#from action forward she’s been done so so so dirty

[starryluminary]

Gwen is my girl forever. FOREVER. I’m on her side always and forever no matter what. I don’t care about her wrongdoing she can homewreck a little as a treat

Ran into the tag limit so here’s the rest of the rant:

DUNCAN HIT ON GWEN WHILE HE WAS HOLDING COURTNEY. OOOHHHHH MY GOD

HE NEVER SEEMED SORRY EITHER. THE SAD LITTLE SORRY HE GAVE COURTNEY WHILE COVERED IN SPAGHETTI WAS A PLATITUDE

Not to MENTION Gwen was the one to carry the relationship once it started

Gwen fought so hard to deny her feelings for Duncan but Duncan ultimately decided to reciprocate so she opened herself up to the relationship

Gwen was the one to start the talk about it being ok if he wanted to stop the situationship and lead them into taking it slow

Throughout that conversation all Duncan did and say by the way was kiss her and say “that’s why I like you” not adding anything of substance

And then what does he do. Pretend to still have feelings for Courtney in front of Gwen without telling her his plan so she gets her feelings hurt

Side note Duncan is a bastard and I hate him so much

Anyway my point is Duncan was so so so much worse than Gwen when it came to them getting together

But everyone dogpiled on gwen

Except Cody. Cody was sensible and knocked out Duncan thank you Cody

And DUNCAN MADE IT TO THE FINAL DAMN FIVE DESPITE BEING A BASTARD

WHYYYYY DID GWEN SUFFER MOST OF THE CONSEQUENCES WHYYYYYYYY

I think instead of throwing challenges so Gwen got eliminated Courtney should of kicked ass at challenges and watched as Duncan got kicked out of the plane

God. Gwen is my girl forever and ever and I’m on her side always

[scaredpigeons]

A debt, recurrent.

A sequel to A debt, repaid.

BSD Ogai Mori x fem!reader

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Authors Note: I had previously skirted around the idea of writing something that directly involved Elise, just because her existence is like— one of the major icky points of this character, but I had a request to do like a nanny!reader x mori, and I was like “how can I do this in cannon universe while making it make sense while also making sure it isn’t gross.” And this is what popped out. In this story, it is implied in this that Mori does not actively use Elise in any sexual activities, even though I have no idea if that’s been confirmed or denied in the manga/show. I just prefer the thought that he hasn’t. Makes me sleep better at night. That being said, I still don’t condone any actions associated with this character/the entire Lolita-loving trope, but being able to interact with things that have caused me trauma in the past in a Safe space makes me very horny happy. and I am so uncomfortably horny for this old man.

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Mori needs to go to a meeting, and needs someone trustworthy to watch Elise. She chose you, much to your displeasure, and you spend the evening catering to her every whim. Mori returns home to find you in a vulnerable state, and who is he to refuse such a gift?

PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING! DARK CONTENT WARNING! READ RESPONSIBLY!

CW: technically non-con somnophilia.(sexual actions while one party is asleep) Reader is into it, even though she tries to deny the fact that she is at first. Mori has very dark and possessive thoughts towards reader, reader doesn’t wake up until Mori is actively (p in v) fucking her. Touching, oral (fem receiving) fingering, very little vaginal prep, creampie, dirty talk. Mild aftercare, though it’s implied that he’s not actually done. ELISE IS NOT INVOLVED IN ANY NSFW CONTEXT, AND IS ACTIVELY TAKEN AWAY AND TUCKED INTO HER OWN BED BEFORE MORI DOES ANYTHING TO READER

You flinched at the sound of the door to the lounge swinging open, and very light footsteps accompanied by heavier, slower ones. 

You were just trying to have lunch with your coworkers, and you certainly weren’t expecting to interact with the boss today, or his… ability.

”hmm…” the little girl seemed to tap her foot in thought, and you kept your head down, though if you looked up and to the side, you could see her shoes in the corner of your vision. You could see his shoes too, standing directly behind her. 

“I want to play with… that one!” She said with a demanding tone that really grated your nerves. It’s not that you disliked children, you just despised spoiled brats, and Elise was notorious for being just so, which was exactly what Mori wanted from her, the sick bastard.

”Are you sure, my dear? That one has a bit of an attitude, I don’t know if she’d make the best playmate for you tonight.” 

Your heart sank into your stomach. There were only two women in the lounge today, yourself and another young recruit who was well known for keeping her nose down and following orders without question. 

Is it too late to throw yourself out a window? You're only on the fourth floor, it should be fine, right? 

“I said I want that one!” The girl, if you can even call her that, stomped her foot with furious impatience. “Did you not tell me I could have whatever I wanted today, Rintaro?” 

The boss of the port mafia sighed, the smile reading through his voice— you could hear it in his tone, though you refused to look up, still staring blankly at your sandwich as if you could disappear into it if you tried hard enough. 

“Yes, that I did, my darling.”

Mori called your name, making everyone in the lounge snap their gaze to you. 

If you weren’t so pissed off, you might’ve felt your cheeks heating up. 

You stood, setting your sandwich to the side as you made your way to stand in front of your boss, back straight and eyes forward. 

“Yes, boss.” 

“Come with me, I have an assignment for you today.” 

The entire walk to his office was silent, save for Elise whining about not wanting to see another tailor for another year. The girl seemed adamant about having enough dresses to last the rest of Mori’s life, and even threatened to cut that life short if he pushed her any further. 

Could she even do that? Could an ability kill its user? You almost hoped she would actually try it. 

When inside Mori’s office, he sat, gesturing for you to take the seat in front of his desk—which was strange, as most of the time his underlings would just stand to receive their orders. 

Elise just wandered off, sitting in the corner with her pencils and paper. 

“I’m going to be out for the rest of the day, well into the evening, and I need you to entertain Elise for me while I’m gone.” 

You knew this was coming, but it still felt like a lead brick was sitting in your stomach. 

“Why can’t you take her with you?” You hissed. 

“I’m going to neutral ground for a very important meeting, where the usage of abilities will be prohibited.” Mori rested his head on his folded hands, his dark eyes flickering between yours, face unreadable. 

“Then why can’t you just send her away?” You said, eyes flitting to the side as you kept your voice low, not wanting her to throw a fit because you were talking shit. “Just… release the ability, or whatever?” 

Mori smiled, his head tilting to the side. He reminded you of a venomous snake. Beautiful to look at, dangerous to let close. 

“It takes a lot of energy to reform her once she’s gone, you know. I have to be at peak condition in case of emergencies. Why else do you think I keep her around, give her a room on my floor of the building, and take her with me wherever I go?” 

Because you’re a fucking pervert. 

“Because you’re sick in the head, Rintaro!” Elise voiced your thoughts aloud, chucking a crayon across the room that smacked your boss directly in the side of his head with an audible thwack. 

Huh. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all. 

He merely smiled, as if he was as happy as he could possibly be. 

“So you see, I need someone to watch over her, someone trustworthy, and entertaining.” He said, looking at you from beneath his long lashes. “And she just so happened to choose you.” 

“You think I know how to keep a kid occupied? I’m probably the least entertaining person on the fucking planet.” You hissed, white knuckling the arms of the chair. 

“I don't know,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I find you very entertaining.”

You certainly felt your face warm that time, and you couldn’t necessarily blame it on anger. You were pissed, sure, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it? 

“Fine.” You said, crossing your arms across your chest. “But you owe me.” 

He raises a sleek brow at you, as if surprised by your words. 

“I owe you?” He said, voice light and airy. Deceptive, poised. Ready to strike. “What makes you say that? Am I not your employer? Do you not take your orders from me, from those above you in rank, little one?” 

“Babysitting isn’t in my fuckin’ job description, asshole.” You hissed, somehow not afraid of the consequences. “So you owe me one.” 

What, do you think he’ll give you special treatment because you let him fuck you? 

Surprisingly, that almost seemed to be the case, as he merely relaxed back into his chair and smiled, his tired eyes roaming your body without a care in the world, as if you weren’t paying attention. 

“Very well. If I’m satisfied with Elises care, I’ll owe you one.” He said. 

Suddenly, his eyes turned very dark, his smile a tad more menacing. A snake in the grass, showing its colors. 

“However, if she is displeased with your performance, I’ll have to implement some kind of corrective action, yes?” 

You glanced off to the side, looking at where Elise was sat, scribbling on the paper in front of her like it wronged her somehow. 

“Deal.” You said. 

How hard can it be?

————————————

Mori must've said something to the staff on his level, because once he left, Elise dragged you to a floor of the base that you’d only ever been to once before, and all the guards simply ignored your presence entirely. 

They opened doors for you and the girl, closing them behind you, but otherwise there was no acknowledgment that you might’ve been somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. Completely unlike the last time you snuck in here, having to wait until the guards were switching shifts to sneak in unnoticed. 

Elise was bratty, demanding, borderline unbearable. But you squared your shoulders and muscled through, just like you would any other job. 

After dragging you around aimlessly for what felt like hours— she wanted a tea party, but you had to follow the dress code to enter, as per her rules. Which means you had to drag her all the way down to your apartment so you could bring that stupid fucking dress you’d bought upstairs, changing into it in one of the many bathrooms lining the halls. 

Elise seemed satisfied though, and spent time putting little clips and bows in your hair, lining your wrists with bracelets and your neck with a couple little necklaces. 

She requested sweets, and real tea, though you weren’t entirely sure if you brewed it properly, but she didn’t complain, only sipped it from her pink tea set and poured her gigantic teddy bear another cup. 

“Do you really have to keep up the act even when he’s gone?” You asked, though you kept your voice small, as not to offend her. 

“I am what he desires me to be.” She simply said, eyes closed, prim and proper as she sipped her tea, like a little girl pretending to be a princess. 

“Were you always like this?” You asked, cringing a little. 

“No.” She said, huffing. “People change, but Rintaro’s always had a few screws loose, so it only makes sense.” Hearing her speak such words in such a tiny little voice almost made you giggle. 

”I suppose he’s lucky he has you, or he’d probably be in prison.” You rolled your eyes, then realized what you said, finally laughing a bit. “You know, for things besides being the boss of the port mafia.”

To your surprise, she let out a snort, sitting down her teacup as she giggled a bit. 

“I’d like to see him locked up.” She said, “He wouldn’t last a day in there without me!” 

That made you snort too, picturing your boss without all the luxuries of his rank was certainly amusing. 

Your sick curiosity got the better of you, and you weren’t sure if she would answer, but you really wanted a reason to hate Mori, to get over the strange, twisted feelings that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach, so you tried to ask anyway. 

“Has he ever…” 

Her eyes thinned, and it didn’t look entirely like anger, but she certainly wasn’t giggling anymore. 

“If your ability conjured the perfect knife to cut up strawberries for cake, would you turn around and try to use it to brush your hair?” She asked.

Your brow furrowed, trying to wrap your head around what she was saying. 

She rolled her eyes, scoffing at your confusion. “I am a weapon. Whatever form I take is irrelevant to my use. You would want your knife to suit your own personal ideals, would you not?” 

She didn’t outright answer the question, but you think you get the point. Considering your strange and mixed feelings towards your boss, it's probably best if the answer to that question remains an inferred ‘no.’ 

Such complex thoughts coming from such a tiny looking girl kind of made you laugh again though. 

“Enough talking!” She suddenly stood up, stomping her foot. “I want to watch a movie!” 

It turns out, she didn't want to watch a movie in her own room, or the living room, but instead demanded that you watch the movie with her in Mori’s room, which apparently had the “big big TV.” 

The sun was setting, and you were exhausted from following her every whim all afternoon and evening, so instead of getting flustered and trying to convince her the living room was a better idea, you just gave up, stripping off that stupid dress and chunky jewelry and crawling into the bed with her in your shorts and undershirt. 

You felt embarrassed crawling into his bed after what you’d done here weeks ago, but the sheets were different, and the blankets smelled fresh, so you could delude yourself into thinking it was an entirely different bed. 

She picked Spirited Away, saying she liked the ‘no face guy’, and how hungry he was. She giggled and said that the parents deserved to get turned into gross pigs for being so stupid in the first place, and that might’ve disturbed you if you weren’t so tired. 

The last thing you remember is the feeling of Elises head falling on your shoulder, and wondering what you did to get on her good side. She’s a nightmare. She actively terrorizes the other members of the Port mafia just for her own amusement, and she’s just falling asleep on your shoulder? Do abilities even need sleep? But sure enough, her breathing was even, and her eyes were closed. 

You smiled, realizing you can’t have done too shitty of a job if she was so relaxed. 

———————————

When Mori peeks his head into Elise’s room and doesn’t see her sleeping form in her frilly pink bed, he worries a little. 

Not much, maybe mostly for you, in fear that she’d have you strung upside down and dangling from the roof somewhere in some midnight game to amuse her, but he’d told her to behave, so he hoped all was well. 

Mori thought that perhaps he should get out of this ridiculous suit and change before he goes looking for Elise, that meeting had been far too stifling, so he at least needs to hang up his jackets and get more comfortable before he can go on any longer. 

When he steps into his room, the first thing he notices is that his TV is on, its large screen illuminated with the ending credits of some cartoon, and then he looks into his bed, and his heart stops. 

Elise is cuddled up right next to you, snuggled in with your arm wrapping comfortably around her little waist as you both sleep peacefully beneath his luxurious blankets. 

The soft part of him wants to coo and take pictures to torment Elise with later. Another darker, more urgent part of him is eyeing you, your tiny, tiny shirt riding up your waist, your hair sprawled out on his pillows, a few stray bow clips still caught within, your arm around such a treasured piece of him— like you valued it just as much as he did. 

He eyes that frilly little number you wore for him those few weeks prior, just sprawled out, lying on his floor; and surmises that Elise must have demanded some kind of dress up game, the little tease. She probably did it just to annoy you, not thinking you’d actually have something to suit her criteria. 

He rounds to the side of the bed that Elise is on, carefully and slowly prying her from your hold. He very gently takes her down the halls to her own room, tucking her into bed. Any other night, he might have stayed, maybe woken her up to talk with her about her day, tease her a little about how good she must’ve been today, but he had far more pressing things to focus on, like the little one he’d left still sleeping away in his bed. 

After all, if you’d done a good enough job that Elise fell asleep comfortably in your arms, then he owed you one, didn’t he? 

Keeping his steps light, he made his way back to his bedroom, standing at the side of the bed to observe you once more. 

Your brow was soft, face passive and serene, so unlike your waking moments where all you seemed to do was stare ahead with that tortured look on your face— like you hated everything and everyone around you. 

How he craved to see you lost in yourself again, falling apart at his touch and untroubled by the burdens of your life. Having that kind of power over you sends his mind reeling, and ever since that last evening in this very room— his fingertips twitched at the mere mention of your name. 

The crushing desire to claim, to take and mold you into a perfect little doll, just for him— it was overwhelming.

But he resisted.

After all, it was that fiery spark that drew him to you in the first place. If he were to break you of it completely, that would ruin the entire appeal. 

Perhaps just in these private moments then, he’ll train you to let go slowly, but give you enough leash that you may still keep that delicious fight in you.

He saw the way your eyes trailed over him whenever he was in your presence, no doubt remembering the way he pulled you apart and pieced you back together over and over again that night. He knew you hadn’t been going to any of your little friends anymore, your evenings spent alone in your apartment, or so his people tell him. You still wanted him, that much was evident. 

So surely you wouldn’t mind if he helped himself? You seemed to be begging for it, placing yourself so sweetly on this silver platter of silk sheets, sweet and ripe for his taking. 

He removed his jackets and scarf, setting them on the desk chair before unbuttoning his dress shirt and crawling slowly into the bed behind you. 

You stirred slightly, making him pause, but you simply rolled onto your back, hand twitching against his pillow. 

“Heavy sleeper?” He whispered, a grin spreading like a wildfire in a dry field. “Or did my little darling just tire you out?” 

He lay on his side, still observing you like a hawk, watching for any change of breath or movements that may indicate your return to consciousness. 

He allowed himself to indulge a bit, dragging a fingertip up the soft skin of your stomach, raising your little shirt even further until it was tucked underneath your perfect breasts. He swirled the pad of his index finger along the center of your torso, watching the goosebumps raise as he circled around your navel softly. 

He dipped lower, toying with the hemline of those itty bitty shorts you were wearing, the spandex clinging to your form deliciously. 

He pushed the blankets down just a bit further, below your knees, not wanting the change in temperature to startle you awake if he removed it completely. 

He watched your eyebrows twitch ever so slightly as he ran his fingertips along your covered core, just a tease of a touch, simply for his own amusement. 

Then he pressed a bit harder, enjoying the little groan you let out. 

“Even in your sleep, you’re still so responsive.” He whispered, licking his lips. 

He brought his hand up to toy with the hemline of those shorts again, watching your stomach dip at the touch of his fingers slipping beneath. 

“I wonder if you’ll let me slip these off, hmm?” 

He slowly rose to kneel beside you, hooking his fingers into the sides of the spandex, shimmying them down slightly to gauge your reaction. 

You were as still as stone, breaths even and eyes closed, save the occasional twitch of your fingers. 

“So good for me,” he mused. 

He continued sliding them down your thighs, exposing you fully as he realized— much to his satisfaction— that you wore no panties underneath. 

He grinned at the slight glisten to your folds, stopping the pull of your shorts right above your knees to admire the sight for a moment. 

Still, you slept, completely unaware and unbothered. He slipped your legs free from the blankets, fairly certain that he could be a little less cautious than before, and pulled your shorts off completely. 

He sat your legs back down, a little more spread than before, and kneeled between them to admire you closer. He ran his hands up your delicious thighs, loving the way your skin prickled as he went. 

He saw the way your nipples perked beneath your shirt, smirking to himself as he pushed the little scrap of fabric further up your chest, exposing your breasts to him completely. 

“A little cold, are we darling?” He whispered, running a finger along one pert nipple. 

As much as he desired to toy with your breasts a bit further, he did not know how long this glorious window of uninterrupted play would last, and wanted to enjoy himself to the fullest while he was able. 

Pushing your thighs to spread completely for him, he laid down on his stomach to watch up close as he spread your folds, using his thumbs to pull you apart and gaze at the glistening treasure you kept so guarded from him. 

He gingerly lapped a firm strike from bottom to top, eyes watching your face for any changes as he savored your taste. 

“You taste just as delectable as I remember, little one.” He whispered against your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and enjoying the sleepy little whines that poured from your throat, still lost in the throes of slumber. 

He indulged himself further, licking and suckling along your core and pressing his tongue shallowly into your little hole until you were absolutely dripping for him, his cock twitching at the way you whined softly in your sleep. 

He removed his gloves and tossed them aside, gingerly easing an index finger into your waiting hole, your juices easing the slide. 

In your sleep, you were so soft, so pliant. Your walls gave a little clench at the intrusion, but he was very amused at how unrestrained you were. He added a second finger, marveling at how easily they slid in, your walls so accommodating, so plush. 

“You know, darling,” he whispered, pulling back to kneel up and work his belt open, uncaring of the wetness along his fingers. “Like this, I don’t even think I need to work you open for me.” 

Unbuttoning his pants, he finally pulled his aching cock free of its confines, having been neglected from the very beginning in favor of the mental satisfaction of such activities. 

“I think you could take me just like this,” he said, stroking himself as he watched your chest rise and fall, unfettered, head resting beautifully on his pillows. 

He pulled a spare pillow from the opposite side of the bed, gently pulling up your lower half to place it under your ass, hoisting you up to a proper height. 

You squirmed, mumbled a bit as your eyes rolled beneath their lids, your hands twitching and thighs shifting. 

He paused for a moment, almost worried you’d wake before he got to the best part, but it really didn’t matter when you woke up, you’d be taking his cock so sweetly for him either way.

After you settled back down, he thumbed over your clit once more, enjoying the way your sex clenched and glistened for him. Stroking himself a moment longer, he finally gave in and leaned forward, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds, reveling in the way your wetness coated him. 

With one hand supporting himself in the bed beside your waist, and the other guiding his cock, he finally, finally pushed against your entrance, groaning at the warmth parting so deliciously for him, wrapping him in your hot and pliant embrace. 

He was right, your walls graciously sucked him in, still snug, but the lack of preparation didn’t seem to matter. As he pushed further into your welcoming softness, he shifted, placing his hands beside your head to lean down and press open mouth kisses along your neck, sucking marks in plain sight, where everyone could see. 

He wanted to own you. He technically did— given his rank compared to yours, but he wanted more. He wanted to consume you entirely. 

He didn’t care anymore, in fact, he wanted you to wake now, to wake to the feeling of him inside you, fucking into you like you were his to do with as he pleased. 

With a rough snap of his hips and a nibble beneath your ear, he finally pushed in fully, his hips slapping against yours. 

You gasped, eyes finally popping open as your head rose from the pillow, a rough moan ripping from your throat as he started a rough and steady pace. 

“There she is,” he groaned in your ear. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 

Your walls clenched tight around him, your eyes wide as you pressed against his shoulders in a half hearted attempt to push him away. 

“B-boss?!” You stuttered, your brow furrowing in confusion, in worry. “What are you— Mori!” 

You moaned as he grabbed your thighs, pressing them into your chest as he threw your calves over his shoulders. The motion left your little white socked feet dangling uselessly behind his head as he brutally angled each thrust against your g-spot. 

Your hands moved to grip at the loose shirt hanging by his collarbones, fingernails digging in but not hitting his pale skin. He almost wanted to shift positions to remove his shirt, maybe let you rake those blunt nails down his back so he too could wear marks of this moment. 

But the way your eyes rolled back and you pushed your head to the side was too good, it was like you were trying to hide from him, hide how much you loved this. 

“Where are you trying to run, little darling?” He breathed, a wicked smile ghosting along your cheek as you flinched, biting back moans that made your lips bruise. 

“I… why are you—“ you couldn’t form proper words, let alone a sentence, and he shuddered at how far gone you already were, your mind still blurry from your slumber, body reacting to him so beautifully. 

“You were so pretty in my bed, laid out for me like a little treat.” He bit at the sensitive flesh of your throat, groaning when you squeezed around him. “I simply am just taking a bite of what’s mine.” 

You cried out at that, squirming under him as he felt your walls twitch and tremble, your slick forming a ring around the base of his cock, the filthy, slick sounds making his head spin. 

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He said, bringing a hand to your face to force you to look up at him, your big doe eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “That's what you desire to be? Mine?” 

You bit your lip, and he could feel you tense, trying to stave off your orgasm, as if he would ever not succeed in making you cum. 

“Say it,” he hissed, thumbing your bottom lip from between your teeth. “Tell me what you are, hmm?” 

His hips continued to slam into you, and he could feel himself nearing his own limit, but he knew you were right there— right at the precipice. 

You were so stubborn, and oh how he loved that about you. How he throbbed when you shook your head, refusing to speak even though you clung so tightly to him, even though he could feel your walls pulsing with the need to release. 

“Tell me.” He nearly growled, his pace never faltering despite the burn of his own orgasm being held back. “Who do you belong to?” 

You looked like you were going to deny him once more, but he saw that sparkle of need in your eyes, so he wrapped his hand around your throat, applying delicious pressure at the sides, restricting the blood flow to your pretty little head. 

He was reminded of how small you were like this. How easy it would be to snap your little neck if you were an adversary. Instead he was delighted when your eyes rolled back once more as he growled down at you. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

He released his hold, and you gasped as your walls fluttered, your release crashing into you like a train, moaning and babbling up at him in your pleasure. 

“Mori! I’m yours! I’m yours— I wanna be yours, I wanna belong to you—!” 

He groaned, letting himself go as you continued your babbling, feeling his cock twitch against your still fluttering walls, the pressure of you squeezing him so tightly was almost unbearable. 

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Mine, all mine.” 

He felt himself tip over the edge and leaned down to bite at your throat again. 

“Now take what I give you, take it all.” 

You cried out as he spilled into you, his hips finally stuttering with each pulse of his hot cum into your cunt. You gripped him tightly, keening as he panted in your ear. 

When he was finally done, you fell back, arms spread wide as you stared lazily up at the ceiling. 

“Did you enjoy your evening?” He grinned, pulling his softening cock from your leaking core, enjoying the way a little dollop of his cum oozed at your entrance. 

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. 

He tucked himself back into his pants as he chuckled. 

“After all that you still have the energy to be so acrimonious?” He teased, getting up to retrieve a cloth from the en suite. 

“You’d be pissed off too if someone woke you up by shoving their cock in you!” You shouted from your place on the bed, clearly spoiled rotten from the last time he fucked you, knowing full well that he intends to clean you up before letting you sleep. 

He rolled his eyes to the side as he made his way back to you, waving his hand dismissively to tease you. “I wouldn’t be pissed, per se. Perhaps a bit startled, maybe murderous, maybe indulgent. Depends on how nice the cock is.” 

He grinned as he watched you get flustered, tugging your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Salacious, depraved, idiot old man.” You grumbled, and he laughed. 

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy yourself, little one?” he leaned down to wipe the sweat and juices between your thighs, and watched with keen eyes as you relaxed, letting his cum pool out of you and onto the waiting cloth. 

His spent cock twitched in interest, and he flashed his eyes back to your face, gauging your reactions. 

You were red, still indignantly looking at the ceiling as he cleaned you up. 

“I’m not saying that, don’t put words in my mouth.” You said, pouting like a spoiled rotten child.

Oh, how he enjoyed you. He was going to soak in every second of your time. He wouldn’t let you run away again and pretend like this wasn’t happening, like you didn’t want him. No, you were stuck this time. 

His cock swelled again, watching you grumble and pout. 

“You’re right, darling.” He said, pulling away to undo his pants once more, reveling in the way you chewed on your swollen lips, your thighs clenching together. “I have better things I can put in your mouth.” 

—————————————————

[logansargeantsbabymom]

part 2 to you shouldn’t have done that

Anything for you pookie 😘

I’m Yours, Only Yours

Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

warnings: lots and lots of dirty sex

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 & F2 Masterlist

The room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat as me and my sexy 3 boyfriends lay entangled, catching our breaths. I, still riding the high of my long-denied orgasm, felt a buzz of excitement at the prospect of more punishment. I loved the way my boyfriends took control, and the thought of being at their mercy again made my pussy throb with anticipation.

Lando, the less dominant one, wasted no time in continuing the discipline. He whispered in Logan's ear, chastising him for letting me cum. "You know the rules, Logie. Now, you'll have to be punished alongside our little brat." Logan visibly shuddered at Lando's words, his blonde hair falling into his eyes as he nodded in acceptance of his fate.

As Lando turned his attention back to me, Oscar stepped forward, a devilish glint in his eye. He wanted a piece of the action, and he knew just how to make Logan pay.

"Get on your knees, Logan," Oscar commanded, his voice strong and authoritative. "It's time for you to worship my cock while Lando takes care of our naughty girl."

Logan, his face flushed with desire and shame, did as he was told. He positioned himself on his knees in front of Oscar, his blue eyes fixed on Oscar’s big, thick, hard, aching cock.

Meanwhile, Lando had me flat on my back, my wrists bound above my head with a silk tie. My breasts heaved as I panted, my nipples tight and erect from the cool air conditioning on my sweat-covered skin.

Lando relentlessly teased me, running his fingers lightly over my sensitive body, all but avoiding my aching pussy that desperately craved his attention.

"Please," I managed to whimper, my eyes closed in pleasure as Lando's fingers danced over my skin. "I've been so good, please let me cum again."

"Shhh, my darling," Lando chided, his voice soft but firm. "You know you've been naughty, and brats don't get to cum unless we say so. Besides, I think you'll enjoy this punishment even more than the last."

As if to emphasize his point, Lando trailed his fingers lower, teasing the insides of my thighs, inching closer to my wet, willing pussy. With a swift movement, he plunged two fingers inside me, making me gasp and buck my hips.

Across the room, Oscar had positioned himself on the bed, his legs spread wide as Logan knelt between them. Logan took Oscar's cock in his hand, stroking it slowly as he leaned in to flick his tongue across the head.

"That's it, boy," Oscar growled, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Logan work. "Suck it like you mean it."

Logan took Oscar's length into his mouth, sucking and bobbing his head up and down, his blonde hair falling around Oscar's thighs. Oscar moaned, tangling his fingers in Logan's hair, urging him on.

I, unable to look away from the erotic display, felt my pussy clench around Lando's fingers. "Fuck, that's hot," she breathed, her eyes glazing over with desire. "I want that. I want you both to fuck me while Logan watches."

Lando chuckled, his fingers stilling inside of me as he teased my swollen clit with his thumb. "Is that so? You want to be double-fucked while our little pet watches? Maybe we'll let him join in, but only if you beg nicely.”

I couldn’t help but whine, bucking my hips against Lando's hand. "Please, please fuck me. I'll do anything. Just don't stop."

Without warning, Lando removed his fingers from my dripping pussy, earning a whimper of protest from me. "Looks like someone needs to be reminded of her place," he smirked, lining himself up with my entrance.

As Lando thrust into me, filling me up deliciously, Oscar's cock disappeared down Logan's throat, causing him to gag slightly. The contrast of sensations—the stretch of Lando's cock inside me and the tightness of Logan's mouth around Oscar—had all of us moaning in pleasure.

Lando set a relentless pace, pounding into me as I writhed beneath him. With each thrust, my breasts bounced, my hard nipples begging to be sucked. Oscar noticed, reaching out to pinch and twist them, making me cry out.

"That's it, baby, take it all," Oscar encouraged, his voice hoarse as Logan's mouth worked its magic.

"Your tight pussy feels so good around my cock."

I could only nod, my mouth hanging open as I struggled to form words. The pleasure was overwhelming, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of another orgasm, but I knew Lando wouldn't let me fall over that precipice just yet.

True to form, Lando slowed, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back into me, making me cry out in frustration. "Not yet, my little duckling. We're going to draw this out, make you work for it."

As if to emphasize his point, Lando withdrew completely, leaving me feeling empty and desperate. I whimpered, arching my back in an attempt to draw him back in.

"Please, Lando, I need it," I begged, my eyes wild with need.

Lando chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with Oscar. "I think she's learned her lesson, don't you?"

Oscar grinned, pulling his cock out of Logan's mouth with a wet pop. "I believe she has. Let's give her what she wants, shall we?"

With that, Lando and Oscar positioned themselves on either side of me, their cocks poised at my entrances. On a count of three, they plunged into me, filling me up completely.

I screamed, my eyes rolling back in my head as the dual sensation overwhelmed me. I felt stretched to my limit, impaled on their cocks, and I loved every second of it.

Logan, his own cock hard and leaking despite his earlier release, watched with a mix of envy and desire. He stroked himself slowly, enjoying the show as his friends fucked their shared girlfriend with abandon.

Lando and Oscar found a rhythm, thrusting in sync, their balls slapping against my sensitive skin. My body shook with the force of their thrusts, my breasts bouncing wildly, as I screamed for more.

"That's it, take it, you little slut," Lando growled, his hands gripping my hips tightly. "You're ours to do with as we please."

"Yes, yes, fuck me, own me," I chanted, my head thrashing from side to side as I lost myself in the pleasure. "I'm yours, only yours."

Oscar, his eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into my willing body, felt his control slipping. "I'm close," he grunted, his hips stuttering as he teetered on the edge.

"Not yet," Lando panted, slowing his thrusts. "We're all going to come together. I want to feel you explode inside her while I claim her tight pussy."

With a final, fierce thrust, we all came. my body convulsed as I rode out my orgasm, screaming their names. Their hot cum filled me up, spilling out around their cocks as they pumped their release into me.

Collapsing in a sweaty, satisfied heap, we lay entwined, catching our breath.

My body still buzzing with pleasure, felt myself drifting off, a satisfied smile on my face.

Little did I know, my punishment wasn't over yet. As I slept, Lando and Oscar shared a knowing glance, devious smiles playing on their lips. Logan, his own cock still hard and aching, found himself the subject of their whispered plans. It seemed the tables were about to turn, and he was about to experience the true meaning of orgasm denial.

But that, my friends, is a story for another time...

——————

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[yelenasdiary]

Can I request a gp!Yelena x reader where reader is being a slut and whoring herself out at a party and Yelena is full of it and drags her off to fuck her (add some overstim plsss)

Sorry if it’s too much😓

Look What You Have Done

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your actions have pissed Yelena off!  

Smut 18+ ONLY! Minors & Men, DNI!!

Warnings: Yelena has a penis! Mean! Yelena?, Consensual Sex, Overstimulation, Semi Public Sex, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Mentions of drinking, Light choking & degrading kink (Yelena calling R dirty slurs), Slightly Bratty/Power Bottom! R | 1.6K

Translations: Detka (baby),

AC: Thank you for sending this! This is like if they all weren’t avengers etc! I hope you enjoy it x

Carol, Nat, Wanda, Kate, Yelena, Monica, Agatha, Valkyrie & yourself were all finally free to hit the town for a night of fun. First it started at a local bar for a few pre-drinks then it was off to two different nightclubs before ending up at Thor’s house party. 

Music blared throughout the crowded house, everybody was drunk and having a great time. You were dancing, getting a little too close to Kate for Yelena’s liking. She watched you from across the room, rage filling her while she watched you dance and grind yourself up against Kate. 

She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much watching you move from dancing with Kate to dancing up against Valkyrie. Her jaw clenched when Valkyrie placed her hands on your lips. It was the last straw for her. 

You weren’t dating Yelena, the two of you had a one-night stand almost a year ago but Yelena has never been able to get over you. You were hers; you just didn’t know it. 

You were lost in the music when Yelena harshly grabbed you by the arm. “Yelena come dance!” You encourage, clearly drunk. Yelena shook her head, “you need to come with me” she replied sternly. You stopped your dance moves and frowned as you looked at the blonde. “Now” she added. 

“Okay, okay! Geez” you mumbled before she escorted you to an empty room. “What’s your problem?” You turned on your feet to face Yelena once more. 

“You. You’re my problem” she snapped, taking a step forward towards you, “you’re acting like a little slut out there” she adds.

“Excuse me?” You bit back.

“You heard. I’ve been watching you all night, dancing and grinding up again strangers at the club and then to do it again with Kate and Valkyrie? Enough is enough” she replied, closing the gap between the two of you. She placed her hands on your hips, looking slightly down at you.

“Yelena, I d-don’t know what you think you saw but I was just having some fun” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“That might be so, but I can’t stand to see what belongs to me trying to fuck other people like a desperate little slut!” She snarled, clenching her jaw. You were silent, looking into her eyes for any answer as to where this all was coming from, but your thoughts were broken when she placed your right hand on her bulge. Your eyes widened at her, “that’s what you’ve done to me detka. So, the way I see it, you have two opinions. You can either get on that bed and look pretty for me or there’s the door” she added, nodding in the direction of the door. 

Her stern tone and slightly clenched jaw sent a little rush to your core leaving you to make your decision without a second thought or even a look at the closed door. Slowly, you took step by step backwards, keeping eye contact with Yelena while you gradually gathered the bottom of your dress over your hips before letting yourself fall onto the bed. Yelena’s cock throbbed at the sight of your dark purple laced panties, the memories from the one-night stand that you both had over a year ago flashed through her mind once more. 

“Are you just going to stand there baby or were you just all talk?” You asked with a ballsy smirk on your lips, snapping Yelena’s thoughts back to what was in front of her. She frowned slightly as she took the few steps closer to the bed, hunger in her eyes as she looked down at you. “Wipe that smirk off your lips, darling, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into” she replied as she began to unbutton her jeans, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. 

Her throbbing cock sprung free as she dropped her boxers to her ankles, stepping out of them and slightly kicking them to the side along with her her jeans. You hated the limited time the two of you had, you’re at a party, this isn’t your house nor was it Yelena’s. “Baby, did you lock the door?” You asked, your eyes shifted to the door for a moment before back to Yelena who was still looking down at you, this time she was the one with a ballsy smirk. “Would you like me to lock it?” She questioned, wrapping a hand around her shaft and giving herself a few pumps as you watched her per-cum slowly leak from her head. Her question no longer a train of thought in your mind. 

“What’s wrong detka?” Yelena lightly chuckled, “cat got your tongue?” She added. 

You sat up onto your knees in front of her as you shook your head, “j-just don’t want to waste any more time” you replied in a light stutter, looking up at her with begging eyes. With one hand, she cupped your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin. “Take your panties off” she commanded, still slowly pumping her cock as it twitched and throbbed in her hand. 

You did as she said, laying back and slightly bucking your ups to pull your panties down. Once they were over your knees, Yelena grabbed them and pulled them off the remainder of your legs before she gently pushed your knees apart and making herself comfortable between your thighs. Her beefy biceps on either side of you keep her from laying completely on top of you, her lips crashed on to yours. Her tongue exploring your month like it did once before. You wrapped your arms around the back of her neck and gently pulled her down closer to you. Her cock brushed against your pulsating clit causing you to moan softly between kisses. 

With one hand, Yelena gently guided the head of her cock between your lips, you moaned each time she brushed herself over your clit. “D-daddy, please” you begged, letting the title slip. Yelena lent back slightly, smirking down at you. “Say it again” she said, running her tongue over her bottom lip while she blindly aligned herself up with your entrance. Your cheeks turned slightly red with embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I, uh, I don’t know where that came from” you apologized. 

“I said, say it again” Yelena repeated. 

“Daddy” you said softly, “p-please” you added while she slowly pushed herself inside of you. 

A moan left your lips as she pushed her entire length inside you, she gave you time to adjust and God did you miss her, you basically sucked her right back in with each thrust she gave. Lips locked together kept your moans from being too loud as she thrusted into you, your nails slightly digging into her clothed back just wishing you were both complete naked to leave marks up and down her bare back. 

Her lips soon traveled to your neck, her thrusts speeding up before she leant back to watch how perfectly you clenched around her. “Fuck, baby, look at you” she admired, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, “you were made me for” she added softly in thought. Her words setting your nerves on fire almost. She watched for a moment as she rolled her hips, loving the way you sucked her in. 

“Daddy, pl-please! I n-need you” you whimpered, bucking your hips slightly to meet her pace before she lent down to kiss your plump lips once again. “You have me detka, all of me” she whispered in reply as you clenched around her, chasing your climax. 

“F-fuck!” Yelena moaned as she leant back once more, watching your breasts bounce along with her thrusts as she fucked into you even harder. You reached for the bed covers, knuckles turning white as you gripped them tightly. “G’nna c-cum!” You cried out but Yelena shook her head, “no, you’re not!” She replied. 

“You’re not cumming until you tell me who you belong to!” She added, trying to ignore her own climax approaching. You threw your head back in pleasure, Yelena’s hand gripping your hips to help her pump into you, “please daddy!” You almost screamed as you looked at her once more, “please!” 

Yelena wrapped her left hand around your neck, applying light pressure. The action sent a rush to your throbbing clit, “who do you belong too?” The blonde commanded not giving up on her speed. 

“Y-you! I belong to you!” You finally said, bring Yelena’s climax even closer. 

“Again” she spat, applying a little more pressure to your neck. 

“You daddy, f-fuck! I be-belong to you!” You moaned. Yelena smirked to herself as you clenched around her even harder, the two of you ready to snap. “Once more detka then I want you cum!” She lent down and whispered into your ear, releasing her pressure around your neck. 

“J-just wanna be y-yours baby, all yours. I am yours!” You moaned once more, “I b-belong to YOU!” You screamed out as then tension within you snapped and your orgasm took over. Your walls fluttering around Yelena’s cock made it harder for her to ignore, she went pull out but you stopped her, shaking your head. “Please!” You begged before your cunt milked her of every last drop of her cum that painted your walls. 

Yelena’s thrusts became slower but never stopped, she helped you ride your high while she chased her second. She brought her thumb to your clit, gently drawing tight circles around it. 

“Lena!” You moaned, your body sensitive. 

“I know detka, just one more, I promise” she lent down and kissed you deeply, “I missed you so much, just need one more” she added.

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[jetii]

Risk for Reward

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Assassin!Reader

Words: 9,107

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, Fox and Reader are not good people, casual discussion of murder, 99% smut with some feelings, unprotected sex, naked female clothed male, oral (f receiving), fingering, light breath play (choking), dirty talk

Summary: Fox has been ignoring you. You decide to take matters into your own hands.

A/N: This is a wildly different portrayal of Fox than my previous fic. If you can't tell, I've been watching a lot of crime dramas lately. Thank you @9902sgirl for the request! Prompts below the cut.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompts: 14. “You look good sitting on my desk, but you’d look even better bent over it.” / 19. “Maybe I should use my binders on you instead.” / 27. “I think you’re hiding something from me, and I’m going to find out what it is.” / 38. “I bet your little panties are soaked, aren’t they? I can practically smell you from here.”

The interrogation has been going on for nearly twenty minutes, and you’re starting to get impatient.

The two troopers stare down at you from the opposite end of a table. Their arms are crossed over their chests, and one is drumming his fingers against his elbow. The other is looking at his datapad, flicking his finger over the screen.

"So?" asks the first one. He has a deep voice, and he sounds like he's had enough of this whole business. You're starting to feel that way yourself.

You shrug.

"Nothing to say?"

"I told you," you say. "I’m not talking to you. I want to speak to your Commander."

"And we've told you, the Commander is busy. So, you talk to us, or not at all."

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your chair. It’s not like Fox to keep you waiting this long. You know he knows you're here. If the clone trooper outside hadn't told him, then the camera in the corner would have. You'd seen the tiny lens in the ceiling when you'd been dragged in here, and the way it had moved ever so slightly as the trooper had shoved you into the room suggested that there was someone on the other side watching you.

Fox must be punishing you.

You sigh, loudly, and look up at the ceiling. You've done nothing wrong. In fact, you'd just done a huge favor for him by taking out those slavers. He should be thanking you, not locking you up. You should be rewarded. Not imprisoned.

"I want to speak to Commander Fox," you repeat, not moving. "If I have to tell you again, I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Yeah, right," says the other clone without looking up. "What are you gonna do? Stare at us to death?"

The door to the room slides open.

"I think you'll find," says a new voice, "that she can do a lot worse than that."

Both of the troopers jump to attention, saluting their commander. You remain seated, staring up at him defiantly.

"Fox," you say, as if you're greeting an old friend.

Fox replies with your name in the same tone, and the troopers exchange a look behind his back. You smirk.

“Take her to my office," he orders, and the troopers move forward, one of them grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the chair. You don't fight them, but you keep your head held high, staring Fox directly in the eyes.

"You have some explaining to do," he says, his voice low and dangerous. You just shrug.

"Let's go, Commander," you say, and you let yourself be escorted out of the room.

He follows behind, his hands clasped behind his back.

The trip to his office is quiet and tense. The only sound is the soft tread of the troopers boots against the floor, and the clicking of your heels. You pass through the security gate, the troopers saluting, and continue on until the four of you are inside Fox's office.

His office is small and cramped, and quite depressing. You're not surprised; most things about the Coruscant Guard are small and cramped and depressing, from what you've seen. It's not the worst place you've ever been, but it's certainly not the nicest, either. 

The walls are painted a boring grey, and the room is mostly taken up by his desk, covered in datapads and empty caf cups. There's a window, but the blinds are drawn, and the only decorations are half-scrawled notes on flimsi and the occasional news clipping tacked up on the wall.

You see a blurry photo of you on one of them and lean forward to get a better look, but the clone standing behind you clears his throat, and you straighten back up.

"Nice place you have here," you say, waving your hand at the walls. Fox scoffs.

"You don't like it?"

"It could do with a fresh coat of paint," you reply. You pause, before you add, "Or a clean, at the very least."

"I'll take that into consideration," he says sarcastically. He walks around the desk and sits in his chair, motioning for you to take a seat on the other side.

You remain standing.

"I think you’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is," Fox says, his tone flat and serious, but you know better. You know the real Fox, and you know that this is all just for show. And when he turns to his men, he proves it.

"I’ll take it from here. Get out,” he orders.

"But, sir--" one of them begins.

"Get. Out."

They nod and head towards the door. As they pass you, the first one leans down, whispering in your ear, "Be careful. He's pissed."

"I'm counting on it," you whisper back, and the second clone shoves his elbow into his friend's side. You hear the shuffle of feet as they leave, and the door hisses shut behind them. 

Fox leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you behind his helmet, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet. You hate when he does this, makes you wait in silence until you give up and speak first, but you can’t deny the thrill that rushes through you every time he does it. And today is no exception. After several minutes, you finally crack.

"What?" you ask, feigning disinterest. You look up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the tiles. You count the cracks as you wait for his reply, trying to distract yourself from the way the air in the room feels like it's thickening.

"You've been causing trouble again," he says, breaking the silence. 

You laugh, turning your attention back to him. He's still staring at you, but now his arms are crossed, and he's leaning back in his chair, his legs spread apart. His foot is bouncing up and down, his gloved hands clenching and unclenching, and you can tell that he's fighting to keep himself calm. You wonder how long it will take before he snaps. Not too much longer, you suspect.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You sigh dramatically and walk around his desk. Fox’s head follows you, watching you closely. He doesn't speak, doesn't tell you to stop.

So, you don't.

You reach up, taking his helmet in your hands and placing it on the table. His dark hair, streaked with grey, falls over his eyes, and he runs a gloved hand through it, pushing it back off his face. He still doesn’t stop you.

“I haven’t seen you in ages. How was I supposed to get your attention? Send you a message on the Holonet? Or maybe write a letter?” you ask. You walk behind him, running your hand along the edge of the desk as you circle it, stopping just behind his chair.

You lean down close to his ear, dancing your fingers over his pauldron, and he shifts in his seat, straightening his back.

“_Dear Commander Fox, how are you? It's me, the assassin. Remember me? I'm the girl who tried to kill you, but now I'm your biggest fan_,” you say, pitching your voice low. “_Could you please, pretty please, stop ignoring me and go on a date with me?_”

"I don't know," he mutters, tilting his head towards you. His eyes flutter shut, and his breath catches in his throat when you run a finger over his jawline. "How about a comm call, like normal people do?"

“So you can ignore that, too? No, thank you. I'll just stick with shooting criminals."

You rest your hands on his shoulders, your thumbs digging into the muscles of his neck. Fox tilts his head forward, giving you better access, and you begin to knead his skin, easing the knots in his muscles. You can feel the tension in him, coiled up tight like a spring. He's always so tightly wound, ready to strike at a moment's notice, and you can't help but be impressed. You wouldn't want his job. You almost feel bad that you have a hand in making it more difficult for him.

Almost.

He sighs, and the sound goes straight through you, setting your skin on fire. He groans as you hit a particularly painful spot, and you move your hands, focusing your attention on that one area.

"You're always so tense, Fox," you murmur, running your fingers up his neck and into his hair, massaging his scalp. He groans again, the noise sending a rush of heat between your legs. "You should relax more."

"Easier said than done," he says, his voice gruff. 

You can tell he's enjoying this, but his hands are clenched tightly on the arms of his chair, and you know he's not going to let go. You know his job is stressful, but you also know how he handles stress. It's what started your relationship in the first place.

It had been an accident, the first time.

You'd been hunting a mark, a man who had escaped prison after murdering several women. He was clever, and cunning, and he was hiding somewhere in the Coruscant Underworld. You'd followed his trail down into the darkness, unaware that the Commander of the Coruscant Guard had been doing the same.

You had caught him at the same time, and after a short and deadly struggle, the man was dead. But the fight had given you both a rush of adrenaline, and the blood still pumping hot through your veins was enough to push the two of you together.

The next day, the story had hit the news.

Commander Fox, hero of the Republic, had stopped an assassination attempt by a dangerous wanted criminal. Commander Fox, hero of the Republic, had managed to subdue the escaped prisoner and apprehend them, saving a member of the senate.

And all of it had been a lie.

Fox had been too ashamed to admit that he'd had his ass handed to him, and that if you hadn't shown up when you had, he'd be dead. And, not wanting the Senate to think less of him, he'd come up with a different version of events.

A version that didn't involve his failure.

You'd been amused by his deception. After all, if he was willing to lie, he'd do anything. And the idea of working with someone who would do anything had appealed to you.

The two of you had worked well together. Too well. It was only a matter of time before you'd begun using each other. Fox would send you the location of a target, and you would handle the elimination. In return, Fox would pay you a cut of Guard funds, and you would make sure that his reports never mentioned any involvement from the Republic's Guard.

The money had been nice, but it wasn't the main reason you did it. You did it because Fox made you feel alive. With him, there was a sense of danger, a spark. He made you feel wild and reckless and free. He was everything you wanted and more.

But the last few weeks had been hell.

Fox had stopped answering your calls. He'd stopped sending you the files. Your money was still deposited into your account, but that didn't mean much when the one person who had made it worthwhile was avoiding you.

So you’d decided to take matters into your own hands and give him a present.

Fox was always complaining about the Underworld, so you'd thought a few dead criminals would cheer him up. Of course, there was also the added bonus that it would force him to deal with you. You'd even wrapped the bodies up for him, to save him the extra trouble.

He hadn't seemed happy to see you.

But you're not giving up that easily. You have a feeling he's just being stubborn, and you're going to break down that wall of ice, even if it means getting frostbite in the process.

You run your hands down his neck, letting them rest on his shoulders. You can feel the heat coming off him, his skin radiating like a sun. He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel him shiver underneath you.

"Do I make things hard for you, Commander?" you ask teasingly, and Fox's mouth twitches.

"Always," he replies, his voice low and rough. You chuckle, and he swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

You can see his jaw working as he grinds his teeth together, his lips pressed into a thin line. He's trying so hard not to react, not to give in. But the longer he holds on, the stronger the urge is to make him break.

You let go, enjoying the way he breathes a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. But the reprieve doesn't last long.

“And what am I thinking?”

You circle the chair again, making your way around until you're facing him, and you lean back against his desk, your hands resting on the edge. You're not touching him, but you're close enough that the slightest movement would put you right back into his personal space. You cross your legs, the skirt of your dress sliding up your thighs, and you can see Fox's eyes dart down. He quickly looks away, pretending he hadn't been staring.

But his eyes are drawn back, and you watch him watching you, his gaze traveling up the length of your body, taking in every inch of you. You feel your heart beating faster, the heat rising to your cheeks, and a pleasant warmth spreads through you.

“Tell me, Fox. What am I thinking?"

His name is a purr on your lips, and he groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you think he's going to reach out and grab you. You hold your breath, waiting. But he doesn't.

"You're thinking that I'm going to lose control and fuck you right here, right now," he says, his voice husky. “You’re thinking that I’m going to tell you that you look good sitting on my desk, but that it would look even better bent over it."

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you press your legs together, trying to relieve the ache building there. But his words have only made the need worse, and you find yourself wanting him, needing him.

"And are you going to do that?"

"No," he growls, and his voice sends shivers down your spine. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking, and crosses his arms over his chest. "You've wasted my time and disrupted the entire sector. You think a little teasing is going to get you what you want?"

He shakes his head, his expression stern, but there's something about the way he's looking at you that makes you think he doesn't really believe that. And if he doesn't believe it, then maybe you can use that to your advantage.

You stand up from the desk, walking towards him. His eyes follow your every move, and he leans forward, his hands gripping the armrests. You can see his chest rise and fall with each breath, and you can hear his pulse quickening. He's as turned on as you are, and the knowledge sends a thrill through you.

You step between his legs, and his knees bump into yours. You lean down, your face inches from his, close enough that you can see every detail. His eyes are a deep brown, like his hair, and his face is worn, and tired, but no less handsome for it. He's older than most of the clones, and the stress of the war has aged him even more. There are faint lines on his forehead, and a permanent scowl has made its home between his eyebrows.

But there's something else there, too. A softness, a kindness. A hint of something that's not quite sadness, but isn't far off either. Something that's been worn down by the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

"So, if I'm not going to get what I want," you whisper, "then what are we going to do about this?"

Your hand rests on his thigh, and you feel him tense under your touch. His eyes drop to where your fingers are pressed against his leg, and you slowly begin to move them, tracing a lazy path up his inner thigh. His breathing becomes ragged, and you can see the muscles in his neck tighten.

Before you can reach his codpiece, Fox’s hand snaps out, grabbing your wrist. His grip is tight, almost painful, but you don't try to pull away. Instead, you lean in closer, pressing your body against his. He's so close, his lips inches from yours, and you can almost taste the kiss that hangs between you.

“Don’t test me," he says, his voice a growl.

"What are you going to do?" you taunt. "Are you going to arrest me? Put me in cuffs? Because, honestly, I've been thinking about that since I got here. It might even be worth it."

You're pushing his buttons, and you know it, but the temptation is too strong. You've wanted this for weeks, and now that you're finally close enough to touch, you're not going to back down.

Fox is silent, and his expression is unreadable. You don't know if he's going to snap, or if he's going to let you win this game.

His fingers flex against your wrist, and he lets out a low chuckle. It's a dark, dangerous sound, and it sends a shiver of excitement through you. He pulls your hand away from his body and stands, forcing you back.

“Maybe I should use my binders on you, if that's what you really want," he says, his voice dropping an octave, and his hand moves to his belt. You can see his fingers curling around the cold metal, and a thrill runs through you. “It would serve you right. After everything you've done, all the trouble you've caused, the least you deserve is a night in a cell."

He moves towards you, his hand still on his belt, and your heart beats faster. You're not afraid, not exactly, but you can't help the way your breath catches in your throat.

"But I have a better idea," he continues, and he takes a step forward, backing you up against the desk. You can feel the edge of the wood pressing into your thighs, and you lean back, giving him more room. He follows, his body close to yours, the weight of him pressing you into the hard surface. You can see the way his pupils are blown wide, his eyes fixed on your lips, and you know that you're wearing him down. He wants this as much as you do.

You tilt your chin up, brushing your nose against his, and his lips part, his breath ghosting over yours. Your heart skips a beat, and your stomach is in knots, but it's not the bad kind, the kind you get before a kill. No, this is the kind you've come to associate with him, the anticipation of what's to come.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair, and he tugs, tilting your head back. His lips brush against the column of your throat, and a gasp escapes your mouth. You can feel him smiling against your skin, and he pulls back, his eyes dark and hungry.

"If you want to play a game," he says, "then we'll play a game."

Fox steps back, releasing his hold on you, and you almost whine at the loss of contact. He smirks, clearly pleased by the effect he's having on you, and turns his attention to the door. He presses a button, and the lock clicks, sealing the two of you inside.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense, and you can't look away. He's watching you like a predator, and you're the prey. The thought sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you shift uncomfortably, the ache between your legs growing stronger.

"So, what's the game?" you ask, trying to sound confident. But your voice wavers, betraying the lust simmering inside you.

"It's simple," he says, stepping towards you. "You answer my questions, and I'll give you what you want."

You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

"That's it? That's the game?"

"That's the game," he says.

"What if I don't feel like playing?"

"Then we'll both be disappointed," he replies, his tone serious.

You narrow your eyes at him, and he stares back, his gaze unwavering. The tension in the room is thick, and the air crackles with anticipation. You know you can't back down.

"Fine," you say, "let's play."

"Good," he says, his mouth curling into a smirk. "Turn around."

You hesitate for a moment, and he raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you. You take a deep breath and turn, placing your hands on the desk and leaning forward.

You hear him walk behind you, his boots clicking on the floor, and you try to keep your breathing steady, to not let him know how nervous you are.

"Now," he says, his voice close to your ear. "Let's start with the easy questions. How many people did you kill tonight?"

You roll your eyes. "Five."

"Five?" he repeats, his voice laced with mock surprise. "Well, that's more than usual. I guess you really missed me."

You scoff, but don't respond. He's not wrong. You had missed him.

"What was their crime?" he asks.

"The same as always. Slavery, sex trafficking, the usual."

"I see," he says, his fingers brushing against the small of your back. You jump, and he chuckles and backs away. “How did you find them?"

"A little bit of detective work, a little bit of luck," you reply, your voice breathy. You can feel his presence behind you, but you can't see him, and it's driving you crazy.

"And where are their bodies now?"

"You already know the answer to that," you say, rolling your eyes.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Fine. They're outside, waiting for you. I even left a nice, shiny bow on them."

"Good.” You're rewarded with the sound of his gloves coming off, and you suppress a shudder.

"Did anyone see you?"

"Of course not," you say, and he tuts.

"That's not a real answer."

"No one saw me," you insist. You don't have time for this. If he doesn't hurry up and do something, you're going to go insane. “I'm not an amateur. I covered my tracks, and I destroyed all the security footage."

"You've been busy," he murmurs. You bite your lip, trying to stay focused, but it's hard when all you can think about is the way his hands feel on your body, the way his lips taste against yours.

"Yes," you say, the word coming out more like a gasp than an answer. You clench your fists, digging your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice teasing. "Am I making things hard for you?"

You let out a frustrated noise, and he laughs, the sound low and warm.

“I’d offer to stop, but I don’t think you want me to,” he hums. “I bet your little panties are soaked, aren’t they? I can practically smell you from here.”

You don't reply, but the way your hips buck forward betrays your desire. You hear him suck in a breath, and then he's moving behind you, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

The first touch of his bare hands against your skin is like fire, and a shudder runs through you. Fox pulls your hair back, exposing the nape of your neck, and you feel his breath ghosting over your skin. His fingers trail down the length of your spine, leaving a blazing trail in their wake, and you bite your lip, trying to keep from making a sound.

His hands move lower, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress, and he slowly begins to pull it up, revealing your bare legs. You can feel the cool air on your exposed skin, and goosebumps prickle across your body. He continues his agonizingly slow pace, and you can feel his calloused fingertips brushing against the backs of your thighs, sending sparks through you.

“Why did you do it?" Fox asks, his voice low and rough.

"I told you, I missed you," you reply, gasping as his fingers brush against the curve of your ass.

"Try again," he says, his thumb dipping between your legs, teasing the edge of your panties. You buck your hips back, desperate for more contact, and he lets out a low groan. "Answer the question."

"I... I wanted to get your attention," you admit, the words coming out in a rush.

"Why?"

"Because you’re a stubborn asshole," you hiss. "Because I'm selfish, and I don't like being ignored."

His hand pulls away, and you can feel him stepping back. The loss of his touch leaves you cold and aching, and you want nothing more than to turn around and pull him back to you. But you resist, your hands gripping the edge of the desk.

"Is that all?" he asks softly.

You swallow hard, and take a deep breath. You don't know why you're suddenly feeling so nervous, but the air feels heavy, and there's a tension in the room that wasn't there before.

"No," you murmur.

"Tell me why you really did it," he says, and his voice is gentle, almost pleading.

You close your eyes and take another deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. This isn't just a game anymore. This is something else, something more. And you're not sure if you're ready for it.

You could lie, but he would see right through it. You could tell the truth, but it would mean admitting how much power he has over you, and that's something you've never been comfortable with.

You sigh and drop your head, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

"I don't know," you mutter, the words catching in your throat. "I just... I wanted to do something for you. I wanted to make things easier for you, even if it was just a little bit. You're always busy with paperwork and politics and bureaucracy. I thought maybe, if I got rid of some criminals, it would lighten the load a little. Make your job easier. I just wanted to help. It's stupid, I know, but..."

Your voice trails off, and you shrug, a self-deprecating laugh escaping your lips. You can feel the flush creeping up your neck, and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see his reaction.

You're not used to this kind of vulnerability. You're not used to feeling so exposed. But there's something about Fox that makes you want to let your guard down, to let him in. Something that makes you trust him.

And maybe that's why you're so afraid.

Fox doesn't say anything for a long time. The silence stretches out between you, and the only sound is the distant hum of the air vent, and the beating of your heart in your ears.

You're starting to think he's not going to say anything, that you're going to be stuck in this moment forever, when he finally breaks the silence.

"Turn around.”

 The softness of his voice catches you off guard. You freeze, unsure if you heard him right, and your eyes flutter open. "Turn around."

“You don’t have any more questions?" you ask, the words coming out shaky.

"No, I'm done with the questions," he mutters. "I've gotten what I wanted."

You hesitate, but then slowly turn to face him, bracing yourself for whatever reaction is coming. You're not sure what to expect, but you're prepared for the worst.

But when you look at him, his eyes are wide, and they're filled with something you haven't seen before. It's not desire, or lust. It's something deeper, something more.

Fox takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours, and his hands reach out and cup your face. You lean into his touch, and his thumbs stroke your cheeks, his touch gentle and warm. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, and closes his eyes.

"You are," he breathes, and his lips brush against yours, the ghost of a kiss. "You are something else."

Your heart skips a beat, and a lump forms in your throat. There are a million things you want to say, but the words won't come. You stand there, frozen, your eyes locked on his, and a thousand emotions pass between the two of you.

He smiles, and it's a real smile, the first one you've ever seen. And it takes your breath away.

"Do you know how much trouble you cause for me?" he asks, and there's a hint of laughter in his voice. "How many headaches, and sleepless nights, and angry senators? How many times I've had to lie, to make up stories, to cover for you? Do you have any idea what you've done to my career, my life?"

You swallow hard, and look down, guilt rising in your chest. You knew it was bad, but not this bad. Not bad enough to ruin his life.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and the words feel hollow, even to your own ears.

Fox lets out a deep sigh, and his thumbs move back and forth over your skin. His touch is comforting, and it eases some of the tension that's been building inside you.

"Yeah, well," he starts. He leans down, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "So am I."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I've been neglecting you. I've been pushing you away and treating you like a nuisance. You're not a nuisance," he says, his voice dropping low, and his hands slide down your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met. And I've been an idiot."

"I don't understand," you mumble. Your mind is racing, and you're struggling to process what he's saying. It's too good to be true.

"I care about you," he says, and his arms tighten around you, like he's afraid you'll try to run away. You might, if it wasn't for the way his voice sounds so sincere, so vulnerable. "I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you. And that scares me. I'm not good at this. I don't know what I'm doing. But I want to try. If you'll have me."

You take a deep breath, and a million different emotions rush through you. Excitement, fear, relief, happiness, all of them swirling together in a storm of feelings. You let out a shaky laugh, and tears sting at the corner of your eyes.

"You mean it?" you ask, not trusting your ears.

"Of course I mean it," he says, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "You think I'd let anyone else talk to me like this? Treat me like this? You think I'd put up with your shit if I didn't?"

"I guess not," you say, smiling sheepishly. You look down, staring at his chest, and your hands curl around the edges of his armor, gripping the cool metal.

He places a finger under your chin and lifts your head, his eyes locking onto yours. You can see the emotion in them, the earnestness, and it takes your breath away.

"I want you," he murmurs, and the words send a shiver down your spine.

"You have me," you whisper back.

The two of you stand there, suspended in time, until Fox finally breaks the silence.

"I can't believe you wrapped their bodies for me," he says, the hint of a laugh in his voice. "That was..."

"Romantic?" you offer.

"No," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I was going to say thoughtful. Which is not a word I thought would ever apply to you. But now, I'm not so sure.”

"Well, maybe that'll teach you to underestimate me," you say, grinning up at him.

Fox rolls his eyes, but his expression is playful, and he leans down, his lips brushing against yours.

"I guess it will," he says, and his hands move down, curling around the backs of your thighs. He lifts you up, placing you on the desk, and his body moves between your legs, his hands resting on your hips. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he groans, his lips finding yours.

The kiss is soft and slow, and it's unlike any other the two of you have shared. It's gentle, and full of promise, and it sends a warmth spreading through you. His hands are moving up and down your sides, stroking the curves of your body, and his lips are exploring every inch of your skin, tasting and teasing and torturing.

You kiss him until the air is gone, and you're left gasping, your head spinning. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling and trying to get him as close as possible, because the space between you is too much, too far.

Fox's lips trail down your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, and a moan escapes your mouth. You can feel him smiling against your skin, and his hand slides up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your dress. He drags his fingers along the inside of your leg, teasing and tantalizing, and your breath hitches, a whine catching in the back of your throat.

"Now, if we're finished talking," he whispers, his mouth pressed against the curve of your jaw, "I believe I owe you a reward."

"Finally," you gasp, and he laughs, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin between your legs.

You moan, arching into his touch, and he continues his torturous movements, his hands moving over every inch of you. His touch is slow and deliberate, and he's taking his time, enjoying every sound, every movement, every shiver that runs through you. He's in no rush, and he's savoring every moment, every sensation, every second.

It's maddening, and it's intoxicating, and you want nothing more than to surrender to his control. So you give in, letting him have his way, and he takes his time, teasing and tempting and testing, until you're a writhing mess, begging him for release.

When he finally drops to his knees and puts his mouth on you, it's a relief and a torment. His tongue swipes up between your folds, and the moan that escapes you is almost obscene. You grip the edge of the desk and lean back, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and his name spills from your lips.

Fox has always been skilled with his mouth, and he knows exactly what you like. He laps at your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves with his tongue. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the softness of his lips as he presses a kiss to your mound.

You rock your hips, and his hands move to your thighs, holding you still as he sucks and licks and devours you. The pleasure is overwhelming, and it's all you can do not to fall apart. Your legs tremble, and your toes curl, and the ache inside you grows with every passing second.

You can feel the pressure building, and you know it won't be long before you come undone. Fox can sense it too, and his movements become faster, his tongue moving with a desperation that matches your own.

"Fuck, Fox," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hums, his eyes flicking up to yours, and the sight of him on his knees for you, his mouth between your legs, his tongue worshipping your cunt, is almost enough to send you over the edge. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes dark and hungry, and there's an intensity to his gaze that sends a shudder through you. It's a look that you know well, and it fills you with pride. He's a powerful man, but he's willing to kneel for you. He's willing to worship you. He's willing to give himself to you, and that knowledge sends a thrill of power through you.

"I'm going to..." you begin, and the words die on your lips as a moan rips through you. You're so close, the edge just out of reach. Fox can feel it, too, and his hands move from your thighs, his fingers curling around the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down, his lips never leaving your cunt, and you kick them off.

You can feel the coil inside you tightening, and your legs begin to shake, the pressure becoming unbearable. Your breathing becomes ragged, and your heart is pounding, the heat inside you burning hotter and hotter with every passing second. You're on the verge of losing control, and Fox's grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you grounded.

And then, just as the pleasure is about to crest, his fingers join his mouth, and he slides two inside you, curling them upwards, pressing into the spot that makes you see stars. It's too much, and you come, hard and fast and intense. 

The world falls away, and all you can feel is the pleasure crashing over you, the ecstasy pulsing through your body. You cry out, his name falling from your lips over and over, like a prayer. And Fox doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers working together, bringing you to heights you didn't know were possible.

You're not sure how long it lasts, but when you finally come back down, your legs are clamped around his head, and your knuckles are white from gripping the desk so tightly. Fox is still on his knees, his mouth against your core, and his eyes are fixed on you, his gaze filled with adoration.

You let go of his hair and fall back, breathing heavily, and he presses one last kiss to your thigh before he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You sit up and pull him close, his body pressed against yours. His hands move over you, stroking your sides and his lips find yours, the taste of yourself still lingering on his tongue.

"Was that the kind of reward you had in mind?" Fox asks, his voice husky.

"Better," you murmur. "Much better."

"Good," he says, and he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He pulls back, and you miss the warmth of his body immediately. You watch him as he walks around the desk, taking his place behind his chair. He sits down, and the leather creaks under his weight.

"Take off your dress," he orders, and his voice is rough and low.

You comply, lifting the fabric over your head and tossing it aside. You sit naked on his desk, and his eyes rake over you, drinking in every inch. His gaze is intense, and you can see the desire burning in his eyes. It's a look that sends a shiver of excitement through you, and your core clenches at the thought of him inside you.

"Now, the shoes," he says, and you can hear the need in his voice. You unbuckle the straps of your heels and slip them off, letting them fall to the floor.

He takes a deep breath, and you can see him struggling to stay in control. His jaw is clenched, and his hands are gripping the armrests, the leather squeaking under his grasp. You're tempted to push him, to see how long he can last before he snaps, but you decide to let him have his fun. At least, for now.

You move to remove the stockings, but his hand shoots out, and he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

"No," he says, his voice low. "Leave those on."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," he replies as he drops your wrist, his eyes fixed on the silky fabric stretched across your thighs.

You smirk and lean back on your hands, your legs dangling off the edge of the desk. You part them, giving him a clear view of the wetness coating your skin, and his breath hitches.

"If that's what you want, Commander," you say, and the title slips off your tongue, and you watch him struggle to contain his emotions.

"It is," he growls, his eyes narrowing.

You cross your legs, the silk sliding against your skin, and a flush spreads across his cheeks. You can see the muscles in his jaw working, his teeth grinding together. He's trying so hard to keep his composure, but the sight of you, sitting naked in front of him, is clearly having an effect on him.

"Do you like them?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. "They're new. I got them just for you."

"Of course you did," he mutters. He shifts in his seat, and the leather creaks, the sound loud in the silent room. “Everything you do is just to get a reaction from me, isn't it? To make my life harder."

"That's not true," you reply. "Sometimes, I do things just because they're fun."

Fox rolls his eyes, but his expression is soft, and you can see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You know that he's not actually upset with you, but you also know that the banter is one of the reasons he's so attracted to you. It's a game, one that the two of you have perfected, and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Come here," he orders.

You slip off the desk and walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. You stop in front of him, and he reaches out, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his lap. He positions you so that you're straddling him, your knees pressed into the chair. Your hands rest on his chest, the cool armor a contrast to the heat coming off his body.

His hands move down, and he cups your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. You can feel the tension coiled inside him, and it mirrors your own. You lean forward, brushing your nose against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, the heat between you almost suffocating.

"What do you want, Commander?" you ask, and your voice is low and teasing.

"I want to fuck you," he says, and the words are rough, like they've been dragged out of him.

"Is that all?"

"No," he admits, his gaze flicking up to yours. There's something else there, something deeper, and the emotion takes your breath away. "I want you. I want this."

Your heart skips a beat, and a warmth spreads through you, melting away the last traces of the ice that had formed between the two of you. This is more than a game, more than a chase. This is something real, something that's been building for a long time.

You smile, and his lips curl into a grin.

"Then take what you want, Commander."

His hands tighten on your ass, and he lifts you up, the plastoid of his codpiece rubbing against the inside of your thighs. You reach down, unclasping the armor and setting it aside, and he lets out a relieved sigh as the pressure is removed. His hands move to the waistband of his blacks, and he pushes them down, freeing his erection. He wraps his fingers around his length, and the sight sends a wave of arousal through you.

You position yourself above him, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. You can feel the heat coming off him, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to sink onto him. But you want him to make the first move, to be the one to claim you.

Fox's fingers dig into your hips, and he slowly lowers you, his cock stretching you as he fills you. You can't help but let out a groan, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck," he hisses, his head tilting back, his eyes fluttering shut.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding onto him as he continues to guide you down, his hips rocking up to meet yours. The glide of his length is delicious, and you can feel the heat spreading through your body, the pleasure building.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, your voice breathy.

"Yes," he gasps.

"Does it feel good?"

"Fuck, yes," he groans, his hands gripping your hips. He lifts you up and slams you back down, the force of it making you cry out.

"How long have you been waiting for this?"

"Too fucking long," he grunts.

He pulls you against him, his chest pressed to yours, and the sensation of the cool armor against your bare skin makes you shiver. He's so close, and it's intoxicating. The scent of his cologne, the feeling of his body against yours, the taste of his lips, the way his hands move over your skin. It's all so much, and you're overwhelmed.

You roll your hips, and the two of you move together, the rhythm slow and steady. It's not enough, and you both know it, but it's a start. The tension is still there, simmering under the surface, but you're determined to take things slow.

His fingers trace circles on the small of your back, and his touch is gentle, almost reverent. He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, and the kiss is soft and tender. It's everything you've been wanting, and it sends a wave of emotion crashing over you.

"Fox," you murmur against his mouth.

"Hm?"

"I..."

The words die on your lips, and you let out a shaky breath, the tension in your chest building. You don't know why it's so hard to say, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"I know," he whispers, his voice soft and reassuring.

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. His lips find yours again, and he kisses you, slow and deep and full of promise. And as the two of you move together, the ache inside you begins to ease, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your entire body.

It's not going to last long. The desire is too intense, the need too great. You're both chasing the release that's been building, the promise of ecstasy on the horizon

You pick up the pace, the rhythm becoming faster, more desperate. Fox's hands move to your ass, gripping the soft flesh, and his fingers dig into your skin, the bite of his nails adding to the pleasure.

"Harder," you gasp, and he complies, his cock driving into you, filling you up.

Your arms tighten around his neck, and your forehead rests against his, your breaths mingling. The room is filled with the sound of your moans and gasps, and the creaking of the leather as you move together. It's intoxicating, and the only thing that exists in this moment is the two of you, and the pleasure that's threatening to consume you.

Fox's lips find yours again, his mouth hot and hungry, and his hand drifts up to your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His other hand moves down, and his fingers find your clit, his touch sending a jolt through you. You're already so close, the tension inside you nearing its breaking point, and you know it won't be long before you snap.

He picks up the pace, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming, the heat building inside you until it's almost unbearable. The hand on your neck squeezes, and you can feel the pressure, the threat of pain, but it's not enough. You want more. You need more.

"Fox," you gasp. "I'm so close. Please, I need..."

He groans, and his hips snap up, the thrusts coming faster and harder. His hand tightens on your throat, and the air is stolen from your lungs, the pressure building until it's almost unbearable. Your mind is a haze, the pleasure drowning out everything else.

"I've got you," he breathes.

And then the world falls away, and all that's left is the white-hot pleasure. The orgasm hits you, and the cry that tears through you is primal, raw, and full of need. Fox's grip on your neck tightens, and his thrusts become more erratic, the pleasure spilling over and washing away the tension.

He follows after, his cock throbbing inside you, the heat spreading through your core. His grip loosens, and his hands move down, holding your waist as you twitch and writhe against him. You ride out the wave of pleasure, clinging to him, the two of you lost in the ecstasy. 

When the world finally returns, he's cradling you in his arms, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the dampness on his cheeks, and his breath is warm and unsteady.

"Fox?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

He laughs, the sound muffled against your skin.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, I'm good. That was... That was incredible."

You smile and place a soft kiss on his cheek. The two of you stay there, wrapped in each other's arms, neither one wanting to break the moment. But eventually, the practicalities of the situation come calling.

"As much as I'd love to stay here," you say, "I have a feeling we're about to get company."

"I know," Fox sighs. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and slowly pulls away, his hands moving over you, tracing the curves of your body. "We should get cleaned up."

He helps you stand, and the two of you begin the process of getting dressed. You gather your clothes, slipping back into the dress, and he pulls up his blacks, his hands moving to reattach his armor.

You’re leaning against the edge of his desk, slipping your heels on when Fox steps behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his lips pressed against your shoulder.

"When can I see you again?" he asks, his voice husky.

"Whenever you want," you reply, smiling. "I'm sure I'll get bored without you soon enough."

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the nape of your neck. "Tonight."

"I think that can be arranged."

Fox hums, and his hands move down, his fingers curling around the edges of your dress. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the desire stirs inside you.

"Don't start something you can't finish," you warn.

"Who says I can't finish it?" he murmurs.

"Fox."

"Can you blame me?" he says, and his hands move lower, tracing the curve of your hips. "You're fucking gorgeous, and you're mine. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you?"

"I didn't realize I belonged to you," you say, smirking.

"Well, now you do," he replies, his lips finding the nape of your neck.

You smile and turn, pressing a kiss to his mouth. The two of you linger there, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy.

"So," you start, pulling back, "where do we go from here?"

"Wherever you want," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What if I said I wanted to go home?"

"I'd say I’ll meet you there in three hours," he replies, and a thrill runs through you at the thought. "And I'd tell you not to get started without me."

"Deal," you murmur.

"Good," he says, his tone turning serious. "Because I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot."

"Neither am I."

He smirks, and his hand moves down, squeezing your ass.

"Good," he growls, and the lust in his voice is clear. "Because I plan on keeping you up all night."

The two of you separate, and he walks towards the door, his posture shifting, his commander facade returning. He reaches out, his fingers resting on the control panel, and turns back to you with an intense gaze.

"Don't think I'm letting you off the hook," he says, and his voice is cold and hard. "You're still in a lot of trouble. But, for now, I have some dead slavers to deal with. And an arrest to make."

"Oh, Commander," you purr, "I wouldn't dream of getting away with it."

His head tilts, and the door slides open, revealing a group of troopers standing outside. They all freeze, their helmets fixed on the two of you, and a heavy silence descends. You can't see their faces, but you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their gaze palpable.

Fox sighs and shakes his head, exasperation rolling off him.

"Take her home," he orders. "No detours. No stops. And no chatter." He shoots the troopers a glare, and they nod, their posture straightening.

"Yes, sir," they reply, their voices perfectly in sync.

You move towards them, and they fall into formation, escorting you through the halls. You can feel their stares, the weight of their attention, and it takes everything in you not to smirk. You've finally gotten what you've been wanting for months, and nothing is going to spoil the victory. Not even a group of awkward clones.

But before the two of you are out of earshot, Fox calls out.

"And one more thing," he says, his voice laced with warning.

You stop and turn, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Behave," he says, the look in his eye telling you he knows exactly what you're thinking. "For once in your life."

"I'll do my best," you reply sweetly.

He rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but the smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him. You turn, and the group of troopers lead you away, leaving him standing alone in the hall, his arms crossed, the ghost of a grin still on his face.

You have no intention of behaving, but there will be time to torment him later. Right now, you have bigger plans. The night is still young, and while your game is over, another one has just begun.

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[a34trgv2]

Top 10 Cartoons I Hate But Many Others Like

#10. The Amazing Digital Circus: Yes, I'm aware only 2 episodes have been made of this cartoon. I'm also aware that both episodes have been praised by viewers and critics alike. As much as I would love to join in on the fun, I cannot ignore how badly structured it is. From the unlikable characters, the poor world building, the unfocused narrative to the lackluster jokes, poor handling of themes and lack of stakes, this it the kind of unmitigated mess that more infamously bad cartoons are ripped to shreds over. I will say that the animation and voice acting is well done so it's not all bad.

#9. The Owl House: Many people were disappointed by my disappointment with this disappointing cartoon. But no one was more disappointed that I was left cold by the show than me. I love fantasy, magic, mystical creatures and enchanting worlds. The Owl House should've been up my ally, yet in practice I wouldn't even spit in it's direction. With an irritating cast of characters, bad world building, formulaic plots, the writing was already on the wall. Then Amity showed up and it made the show unbearable to sit through. I'm all for LGBTQ rep, but I draw the line at a bully and their victim becoming and item. I'm sure Amity has some sappy sob story about how her parents pressured her into being an entitled brat, but she's still and entitled brat that shouldn't even have friends, nevermind a girlfriend, because her attitude STINKS!

#8. The Loud House: I've made it no secret that despite the warm reception and continued popularity of The Loud House, I was never a fan. I never found it funny, well written, or relatable. All I got from The Loud House was this is one of the most annoying dysfunctional families I've ever seen. I do think it's well animated and I commend the crew for moving forward with the show despite the disgraced creator's termination.

#7. Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur: I consider myself a big Marvel fan thanks to the MCU and Spider-Man franchises. I never heard of Moon Girl or Devil Dinosaur before this show was announced, so I was genuinely curious to see how this would play out. Needless to say, I was not impressed. Despite having dazzling visuals and really good voice acting, the show is just badly made with terrible writing, unfunny jokes, dull characters, and repetitive action scenes. This show clearly has its fans, but unfortunately I'm not one of them.

#6. Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous: Those who know me know I love dinosaurs and am a huge Jurassic Park fan. You'd think a cartoon based on the series would be as exciting and interesting as the movies. Well like so many of the dinosaurs victims, you'd be DEAD WRONG! This show shoots itself in the foot by having 6 unlikable and annoying characters, and not one gets eaten by a dinosaur. Not to mention it's sluggishly paced, the animation is stiff, and the score only reminds me of the movies I'd rather be watching. Clearly I'm in the minority here as I had a blast watching ALL the Jurassic Park movies, even the ones critics didn't like at all, over this.

#5. We Bare Bears: I like bears as much as the next guy, with my favorite cartoon bear of all time being Winnie The Pooh. Despite my fascination with this big, furry creatures, We Bare Bears never made me like the main trio, much less love them. They're all varying degrees of unlikable and the show isn't funny or well written to keep me engaged. They also did San Francisco dirty by making the people so unlikable. The one element that I think would've made for a much more interesting show is Chloe Park. Her character was utterly wasted on this stupid show as she's a kid with a high IQ and is in college but still wants to be a kid. She deserves better.

#4. The Mitchells vs The Machines: As much as I like Sony pushing for more expiremental animated films lately, this expirement didn't succeed in my book. Sure, the animation is amazing and the voice acting's mostly good, but tells such a generic story, has such incompetent and unlikable characters, and I will never get over the fact that Aaron Mitchell sounds like a middle-aged man and not, you know, A CHILD! The worst part about this film is despite it's best efforts, it is just NOT funny. It relies so much on cringy, outdated memes, weak slapstick, and dull visual gags and I never once found it funny.

#3. El Deafo: I was confused as to what this show was supposed to be based on the trailer. Watching it for myself, I found that it was more frustrating than anything. Don't get me wrong, I commend author Cece Bell for turning her personal struggles with impaired hearing into a comic turned cartoon and I fully understand wanting to tell a story from a deaf person's perspective. That said, though, I just despised the execution from the awful writing, the unlikable characters to the terrible sound mixing. As pure as the intentions were, they were sorely lost in the execution in my opinion.

#2. Frog and Toad: When I was a kid, I loved reading the Frog and Toad books. They were simple, yes, but the characters were so interesting and the illustrations were well crafted. This show should've been exactly what I was looking for in an adaptation of the books. What I got instead was a prime example of how NOT to adapt a beloved children's series. Despite having spot on voice acting, the abysmal writing, the incompetent characters, and the lackluster animation really soured the experience. I know the author's children were involved in this, but I don't think they did the books justice. The show didn't take full advantage of the medium and played more like mediocre live reading of the books.

#1. Summer Camp Island: I clearly struck a nerve with fans of the show when I said I hated it. Well, y'all will be please to know that your efforts to change my mind were all in vain. I just couldn't get passed how badly written it was, how hatable the characters were, how grossly unfunny it was. The worst part is that this is a world where anthropomorphic animals and mystical creatures exist, yet they can't tell anyone about the magic on the island. To this very day, I CALL BOLONGA!

Conclusion: I'm not saying y'all are wrong for liking these show and you definitely won't see me call them "overrated." I just wanna offer a different perspective on these popular and well liked cartoons. Some honorable mentions include Miraculous Ladybug (many people love it, I can't stand it), The Ghost and Molly McGee (you all know how I feel about that chatterbox), and the "adult" cartoons that received critical acclaim such as Rick & Morty, Smiling Friends, Bob's Burgers and The Simpsons. Agree? Disagree? Let me know in the comments and I'll see you next time.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

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summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

[justjams2003]

The Saltiness of Flesh

Another Elvis one for you all. I recently went on vacation and this came to me after walking on the beach. Also, Over-ripe will be updated, I just needed to get this out of my mind.

Pairing: 1968!Elvis Presley x fem!reader

Summary: After Elvis' divorce fell through and the constant non-stop touring, he finally gets a moment alone on the beach. He finds a doll, shy and almost stand-offish and things suddenly bloom between them.

Warnings: Absolutely no hate to Priscilla, I love her so much, she is mother <3 In this story, they got engaged but broke up before they got married. Barely legal reader, flirting, but not much else.

Word count: 2,2k+ unedited

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @luvcsbn

Elvis can’t remember the last time he woke up this early. Salt lingers on everything when your hotel is next to the coast. And it’s so early that there aren’t any cars on the road yet, so it’s just the sound of the beach waves crashing that fills his ears. He groans as he sits upright, his feet hitting the fluffy carpet. He looks out, the waves match the fluff of the carpet. 

It looks so inviting, when was the last time he went to the beach? When was the last time he was alone like this? There’s always someone watching him, talking to him, waiting for him. But his rehearsal isn’t until 11:00, there’s nothing for him to do now... A smile, not big just barely, overcomes him. 

The wind blows and there is almost nobody on the beach today. It’s cold and he wraps his leather jacket closer around his body. His feet drag through the sand and dirties his fancy shoes. His hair is now tussled and he’s slightly regretting ever leaving his perfectly airconditioned hotel room. 

He sighs, his eyes going between the horizon just over the sea and the footprints in the sand. Step, step, step, and then the waves wash it away. He rolls his neck, and lifts his arms up as he stretches, maybe this isn’t so bad? The fresh air is a nice difference from the constant cigarette smoke from the other men. 

His mind feels...clear. Clear and he can finally think straight after weeks of non-stop traveling and preforming. He rubs his neck and then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. His feet dragging across the sand, following the footsteps that have yet to be washes away. 

The man sighs, if the media saw him now like this, they’d rip him apart. His engagement fell through, after one huge fight. Word and actions that he hadn’t wished he said and hadn’t done. Now, he’s all alone, walking along the beach on a windy-icy day in California. Thinking about where exactly did he go wrong? 

Was it his choice? He should’ve known in the beginning when she talked about working that she would never be completely his. She would never be as devoted as he wanted her to be. He should have known that she likely just wanted the fame and the money until it all became too much for her. Then she left, right before the start of comeback. 

The wind picks up again, throwing his hair to the side and he clenches his eyes shut so that the sand doesn’t scratch at his eyes. He continues trudging forward, stumbling as the sand fights for him to take another step. 

A voice causes him to snap his eyes open. “You should watch where you’re goin’ mister.” The first thing he sees are her dirty bleached jean dungarees. The way her shoulders sag while her hands are in her pockets. Her feet are covered in sand halfway up her calf. Hair, lightened by long hours in the sun, is wild in the wind. 

She’s standing next to a fishing pole that’s been planted into the sand, along with an old rusted pickup truck that’s strapped with other fishing poles. With an upturned button nose and these plump pick lips, she’s small, but not physically, more small in her presence. Like she doesn’t quite really want to be seen. 

The sun is just barely over the mountains, shining right on her sun-coloured hair and makes it look like a holy halo is just hovering on top of her head. Her head tilts up, looking up at him. Elvis gets that thump-thump feeling in his chest all over again. The beginning of falling and tumbling and needing to know more of this little thing. 

Her toes dig into the sand, making a small hole, uncomfortable. He hasn’t said anything and is just sort of looking at her with this smile that makes her feel warm like the sun. “I-I’m sorry, little lady, it’s quite windy isn’t it? Struggling to see.” He chuckles, all his charm suddenly gone and he feels like an awkward teenage boy talking to a pretty girl. 

Goosebumps are evident on her skin and she shivers when the wind blows. Her arms are bare and her dungarees short, not exactly shielding her from the harsh winds. She doesn’t say anything, just looks him up and down again, then nods. “What you fishin’ for?” 

She raises and drops her shoulders, “Just about anythin’ that’ll bite.” She mumbles, her nose scrunching as the sun begins reflecting on the water. A faint smile ghosts over his lips, she’s so pretty and the sun only seems to highlight it more. “Mind if I keep yah company?” He asks, needing to stay with her longer. 

Again, she shrugs, “I ain’t supposed to talk to strangers.” Small, again so small, not wanting to say no, not willing to say yes, too uncertain to make a choice. “Well, uh, I’m Elvis.” He expects her to have at least some recognition behind her eyes, but nothing. She mirrors his words with her own name. 

“See? Now we know each other. Now we ain’t strangers.” He speaks, giving his kindest smile. He can see she’s still wary of him, biting down on the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly. “Rare to see a pretty girl like you fishin’. Especially all alone.” Her lips part, pink and plump and suddenly her cheeks become the same colour. 

Her head turns, looking over at the rusty pickup truck. “I’m visitin’ my grandpa for the summer. He’s-” she turns back to face him, “-he’s gone to the little boy’s room. He’ll be back.” Elvis has to fight off a grin, knowing that she’s likely saying this as some sort of warning, as if he’d try something. 

Elvis nods his head, “Well, he’s lucky to have such a sweet little granddaughter visitin’ him.” He watches intently as her top teeth capture her lip, trying to fight a smile. Her cheeks stay this pink colour, either from blushing or the harsh wind. Again she just nods, unsure how to reply to that really. Small. 

“You catch anything yet?” He asks, his eyes falling to the empty bucket next to truck. This does seem to spark something in her. A huff, her heel kicking the sand, making it spat until it reaches the waves. “I’m actually not too good at fishin’...” she raises her head to look up at the top of the fishing pole. 

He can tell she’s trying to gauge if she has a catch by the way the pole bends. But it doesn’t, it stays pin straight. “My grandpa is tryin’ to teach me but...” she then looks back down at him. “...it ain’t workin’.” She huffs again, keeping her hands in her dungaree pockets. He can’t help but let out a hearty chuckle at her huffing and distaste for not getting this right. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” She snaps, her brows plucking together in a frustrated look. “I’m sorry, little one, yah just too cute.” Again, she doesn’t say anything, her eyes scrunching as she glares at him. As if willing him to unsay what he just said. Clearly not liking this idea of being cute. 

“Maybe the fishes are just shy today. They don’t know what to think of a beauty such as yourself.” He watches as she scoffs are rolls her eyes. “I don’t think the fish can see above the water.” She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t see the smooth words that he lures her with. “It’s true, really. That’s why pretty girls don’t fish. The fish are too shy.” 

He has a charismatic smirk, enjoying how she just looks past him. “Oh please.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes and then looking out at the beach. “It’s true, you’re unique.” This seems to make her even more upset. “Unique is just another way o’ sayin’ ugly.” She crosses her arms, protecting herself from his gaze. 

Elvis lets out a hearty laugh. “Is that so?” She nods, refusing to even looking at him. “My mama always says I’m unique when the pretty girls at school bully me. ‘You’re unique and they just don’t like that.’” Elvis just skips over the part where she talks about school, not really caring how old she is, they’re just friends. 

“You ain’t ugly in the slightest. You’re just as pretty as a flower in the bloom.” He can see the pain in her eyes when she says that. He knows well just how ruthless pretty girls can be. Just how deep their cruel words can cut and just how long the pain lingers. 

Her mouth opens to speak again, but her eyes fall to the sand when an old man suddenly appears. Presumably her grandpa. Elvis gives his classic grin and holds out his hand. “Mornin’ sir. Nice day for some fishin’, ain’t it?” The old man’s brows furrow and he raises his cap, to get a better look at him. 

The recognition is quick to come, he shakes his hand. “Why, aren’t you that Elvis Presley fellow?” He’s used to being recognised, but from a man this age, it catches him a little of guard. “The one and only. You’ve got a good set o’ eyes, sir.” The old man nods his head, walking over to his truck to fix up another fishing pole. 

There is a moment of awkward silence between the three of them. The girl’s head snaps around to him, her brows plucked together and her head tilted to the side. “You someone famous?” Her expression makes him chuckle, he shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like that.” She hums and purses her lips. 

“Well, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t recognise yah, Mister Presley. I ain’t from ‘round here.” She stutters, suddenly feeling shy all over again. “That’s alright, youngin, where yah from then?” She licks her lips, dry from all the wind. “A little farm in a little town in Utah.” He furrows his brows, “I have performed in Utah before.” 

She purses her lips and shrugs. “Ma and Pa don’ like me goin’ out too much.” She shivers again, “It wasn’ this damn cold when I packed.” Again he chuckles slightly, “It gets windy on the coast.” Elvis begins to make quick work of the jacket he’s wearing. His long arm hold it out for her to take. Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head. 

“Here, Darlin’. Take my jacket and you won’t be shiverin’ no more.” Again she shakes her head. Holding out her arms to keep it away. “Oh no, sir, I couldn’t possibly.” Now he’s the one who shakes his head, placing the jacket in her arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, youngin. You’re shaking like a leaf in autumn. An’ you don’t wanna get sick durin’ yah vacation.” 

Reluctantly, she takes the jacket, having mauled it over for a few seconds. Her fingers glance over the embroidery of the letters “TCB”. She spells the letters out loud. “What’s that mean?” Her eyes look so curious when she looks up at him. “Means, ‘taking care of business’. Kinda the slogan of my life.” A slight smile plays on her lips, her thumb slides over his name on the bottom. 

She carefully shrugs it over her shoulders. It does look plenty big on her. He feels almost ready to eat her up, scoop her into his arms and never ever let her go. He curses himself for feeling so suddenly so...attached. Watching her every move, wanting her far closer than the few steps between them. 

Her eyes almost form this...sparkle in them. Big and beautiful and- “Lord save me...” his thoughts escape his mouth. Her little teeth come out and bite down on her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a full smile. “What?” A slight chuckle comes out along with her word. “I could eat you for breakfast, little girl.” 

Usually, for compliments, she’d have a snarky remark ready. But his words take her so out of her little world. The way his eyes match what he’s saying makes it even more... She knows for a fact she’ll be replaying that moment over and over in her mind. If anyone ever says that no one wants her, she’ll retell this word for word. 

And suddenly she can just scarcely taste the saltiness of the flesh of his fingertips. Thumb tracing the trip of her lip. Faintly she feigns uncaring. But truly her heart is thump-thumping. Pinching and plucking at her pretty soul. “Let me see you again?” Grasping at air, grasping at words and coming up with but a nod. 

Pulled from his all keeping attention, unable to swim for else the water fills her lungs from those blue, blue eyes. It does not compare to the ocean they are forever now bonded by. Chain me, keep me, make me, let me be what you want from me. Words that do not fall from her lips, but instead only: “Grandpa’s house is on 13 Church street.” 

And a smirk and a grin and a nod and a goodbye. All so fast, all so quick, gone from his grip. And she licks, licks, at her lips, wanting to feel the burn of the salt on the tip of her brimming, beaming, bubbling body again.  

I'm gonna do a part 2 for sure. Please do tell me if you want to be added to that tag list <3

Part 2

[simpleeindulge]

That’s my girl.

Info: Fem/readerxEustass Kid, cussing, nightlife setting, semi-slow burn, future nsfw, 1st meetings, suggestive themes, Pan/Kid, there will be 18+ martial in coming parts! Context: Kid was some action, but he's feeling particular tonight. He finds what he wants, but he's gonna have to work for it.

Part 1.

The Kid Pirates docked at an island known for its rowdy nightlife. They reached the port in the late afternoon after a month at sea. Most of the standard shopping was done, with more that could be completed the next day.

While a priority, restocking the ship is not anywhere on Kid’s mind. What he needed was some action. The moment the sun started setting, Kid headed out with a few crew members to the red light district. The streets were lively with music, lights, and the sounds of laughter from the brothels.

Kid smugly walked past the sweet calls of the prostitutes and entered a club. He didn't care how his crew got off, but Kid always got his pleasure without paying. As he moved to a spot that looked good for drinking, he noticed a few promising possibilities. A curvy woman there, a slender guy there, yes, the possibilities felt endless.

It depended on what he was feeling tonight.

Heat and Wire left to sit closer to the stages where girls danced. Killer had followed him, but something caught his interest before he sat. With a nod to his buddy, Kid settled down in his dark corner and watched the crowd as he drank. A few of the women and men working at the club sat with him to drink and play around, but none of them were right.

Kid felt feisty, and he needed someone who could match his energy.

"Haha! Looks like someone is getting too grabby with Y/N!" A cute, chubby girl he had his metal arm around giggled.

Her comment alerted the other club workers at the table and a tall man with dark skin chuckled as he said, "That customer is in for a nasty surprise if he thinks Y/N is going to put up with him."

The rest of the table chuckled as Kidd raised a brow and took a gulp of his beer. He sighed and wiped his mouth. "What are you all snickering at?'

"Look, Captain," a blond spoke up. They pointed at a waitress, who was busy trying to serve drinks at a table. Two of the men kept grabbing at her, but she stayed out of their reach.

"That's Y/N. She mainly works here as a waitress." The blond explains.

"Mainly? She only works as a waitress. Missy thinks she's too good to get a little dirty." The cute, chubby girl scoffed.

"So she's clean?" Kid joked, and the dark man laughed, replying, "As clean as you can be working here. As far as I know, no man has been able to get past her fists."

"Her fists?"

"Just watch," The man said, his white teeth flashing in a grin.

Kid did. He watched as the men tried pulling the woman into their laps. They even waved money at her, but she shook her head. Finally, one of them had enough and stood to wrap his arms around her. The movement was fast, and neither Kid nor the man expected it from her.

Before the man could touch her, she moved swiftly with her elbow back, hitting the man in the side. The one in front moved forward, and she wasted no time swinging her other hand out to punch him in the face. The last man sitting at the table rose to come at her, but she was already ready for him with her fists up and her stance ready.

Quick, simple, precise.

All three men went down, and she walked away after gathering up her tray of empty glasses and bottles.

Kid watched her go as the rest of the table chuckled. Kid took a drink and licked his lips, then moved to get up. He had found his girl for the night. The cute girl he had his arm around sighed and said, “If she doesn't wound your pride too badly, come find me.”

Kid didn't hear her as he focused on his target as she walked back to the bar. The beat of the music was drummed in his veins as his fingers inched to touch her shoulder. But he held back because Kid could see that the woman’s guard was up.

That was fine; he had all night. If he wanted something easy, he could just go back to the table and take both the chubby girl and the dark man to the rooms upstairs.

The woman stopped at the side of the bar to clear her tray when Kid slid in next to her. He grinned at her as she continued her work without acknowledging him.

“Are you always so friendly with your customers?”

The woman sighed and picked up her tray. She moved around Kid, and he let her pass. He waited for her to come back to the spot and she gave him a dirty look but said nothing to him.

“I understand that you don't fuck paying customers.”

She whipped her head at him and glared but still didn't say a word. Kid chuckled and rested his face in his hand as he stared causally at her.

“That’s fine, 'cause I ain't looking to pay.”

“If you think your honesty is charming, it's not.” She finally said.

Kid's grin only grew wider at getting her to speak to him.

“I ain't looking to charm either, I'm looking to fuck.”

“Then go back home and fuck with your hand because no one is going to do a fucking thing without some money and I not touching you.”

She snapped at Kid and walked off to serve more drinks. Kid watched her go, feeling slightly frustrated. Killer happened to find him and thumb over his shoulder at two stage dancers at the other end of the bar.

“Found something you might like, they're ready to go now if you want to join us.”

Kid’s eyes didn't stray from the waitress as she moved through the club.

“Not this time, Killer. I have something else in mind.”

Killer looked to where Kid’s eyes were following, and he shook his head. “That one will be tough.”

“Don't I know it.” Kid said with a laugh. He then glanced at Killer and saw the dancers he had picked up. Nice, very nice.

“You have fun, Killer. I’ll see you later on the ship.”

Killer shrugged and walked away just as the waitress walked up to the bar.

“You should have gone with your friend. The Twins are supposed to be good.”

Kid raised a brow and took a glass of beer off her tray as she was filling it up again. He took a sip with his eyes still leering at her.

“How would you know that if you don't screw around-”

“Word of mouth.” She cut him off and picked up her tray once more. “You should run along, cause I’m not-”

"What time do you get off work, Y/N?"

She paused at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. She frowned and turned to leave when Kid called over to the bartender and shouted at him, "What time does Y/N get off work?"

"She's off in 15 minutes." The man replied without looking at them as he filled a glass with beer.

Kid smirked at Y/N and said cockily. "Good, I can wait that long. Don't think about sneaking off 'cause I can find out where you live."

"Are you crazy! I'm not fucking you!" She shouted at him.

"Yet." Kid said, standing to his full height.

Y/N's eyes travel up and down for possible openings and weak spots. Kid chuckled as he looked down at the woman. She had guts, and he liked that, but even she had to see that she was no match. But that was not how he wanted this to go.

"I want you to drink with me. We'll go somewhere else; there's a spot that I've heard about, The Scrap Yard."

She blinked at him. "That's a fighting ring. I haven't been there for..." Y/N shook her head and sighed. "No."

"The fuck you mean no!" Kid shouted down at her, but Y/N didn't even wince. Her eyes just calmly stared back at him, watching his hands tremble as they inched to grab her, but he held them closed and kept them at his side.

She raised a brow at him as a corner of her mouth ticked up. "I mean, we won't go there. If you're looking for a fight to watch or participate in, I know a better place."

It was Kid's turn to blink at her, and watching his angry red face deflate was amusing. Y/N nodded to where he was sitting and said, "Wait there. I'll drop off these drinks, and then we will leave."

She then turned and started walking off when Kid yelled at her for no reason, "I thought you still had to work!"

The look she tossed back him over her shoulder made Kid suck in his breath. Her eyes shone, and her smug expression as she smiled with her teeth made Kid want to run a lap or punch someone with the explosion of excitement he suddenly felt.

"Fuck it!" She shrugged and walked off with a bit more sway in her hips.

Kid had to let out his breath, and he laughed to himself as he sat back down. Women, I hope I never figure them out.

[anemonelovesfiction]

3~ Dirty Talk

Aged Up! Aonung x Fem! Avatar! Reader

Warnings ⚠️: It’s in the title, P! In V!, P! In mouf

Not Proofread

MDNI 🔞

Translation Station

Yawntu: Loved One

Yawne: Beloved

Paysyul: Water Lily

Sevin’eve: Pretty Girl

Word Count: 1.2k

“Look at how much better your pretty face looks when its stuffed with my cock.” His words echo through my ears as they flicker at the strange compliment, although I felt like I couldn’t hear him at the moment with how hard my heart was pounding in my chest, I was struggling to breathe and take him at the same time but was starting to find my own rhythm, his teal hand slowly reaching down toward my face and gently stroking my cheek, an action I never thought would come from him. He moves his hips gently as a means for me to take more of him in and I struggled to take a breath in again, flaring my nostrils and attempting to take him in slow.

I could have attempted saying anything back toward his comment, but with a mouth full of his teal cock I would only manage to mumble incoherently and risk letting my own saliva drip down my chin, I settled for placing my hands on his thighs as a means to control how much he thrusted in my mouth, leaning forward to take more of him in at my own pace. I’d taken the stance of settling on my knee’s with the grains of sand poking around them, the waves of the ocean lapping behind us in a gentle manner, had I not been focused on the job before me I’d allow them to lull me to sleep.

“Don’t stop yawntu, this feels amazing,” He mutters, my eyes strain to look up to catch his face only to see the usually smirk ridden face having been tilted back with his eyes closed, his hand coming atop my head gently only pushing slightly as my hands had pushed back against his thighs, my mouth now coming off of his length completely and use this time to fill my lungs with fresh breath.

I subconsciously squeeze my own thighs together after he’d said that, feeling my face grow hot at his comment, his abs flexing as he slowly pushed himself back in my mouth, accidentally sucking harder than I had before and hearing him moan. I backed my mouth off of his cock and use my hand to jerk him while I speak.

“I have an idea of where this-“ I squeeze the head of his cock as my hand comes up, slightly twisting before gliding it back down, my spit and his precome having become the best lubricant for my hand to slide up and down his length, “- will feel better in something other than my hands.”

“I would love nothing more than to ravage your body tonight, my love, but I will be taking my time with you by pounding your pussy the right way.”

“What a gentleman,” I tease as I continue moving my fist on his cock.

_________

“Slowly yawne, I want to feel you squeeze me as you go down slowly.” I speak while taking a hold of her hips, she had to mount me but always wanted to go down too fast, as I held her hips I prevented her from becoming too greedy and doing what she wanted, in turn also teasing her.

“I don’t like when you hold my hips-“ She grunts through her words as if she was struggling to find them, her four fingered hand holding on to my thighs as she begins to bottom out onto my thick cock.

“I do it to feel how tight, warm, and hungry your little pussy is for me, paysyul, I want to feel you struggle to contain yourself and cry on my cock with your pretty voice.” I stated as my hands grasp her hips and lightly tug her forward, I could feel myself being squeezed by her at the movement and a whine leaving her lips.

“Why don’t you go ahead and rise back up for me, sevin’eve, I want to feel you squeeze my cock just like that-“

“Such a filthy mouth you have ‘nung,” she comments with strain in her voice to contain her pleasure, using the flats of her feet to rise back up only to attempt to slam herself back down but I used my own strength to stop her lithe form from having done so, her cobalt blue skin clearly marking a difference with mine, but she was beautiful, and at this moment she was all mine.

“Stop doing that!” She almost fully yells, clearly aggravated, her ears perked up straight and her thin tail swishing slowly. I could only stare at it mesmerized as one of my hands reaches out and grasps the base, tugging it lightly and hearing her moan.

“Thats what I thought.” I smirk while dropping my other hand from her waist completely and feeling her body sink down to the hilt of my cock and feel her squeeze around me once more.

“I like to feel this pretty pussy worship me, paysyul, you should have let me ruin you sooner, made you feel as though you could feel nothing except my cock and immeasurable pleasure.”

“Please-“ She gasps and seems to be losing her breath and I decided to take this moment to thrust my hips up, feeling her clench around me again, her warm gunny walls were starting to make it hard to resist wanting to pound into her but I needed to catch my breath before destroying this beautiful demon.

“Just like that hmm?” I cover my own moan with the question I asked while rutting into her waiting cunt, feeling a rhythmic pulse around my cock, the heat starting to cloud my mind and all I could do was smell her arousal and-

“Keep doing that,” Her tiny voice rings out and catches my attention, I’m sure my face was already covered in a blush but I didn’t care.

“I want to ruin this pretty pussy, paysyul, what do you say?” I ask although I was three seconds away from not caring about her response.

“Yes, yes, I want you to ruin me!” She moans loudly and I’m glad she agreed as I settle one hand on her breast, groping the entire thing and allowing my thumb to run across her nipple, my other hand settling on her hip as my feet dig into the ground below me and begin to effortlessly pound into her.

“I don’t care if the entire village hears your sweet moans, all I care about is that they know I’m the only one that will ever see you like this, paysyul, only me.” I grunt as I pick up the pace, watching her throw her head back in pleasure, her moans unstoppable.

“Feels so good!” She almost yells out in pleasure while suddenly finding some strength to dig her toes in the sand to steady herself and began thrusting opposite of me, so every time I managed to thrust upward she’d meet my hips as she came down, my own moan ripping through my lips, hand abandoning her breast and coming down to grip her hips harshly, almost bruising them.

“Ao’nung, I’m coming!” She yells through the night air without a care in the world.

“Cum for me, darling.” Is all I manage to say before I feel her walls steadily squeezing me, the force of her orgasm making me empty my cock into her womb, thrusting as it shoots out in hopes that my seed impregnate her. Her little blue body coming down on me chest, not bothering to take me out of herself as she attempts to catch her breath.

[noxturnalnymph]

Hi, Patti! I have a Q about Steve from Mutual 😳

What are his weekend habits like if Connie's not around? Does he jerk off? What does he use? Does he try to get some action?

Steve's weekend habits, you ask? I've had some THOTS about this...

(Can be read as a stand-alone or as part of the Mutual Universe)

Saturday Steve (809)

Steve Murphy Solo

So this particular Saturday Steve is home all alone. Connie flew to Miami for her sister’s baby shower last weekend and stayed all week to visit friends. He’s picking her up from the airport tomorrow and he’s looking forward to her return. Sure, Steve has a high sex drive and he takes care of himself often but fucking his wife is definitely something he doesn’t go a week without doing on a regular basis. He’s not one to be dramatic but he thinks he might be suffering a bit with her extended absence.

I like to think that on the weekends Steve spends time flipping through dirty magazines he keeps under the mattress. You know the ones, the magazines that he and Connie pretend she doesn’t know about but she’s the one who has to tuck them back under there everytime she makes the damn bed. She totally knows about them and she doesn’t even care, but Steve likes it better if they pretend they’re forbidden so she plays along cuz she’s a good wife.

But the dirty magazines aren’t the end game - oh no - they’re just the warm-up exercises. He doesn’t even touch himself when he looks at them, doesn’t even undo a single button on his jeans. He just lets himself get uncomfortably turned on, erection pressing against the denim, flipping through the well-worn pages and then, when he’s starting to feel the sweat forming across his chest, he tucks the magazines away. 

He lets himself stay in that glistening, heavy-breathed, semi-hard state the rest of the afternoon. His mind flashes back to the pictures when he starts to soften, getting aroused again, letting himself slowly leak out in his underwear, craving what he’s not giving himself. Denying himself that release. Because he knows the main event is yet to come and all this will make it so worth the build-up.

It isn’t until about 10pm that night, when Javi has brought home his “date” (that he paid for) and they’re getting down to business, that the show really starts. Despite the stifling heat of a spring Bogotá evening, Steve closes all the windows to reduce the street noise. He turns off all the fans, unplugs the fridge, and takes the battery out of the ticking wall clock. He peels his clothes off, laying them over a chair in the bedroom and goes out to the living room, positioning himself right above where he knows Javi’s couch is in the apartment below him.

He lays out his bath towel and sets down a glass of ice water and a tube of KY jelly, then lies himself down on his back on the parquet floor. Only once the moaning beneath him has begun does Steve let his hand close firmly around his dick, pumping his lubricated shaft with increasing pressure. It’s a game for him, a private game that only he knows about and only he can celebrate the wins for. Although - if you think about it - everybody in this situation wins, right?

This particular Saturday Steve has high hopes, he thinks he can hold out until the end, and come at the final climax (with Javi, if you will). He’s done this before and considers it the ultimate goal, the ‘big win’. But poor, pathetic Steve’s aspirations are misplaced. He’s teased himself too much today, been without Connie for too long. He can hear Javi grunting and hear the woman he’s jack-hammering himself into moaning in pleasure and Steve can’t even wait until the woman has her first orgasm before he’s a groaning, twitching, sticky mess.

---

The next day Steve and Connie arrive back home from the airport late-afternoon to find Javi returning from the grocery store at the same time, two paper bags stuffed full in his arms. Connie holds Javi’s door open for him while Steve carries her luggage up the stairs into their apartment. Connie joins him shortly after and says Javi invited them down for dinner, that she’s going to get cleaned up and they can head down to Javi’s shortly. Steve’s disappointment shows on his face and Connie moves towards him, both of them wrapping their arms around each other.

“I thought it would be nice not to have to cook my first night back home from my little vacation,” Connie says, tucking a piece of Steve’s hair back that fell forward onto his sweaty forehead.

“I thought it would be nice to have some time for just us, y’know, to catch up.” Steve replies, enunciating the last words so his meaning is obvious.

“I told Javi we’d need some time to catch up, and he told me that based on last night, he didn’t think it would take that long,” she says.

“He-”

“You must’ve told him how bad you were missing me, huh baby?” Connie asks.

“Yeah… something like that.”

.

[armins-main-hoe]

HEYYYYYYYYYYYYY HOPE YOUR DOING WELLLLLLLLLLL 😋

ANYWAYYYYYYYY THE BAKUGO WITH SISTER READER ABSOLUTELY CAUGHT MY ATTENTION!!!

CAN I REQUEST A REQUEST OF ALL REQUESTS THAT Y/N GETS HERSELF IN LOTS OF SHIT- LIKE MAYBE SHES GOING THROUGH A LIFE THREATENING SITUATION, AND LIKE- I JUST WANT BAKUGO’S REACTION TO THE NEWS AND HOW’D HE REACT WHEN SHE COMES BACK ALL BLOODY AND BRUISED 😆 THXXXXXX MAKE TO TO DRINK FOOD AND EAT WATER!!!

OFC!!!

You take in the sight before you, the city was a ruin. Hardly any signs of life or civilisation left anymore. With so many villains out on the run now, Japan is a mess. Heroes have died during the Paranormal Liberation War. Its been a while since then, Midoriya left UA. UA sends training heros out with pro heros on patrol throughout the city to catch any villains out causing any more damage than what's already been done.

Thats what you're doing right now. Jumping down from a roof, you walk through the ruins, looking out for any remaining survivors or danger. It has been a hell of a journey to get where you are now, not that it's one you can say you're proud of considering exactly where you are right now. However, if you were to count the positives, you got a lot more battle experience than any previous hero-in-training in history and thats made you and your brother one scary duo.

Too bad the two of you still prefer to work solo, if given the choice. As students, the two of you have grown a lot, admittedly, there still is a lot of space left for growth but considering what you were before you entered UA, you've come far. You used to be a bitch. A real snarky bitch and to be fair you might still be considered a bitch. Just far more understanding and wary of others around you now. Your brother has gone through similar changes. Still hot-tempered but he takes others into consideration before his actions.

As for your bond as brother and sister, it's still a working progress. You would describe your relationship with your brother as a classmate rather than a sibling. The arguments are still there, the constant competition is also still there. Yet you can tell there is much more peace between you both than before, its just still not as visible.

"Look at what we got here." A deep rough voice pulled you out of your thoughts as you look at the person who spoke. No. Not person. A villain.

He was a tall man, with worn out clothes. His hair tied back into a bun with strands falling out. Though what was most noticeable about the villain was the large scar running down from his forehead to his chest where the top few buttons of his shirt were lost.

You immediately brace yourself in a fighting stance, your gaze hardens as you sneer at him.

The man laughs at you. "I can't believe they've got kids to come do their dirty work. Whats a little bitch like you gonna do? Huh?" He taunts you.

You should be careful, you don't know his quirk yet.

He steps forward, lifting a fist up. His body grows as ,what you can only assume, metal spikes appear out of his skin. He starts running towards you, aiming to hit you with a fist. You easily propel yourself upwards int o the air by blasting the ground below yourself. He makes a tisk sound while catching himself from stumbling. You then send a blast towards him.

However, he blocks it with the hard metal coming out from his body.

"Well aren't you annoying?" You mumble.

You continue to fight him. You're blasts would break his spikes but he would regenerate them just as quickly. You kept focusing on your explosions, trying to put as much force in them as you can, but not enough to kill him and trying to dodge his constant attacks was putting your stamina to test after 25 minutes.

You caught yourself slipping up, taking hits from the villain. You breath out your fury, trying to calm yourself down so you can concentrate again. You spit out the blood in your mouth before sending the most powerful blast yet at him.

It knocks him down, sending him crashing into a the remaining ruin of a building. You wait a few seconds, to see if he would stand back up. After he still laid down you slowly began to walk towards him.

After confirming that he was knocked out, you let out a sigh, frown still on your face.

'Katsuki would have been able to have knock him down quicker', you tell yourself. 'I should have done better'.

You hear someone call out your name and you turn to see its the pro hero you were grouped under. She visibly winces when she sees you.

"Damn girl, how many hits did you take?" She asks, pulling out a pocket radio and then speaking into it. "Bakugo down, sending her back to UA."

Your eyes widen. "What? I'm not down!" You argue. No. You want to stay. You need to stay.

The pro hero puts her radio back into her pocket. She shook her head before taking your arm. "You're in no condition to fight more today." Behind you the other hero students are picking up the villain to take him away.

"Yes I am!" You fight back, pulling your arm away from her.

She looks at you sternly. "A hero knows when to fall back. If you fight another villain in this condition you'll do more harm than good."

Was the damage that bad? You look down at yourself, blood was seeping through your hero suit, it was torn at places, places where spikes had gone through your body. You then look at the ground around you, you left a trail of blood wherever you went.

"Come on." The pro hero spoke softer now, gently tugging you along with her.

As soon as you stepped into the infirmary, you had ignored the looks you got from other students. You had avoided walking through the crowd of the public who were taking refuge in UA, to avoid them seeing the one who is supposed to be saving them all beat up.

You sat on a bed, a nurse coming up to you to attend to your wounds. Its now that you stopped fighting, stopped thinking that the pain finally hit you.

And it hit you hard.

You felt as if you were dying, the nurse laid you down, she began saying something. What was she saying? You can tell that she was speaking but you couldn't hear her. A white noise took over your ears as you looked around. It looks like the nurse was shouting.

You see other people running around the room, but you then notice someone else running. Running towards you.

You're eyes close before you could look up and see who it was.

You wake up, groaning at your eyes adjusting to the light. You take in the environment around you. You're still at the infirmary, the pain no longer there. Looking over your body, someone, a nurse probably, had changed you into looser clothing, your wounds fully healed with only scars on your body in their spot.

"You're up."

You look over at your side and see Katsuki walking over to you from where he sat on the chair. His hair visibly more messy than usual, dressed in UA uniform without his tie. But his eyes, it was his eyes that made you concerned.

His twin red eyes had irritated pink skin under them, as if he had been..

"You're a fucking idiot you know that." He wants to shout, but he can't seem to raise his voice.

You sit up let your legs over the side of the bed, looking up at him.

"As if you're the one to talk." At your remark his face softens. Which is weird because usually when you talk back, matching his rude comments, he would fume and come back at you.

“You came back as a bloody mess.” He said, still glaring at you but his voice softer.

“I’m fine.” You say.

“Don’t look it to me.” He scoffs.

You roll your eyes. “Wow. Thanks for your concern kats.”

He would usually sneer and tell you off for using that nickname he finds annoying but he didn’t. Which just added to more of the uneasy feeling you were getting from him.

You stand up and he immediately pulls you in, hugging you.

"Thank god you're alive." He whispers, you feel his arms tighten around you.

You haven't hugged your brother in... well you don't know how long and you don't bother remembering as you hug him back.

“Of course I’d be alive, idiot.” You mumble back. He didn’t say much else as a reply though, he just kept hugging you and you could have sworn you heard sniffles from him. However, you didn’t feel like calling him out on it so you just let him hug you for a while longer.

Honestly, you’re just glad that you and your brother are healing, even if you had to get physically hurt for it, even if there is a chance you may not heal much before you get hurt again from this war.

You’ll take what you can get, and you’ll hold onto it for as long as you can.

[koshercosplay]

Her sword was out before the creature could even blink.

"Don't come any closer," she snarled. "I know what you are."

The goblin in front of her bared it's teeth. "And I know what you are, princess."

She gave a start. It knew that about her? Or was it just a petty insult?

"Doesn't matter." She lifted her chin. "I want you out of this kingdom. Your kind don't belong here." It was thrilling to finally put her training to good use. One by one, the goblin menace would finally be over in her lifetime.

The creature tilted its head to the side and began circling her. She swallowed thickly and followed it's path with her sword outstretched. It's pale green skin seemed to shift in the sunlight, and the pointed ears poking through it's thick hair reminded her of toadstools peeking out from the soil beneath their feet.

"The princess finally comes out of the castle. Finally getting her hands dirty for the first time." It stopped moving and swooped into a condescending bow, never taking it's eyes off her face. "Please accept my most heartfelt congratulations," it sneered.

She bristled at the implication of her softness and tried to match the goblins' jeering tone as she responded, "I've been training for this my whole life." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" It's yellow eyes glinted.

"Why-" She couldn't believe her ears (which were blissfully rounded, thank you.) "Would you like me to apologize for allowing you a few more seconds of your slimy existence?"

"Slimy?" It ran a finger down the length of a bare arm and made a show of holding it up in mock ignorance and examining it closely, before dropping it to hang loosely at its side. "The fact that you believe that shows me what good your training has done for you."

It held its arms out to either side, as if initiating some bizarre attempt at an embrace.

"Come on, then. Kill me."

Her sword was still pointed at it's chest. It would be an easy kill. But even as she leveled her gaze and prepared to strike, something stopped her. She could already hear her father scolding her for taking so long, but there was something wrong.

Against her better judgment, she dropped her arm and let her sword rest by her side, keeping a firm grip on it, just in case.

"All the goblins I've heard about put up a great fight with our warriors." The goblin had the nerve to roll its eyes. She pressed on. "Why are you being so... so- boring!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, princess. Would you like me to be more entertaining?"

In a flash, the goblin was entirely too close to her, and she could feel it's breath on her face as it closed its hand on hers over the hilt of her sword. And to her immense embarrassment, she froze. Absurdly, she noticed that the goblins' skin was not, in fact, slimy. Interesting.

In another second, the goblin had twisted the sword out of her hand and thrown it halfway across the clearing and took a few steps back.

"Oh no! The poor helpless princess was set upon by a goblin!" It called out loudly, and she cringed. "She couldn't possibly hope to defeat its superior intellect and battle skills!"

She shook herself out of her frozen state and dared to step forward.

"I would thank you to stop talking now," she said coldly.

It appeared to consider her words.

"Yes, you're quite right," it said, mimicking her lofty tone. "You're too boring to bother fighting with."

It turned and began walking away with an infuriating spring in its step, as if she wasn't standing right there, armed to the teeth. She silently drew out the tiny dagger from her right gauntlet and took careful aim. This time she wouldn't hesitate. The goblin paused, and then turned around so quickly that she didn't have time to hide her actions. Caught in the act.

"You're preparing to throw something at me, which will only end in your injury, not my death. Come now, let's part friends." It grinned at the look on her face.

"Don't worry. I know we'll never be friends." It turned away from her and began walking again. "You're too busy trying to kill me."

"What- but-" she spluttered. "Only because you lot are trying to kill us!"

That made it pause again, although this time it didn't say anything. She started walking towards it, closing the distance between them and wondering at how silent it's footsteps had been in comparison to hers. It was still keeping its back to her, either in foolish bravado or sheer confidence in its speed. It turned quickly when she approached some invisible boundary.

"Are we?" It suddenly said, fierce and low.

"Are you... what?" She responded, confused.

"Are we trying to kill you?"

She bit back the urge to make a derisive comment. What was the point of this circular conversation? Time was marching on and she still hadn't killed a goblin.

"Yes. You are. It's been well-documented and you know it."

It looked at her in disbelief.

"You really believe that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She said defensively. "Everyone knows goblins are vicious thieves who will do anything to snatch a penny. I'll have you know my uncle was killed by a goblin in cold blood!"

The goblin was silent for a moment, yellow eyes searching her brown ones.

"I haven't tried to kill you."

"You are clearly the exception."

"Hm, well I know plenty of goblins who have never gotten into a fight."

She scoffed, this time letting her derision show freely. The goblin seemed insistent on continuing the conversation instead of fighting, which was incredibly frustrating. It wouldn't be honorable to kill it while it refused to fight, although it sure would be easier. She decided to voice her confusion aloud, again.

"Can you tell me why, exactly, you are so determined to avoid fighting me?"

"I heard humans smell so bad, you can tell they're coming from a mile away. I had to see for myself."

She began to get offended, and opened her mouth to give it a piece of her mind, before she realized it was grinning again.

"What's your name?" It asked her, taking her by surprise.

"Fern," she said instinctively, too taken aback to remember she wasn't supposed to answer that question.

"Fern. What a good goblin name." It winked at her. Asshole. "My name is Ash." It started walking away again, but this time, it motioned for her to follow it.

Was she insane? She came out here to kill her first goblin and take her place alongside her mother. She should be wiping its blood off her sword and heading back to the castle in victory, not standing around chatting history and exchanging names with it!

On the other hand... she tilted her head as she took the first few steps to follow the goblin- Ash. No one else that she was aware of had ever been invited somewhere by a goblin. History was littered with failed agreements, betrayals, victories and defeats. But who'd had a conversation with a goblin, been left alive, and then invited somewhere?

As far as she could tell, Ash was leading her along a fairly well-traveled path through the forest, although it was leading her unnervingly far from where she was supposed to be. Someone would come looking for her soon. Most likely Arvit.

She groaned inwardly. Arvit would chastise her, loudly and publicly, if she didn't make it back by nightfall. And she wouldn't be allowed this opportunity again for a long while.

Ash was silent ahead of her, unaware of or uninterested in Fern's movement. She studied the goblin from behind even as she kept careful track of their journey, so that she could lead her soldiers here in the future. It was lean in body, and it's skin had an unhealthy pallor, from what she could see of its bare arms and legs. It's simple tunic and well-worn, knee-length trousers, gave the impression of someone who traveled a lot and lived simply.

She surprised herself by wondering where Ash had gotten her clothes- Wait. Was Ash a woman? It was always so difficult to tell with goblins. And since when did she care anyway? It was a goblin. It's not like they were going to end up best friends. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, trying to give off an air of confidence. She was the one in power here. Not the goblin.

Their surroundings slowly changed as they kept walking, going from dense, lush forest to darker, more sinister woods. Fern started jumping at every distant creak or snap of a twig. Something hooted nearby and she nearly dove behind a tree. Ash resolutely kept walking, paying no attention to any of the sounds around them, although it did take the time to point and laugh at Fern when she stumbled and fell into a pool of mud.

Finally, she planted her feet and declared, "I'm not going any further until you tell me what's going on."

Ash stopped and turned around, and deadpanned, "Don't worry, I didn't bring you here to kill you."

Fern snorted. "You can't kill me. You would have already if you'd been able to."

Silence fell between them, and Fern realized that the darkness around them wasn't just from the woods. It was truly past sunset, and she was so screwed.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Just Relax - Ganyu x Male!Reader

CW: Oral (character recieving), Male!Reader. Not proofread.

Poor little Cocogoat. 

All week she's been working herself to the bone. You asked her to slow down, give herself a break, but she didn't listen. Just papers, forms, documents, notices. Day in, day out. No time for herself. 

So you decided to get her to relax, yourself. 

Just as Ganyu was about to leave for overtime on a Friday evening, you approached her. You started off lightly - some whispered sweet nothings and a casual hug from behind did well to lower her guard. Just as she started talking about all the silly things she had to do today, for all the lazy and good-for-nothing bureaucrats, your hands snaked down to her hips. Before she could react with anything other than a yelp you turned her around and picked her up. This time she wouldn't slip out of your grasp - after all, you knew just how to approach her. Before long Ganyu was lying on the bed, black thighs off and dress lifted, exposing her white panties. 

All she can do as you pull the panties off with your teeth is babble about responsibilities and just how much there is to get done. Her flustered stream of consciousness comes to a screeching halt once she feels the flat of your tongue on her inner thigh. Her skin crawls with the feeling, the warmth of your tongue quickly spreading up to her core. Yet you don't just dive in - not while her head is still swarming with doubts and thoughts of excessive decency. Your hands go up to her hips, gripping them steadily as you work your way around her crotch. Your tongue tastes her fair, soft skin all over, coaxing out gasps and expecting sighs. But you can tell her attention is not fully on you yet, so you avoid her swollen lips. You lick the outside, you lick below her slit and above it, but never grace it with your attention. One of her hands creeps down her belly and onto her thigh, the woman unable to wait longer, yet never forcing you to pleasure her.

She knows better than to rush things. 

Her excitement grows beyond what she can take - you notice that by how her legs try to close around you, suck you in, get you to latch onto her cunt at last. You smirk at her struggle. She's always been a good girl, gentle and submissive. It's only right she gets what she deserves. But still, you won't make it that easy for her. 

"Oh my, you're quite squirmy today. I wonder what you look forward to, hm?" 

Her other hand grabs onto the bed sheet next to your head. "P-please…" 

"Use your words, pretty…" You slide your right hand to hold hers, boosting her courage a little. She gulps. 

"I… I w-want you to… to l-lick me down t-there… Please…?" 

The way she couldn't talk dirty to save her life never fails to amuse you. You grab a flat pillow and slide it underneath her cheeks, lifting her pussy to a comfortable angle. Ganyu spreads her legs, letting you settle comfortably. You take a moment to admire her, and place a gentle kiss right on her small clit. 

"So pretty~" You say, before locking your lips around her. At first, you gently tickle her with just the tip of your tongue. Ganyu whines, hand now mere inches away from your head. She's so cute when she's impatient… 

You don't settle for that for long, swiftly moving to speedy, light licks with the broad side of your tongue - just how she likes it. Her back arches, hips pushing her cunt deeper into your face, her entire being encouraging you to go deeper, faster. Your tongue buries itself between her folds, and Ganyu's eyes flutter. 

"Don't… Don't stop…" Her head falls back, eyes fluttering and unfocused. 

You obey, continuing your tongue work. Your hands move into action. The index and middle finger of your left hand climb up over her thigh and find her pubic mound with ease. As soon as your start rubbing steady, pressured circles over her sweet spot, her womanhood pulses, Ganyu's moans going up in pitch. The other hand pushes her pretty ass cheeks apart, thumb gently teasing her entrance, but never exploring it. 

Ganyu squirms, and her moans become more frantic by the second. Heart pounding with thrilling intensity, her breaths shallow and quick, her hand finally dares to latch onto your hair. You keep your pace steady, basking in the filthy noises of your tongue on her lips and her beautiful moans. 

"Y/N, Y/N, I'm cumming, I'm cumming yesyesyesyes - A-ah!" 

Her thighs lock over your head, trembling and trapping you in place. You never stop your feast, pushing Ganyu over and beyond her high. You diligently lap up her love nectar, relishing in the salty taste of her arousal. When Ganyu starts squirming under the overstimulation you deliver, you detach your face from her. You wipe her slick from your mouth with your sleeve, and admire your lover. Splayed out on the bed, Ganyu is breathing heavily, flushed to the core. Her outfit is a mess, but her mind still basks in the afterglow of her orgasm. You kiss her clit and Ganyu whimpers, pleading for a moment of rest. Her eyes open, and watch on as you lift her butt, tilting it to the side. Ganyu quickly repositions, eyes carefully watching as your hands part her buttocks. 

"W-wait…" She tries, but you silence her with a chuckle. 

"Relax, Ganyu. Let me help you. You deserve it." Smirking, you close the distance to her exposed asshole. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even think of coming back to work, let alone walking there. I promise."

Thanks for reading!

[spotlightlowlife]

Helluva Boss has responsibility issues - Stolas, Stella and Octavia edition

Yep, Stolas is likeable, in his own right and the fact that he's part of a ship, which is a formula to certain success. However we know Stolas, we don't know Stella nor Octavia.

Let's be honest, this drama started off pretty reasonable.

We had no reason to believe Stella had done anything wrong, when we met her in a flashback, what was there to indicate Stella and Stolas didn't like one another?

We even see them sharing a bed in that big whole castle.

Fast forward to the future and Stolas has cheated which lead to their bitter divorce, which is an unfortunate common case, Stolas is in the wrong, doesn't mean he's a monster who deserves the worst to happen to him. Stella on the other hand has put a hit on him, a horrible thing to do yes, but a random act of malice, no.

Yet the worst happened in making light of Stolas's very common mistake and pushing it onto Stella

Why do this? Why take away from his story, his tough decision making and the fallout from his actions, the loneliness he feels in his big dark home and the fear of retaliation? He was a complex character in the making and pretty likeable regardless of his questionable conduct.

He has been absolved of responsibility in an attempt to make him more liked than he already was.

He could have been sympathetic simply down to the unsuitable arrangement and being born to fulfil a purpose, something that seems a theme in his lineage.

Now he's another victim. A victim of years of abuse at the hands of this horrible volatile woman who humiliated him every chance she got who he had no choice but to put up with because arranged of the evil institution of arranged marriage. He initiated the divorce, easily, which would have to be on grounds of his adultery

so Stella moved out, but he had to put with years of this marriage, which had the clause of a child being essential, their child is 17.

Stella and Stolas get given the exact same sob story

yet where Stolas was a cute, innocent and inquisitive child who just met his first friend and crush in little Blitzø, Stella was an aggressive scary fiend from day one, so as Stolas grows up to keep some of his childhood attributes, where does this leave Sella? A mean girl at her core?

This is a absolutely what we get, a simply irredeemable villain, a dramatic woman scorned who put a hit on her ex, then when we learn more, she's elevated to a wicked woman who just loves the drama.

With Stolas being a victim now who deserves the transactional relationship with his first crush and Stella being a evil and proud yet probably set to be shadowed by her probably more padded out brother, we also have their neglected daughter.

We don't have any evidence of Stella being a bad or inattentive parent, just because she was a bad wife that one episode, but we also don't know anything about their dynamic, this rare example of a character having parents, having a mother and being of an age of dependency, but nothing.

One interesting thing about Stolas's backstory was that he appeared to have his own palace, no mother only staff, his dad visited and wasn't sure which of his children Stolas was but what he did know was that this particular one had that purpose and this business arrangement had been made for him. Loneliness and the realisation of dysfunction could have served as Stolas's personal conflict in choosing to upkeep the unsuitable relationship, rather than 'Stella is a meangirl'.

We are used to sad backstories, yet we have Octavia, a child being left behind in real time and as grown as she may seem, she's still a kid, yet she manages to be one of the most sensible characters in this.

On top of maybe knowing about the bounty on her dad (pity we never see how his hospitalization impacted on her as his technical only loved one)

and having to be reminded of his cringy hookups with Blitzø (that dirty talk over the phone in her presence, also the reminder that though Blitzø is our likeable leading character, he's someone deeply obnoxious by design) and the time he manages for him,

along with growning up amungst hostility, she is now a child of divorce, which shouldn't be a bad thing considering her parents open dislike of one another and their marriage being something forced, however there are other factors, the back and forth continues dispite her being old enough for neither of them to speak again, along with her birth alone being the contracts completion.

Yet she doesn't ask for much, a dad who's interested on the occasions we see her, hears her and sticks to their plans. She expressed no idealistic wishes for her parents to be back together nor did she feeling the need to know what their issues were nor pick a side and fight for it.

Her interests are in the stars and sky, Stolas's line of work.

When it comes to interest and investment in a subject that could go on to be her trade, Octavia may be up there with the sin leaders we have met so far. She has been show to want to learn and be resourceful, going as far as to sneak into IMP to steal back the travel grimoire in order go about alone a day out she looked forward to.

It wasn't as heartwarming as I'm sure it was intended to be when Octavia's very valid upset undermined by Loona, who truly doesn't know any better, who advised Octavia to cut her dad some slack, Loona who is in her mid 20s and proved that episode that a toddler has more reason and self control than her. But this was Loona's time to shine in her grow up moment before returning to her usual aggressive self, so that's that.

[jben073]

Grace Chasity and Bliklotep Headcanons!

Here are the Grace and Blinky headcanons that I made bc I misunderstood the last ask! Hope you all like these bc they were really fun to make!

- Grace has always had poor vision. She’s supposed to wear glasses but she has always hated how they felt on her face and hated the sensation of contact lenses even more so she just kind of suffered through not being able to see super great and accommodated herself whenever possible for most of her life. After coming into contact with Blinky/being under his influence, however, her vision becomes exceptionally sharp and developed.

She becomes abnormally aware of even the smallest movements or visual changes in her surroundings. One day she has the sudden realization that she can now see in the dark because Blinky needs his vessel to be able to see at all times so that he can watch at all times.

- Blinky likes to ‘passively’ possess Grace and essentially just (figuratively) sit in the back of her mind while Grace remains conscious and keeps (majority) control of her body. This is because he likes to watch things through her eyes/point of view. 

When he’s doing this, she tends to become a lot more still and quiet, and her irises are tinted purple like the people in WatcherWorld. Most often, he does this when Grace is witnessing something that he would find entertaining (usually arguments or violence). She’s like a front-row seat to the action for him!

- While Grace carries on with her day (at school in this case) during Blinky’s ‘passive’ influence, she will occasionally realize that she has been unconsciously doodling eyes all over her paper alongside the occasional Blinky ramble exposing her classmates’ secrets (which she promptly rips up and wishes she never saw in the first place.)

He will also sometimes push forward enough to very minorly take control and use Grace’s voice to speak for a moment. Typically it’s more of the same with him saying something ominous about knowing/seeing what someone has done and possibly taunting them about eventually being punished.

Her classmates are unphased because honestly, Grace is just kind of like that all of the time anyway.

- Blinky likes to mess with Grace by making her unintentionally cheat on tests. He knows that oddly, the things that get to her the most are the little things that challenge her specific morals rather than the blatant violence he might enact to mess with others. While writing tests, Blinky will flash images of the answer sheet in her mind before Grace is able to think of the answer on her own so that now it’s impossible for her to get the answers wrong and thus she is wracked with guilt for having an unfair advantage over her classmates.

- Blinky will constantly try to influence Grace into snooping through her friends' things or just generally invade others’ privacy. Often he does this by filling her head with all kinds of distrustful thoughts: telling her that they’re hiding things from her, that they're talking behind her back, that they stole something from her, that they’re going down the wrong path, etc. Anything to make her stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. If she’s kind of zoned out, he’ll sometimes subtly influence her into walking within earshot of private conversations so that she overhears things that she shouldn’t know.

Grace has now taken to holding her hands very tightly clasped behind her back while in others’ homes because it makes it easier to avoid the temptation to rifle through things that are none of her business.

- Blinky is a huge gossip (a bit of a lighthearted word for an eldritch god but it suits him!) and he specifically is the one who (very gleefully) directs Grace toward her victims. He’s always in her ear telling her about the sins of her peers and giving suggestions as to which “dirty dude” she should go after next.

- Oddly, I feel like Blinky has a little bit of a soft spot for Grace compared to the other humans that he’s encountered but that doesn’t mean he won’t mess with her. Because of this, Blinky tells Grace what people say about her behind her back. Part of this is because he wants to hurt her, but part of him also wants her to know so that she can stick up for herself and get revenge (plus there’s the added bonus of it being free entertainment for him!).

When he’s having a rare moment of empathy, he will simply inform her of the sins of the person who was saying nasty things about her and encourage her to use the Black Book on them without ever disclosing that they were saying anything about her.

- Grace is the most paranoid about Blinky out of all of the LIB. She’s not necessarily afraid of him, but she is constantly aware that he could be watching her, especially when she’s doing something that she thinks is wrong or sinful (even if it wouldn’t actually phase him at all) and she is afraid that he will use this information against her or tell others. 

He lets her continue to think this way because it gives him greater power over her but realistically, he would not want to betray her trust in this way and risk his most powerful asset becoming disobedient/disloyal to him.

One more silly one to end on!

- Blinky constantly wants to antagonize Bill when Grace sees him at church but she has set that as a hard ‘no’ boundary because she refuses to be disrespectful to ‘a good churchgoing Christian’ like Bill.

She’s nice to him at church!! She can’t lose that!

That's all I've got rn but this was very fun!

Anyone can feel free to send me asks about hcs :D I definitely have a bias toward Grace-related hcs (including stuff like this where it’s her dynamic with another character) bc my brain is rotted for her, but I’m willing to try others if someone wanted that :)