swaying like that of a playful cat's and breathing heavier every time your legs quake from a jolt of pleasure as he hits the spots you seem to prefer the most.

" Is this okay? Does it feel go- "

" Yes! "

" Do you want me t- "

" Please Jayde! "

He's lined up to you in the blink of an eye, mildly curious as to how the feeling would translate in this dream, beside himself with arousal, when a far too tall door Jayde didn't even know was there bursts open.

" Ah, there you are! I was wondering where you'd gone to, your mind is very restless tonight. Would you like to- "

The imp takes on the shade of a cauliflower. You begin screaming at the top of your lungs.

" I see... "

All Jayde feels is the harsh sting of a slap across his face before he's forced into the waking world, chin coated in his own drool, his boxers tight and humid, a molested neckroll pillow by his legs and a level of mortification that could very well send him into an early grave.

[failing-to-write-again]

Imagine Shu at a club with you

Its sweaty and loud...but at least you're here

Throw back to June (oops) where I promised to do my part of the deal of writing a Boyfriend!Shu at a human party. Reiji's version will be written by @bubblespalacee (no rush at all on this btw take your time) and @fangsforiris replied saying they might join and if they do I cannot wait to read and repost it.

Warnings : alcohol, swearing, DL vampire-ness, mildly suggestive no actual acts just allusions to it

The party was loud you had to admit, the fact you were still here was shocking. Your friends were slowly spreading out at this point in the night, the birthday girl having taken her boyfriend to some private corner promising to message before she leaves. Although with how many vodka blacks she has had it is probably wiser to just keep an eye on the door.

Shu had taken a place at the bar nearby while you danced giving you time to catch up with them. That and the fact that he would likely rather die than dance in the dense mob in the club. That doesn't mean blue eyes weren't following your every move the second you weren't by his side, piercing through any would be flirts getting too close. Whiskey in hand, earphones hanging from his neck he broods as your dark prince was prone to when around large groups. Walking towards him those eyes that once were sharp, soften into a half lidded stare paired with his classic smirk. As you reach him, a hand rising as natural as breathing to rest on your hip pulling you closer.

"You know," you begin, cocking your head as your hand rests over his, "it might be more fun to dance with your girlfriend instead of just staring at her." He lets out an amused snort, shifting his weight to his other foot and pulling you closer.

"Why move when the view is pleasant? Unless you want to grind against me lewd woman." You lightly slap his arm in response, eliciting a proper laugh from the blonde. It didn't last long though, his hands taking to wandering instead. Running up and down your arms slowly. His pupils were wider than normal, the alcohol mixed with your presence intoxicating him. He drops his head to your shoulder, sighing as he places barely there kisses against your collar bone.

"It's so loud in here, why can't they all be quiet and let me enjoy watching you in piece."

"I don't think it would count as a club is people aren't being drunk and rowdy Shu, we can go to the smoking area outside if you'd like."

Shu straightens back to his full height, taking your hand in his and leading the way through the crowd towards the cold night air. As you step outside you shiver, the temperature change catching you off guard. Moments later you feel the jacket you had picked out for Shu drape around your shoulders. The patio was much more sparse compared to the sardine can that was indoors. Yet still busy enough that nobody paid the two of you any mind as you sat against the low wall lining the area. It was raining just past the covering awning, tinging the air with a crisp, fresh smell. A cold hand resting against yours, fingers entwined as you both continued drinking.

While not fully drunk, you were enjoying the slight haze around you. The haze that has you not fully remembering the point where drinking stopped and kissing began, but you were also lucid enough to know you weren't about to stop. Shu, normally more intentional and teasing with his kisses, was instead hungry, barely letting you back away for air chasing your lips with his. The fingers on his left hand teasing just under the fabric of your clothes, while his right tangles in your hair letting him kiss you deeper. Your arms around his neck, twisting into the tighter curls at the nape of his neck. Your neck and his both having little nips and marks that were sure to remain into the next few days, and some new bite marks joined your ongoing collection.

Shu's hands moving to push you back, shockingly onto something soft. You take a moment to look around, realizing you are back in the mansion laying on the soft white sheets of Shu's bed. Your shoes and his on the rack by the stairs leading to his door, and his jacket thrown against the sofa. Shu took this time to approach, un-clipping his mp3 player and letting it drop onto the end of the bed. One knee rising to sit beside yours, his forearm holding his body above yours.

"I think I deserve to have my fun now, seeing as you like to tease so much...lewd woman."