#maroon belts

[onceaday01]

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[birdstudies]

January 4, 2023 - Maroon-belted Chat-Tyrant (Ochthoeca thoracica) These tyrant flycatchers are found in parts of Peru and Bolivia around rushing streams in cloud forests of the Andes. They hunt their insect prey in short flights from branches and vines near water. Breeding from February to August, they may build mossy open cup-shaped nests on banks or cliffs near mountain streams like the closely related Chestnut-bellied Chat-Tyrant.

[isabelguerra]

what would isabel wear to yule if she picked her own outfit? (uve mentioned before that her dress is picked for her so im curious to know what she would have worn if she could choose it for herself) :)

YEEEEEEEESSYESYES YES!!!! I’VE BEEN HOPING SOMEONE WOULD ASK THIS FOR AAAAGES!!! ANON YOURE THE BEST!!<333

Clears my throat. Will Smith pose. I present:

THE LENNI FOR FREE PEOPLE CHROMATIC SUIT IN RED 🌟✨

She would look SOOOOOOOO CUTE IN THIS!! Isabel would KILL the 'bi woman in a suit' look!!!!!!

It’s velvet so you KNOW it would be so soft. And the sequin stars are SO EXCITING and EXPRESSIVE and FUN, they're the perfect visual representation of her cheery energy and flashy tendencies. Plus they’re shiny, literally making her the star (hehe) of the room.

I think this would fit her personality PERFECTLY. It’s fun and dazzling and daring and slightly edgy - dressed down and super casual, but decadent. This, plus a fun crop top or bralette underneath like in pictures 2+3, and a pair of glossy pointed bright red boots would be THE look of the evening. I’d accessorize it with a high bun that has loose pieces in front to frame her face, and some thick gold jewelry to bring out the warm tones in her skin. This would be a great way to blend her cooler tomboyish style with her cuter feminine style that Zack uses more in promo illustrations.

Isabel isn’t usually blingy and is a very practical dresser. yule is the one night when she could indulge and really have fun with how she dresses, so i'm going all in on this hypothetical scenario

[helldivers2]

Posting whatever tumblr will let me but here"# some images of us at the show. it was so good i lobe the wrold

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 6 ] || [ Chapter 8 ]

Pairing: Price x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.8K~ cw: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT. oral (m!receiving). sex (protected). Unspecified age gap. John is a little selfish. Also: the boys aren't very happy. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: tried my best to keep the smut as gender neutral as possible!

Chapter 7: Getting Laid!!

Last night, you and John stumbled in the door of your flat with your lips pressed together.

You swore that was something only happened in romcoms, when the main character and her rival/best-friend/ex/a stranger met at the bar, got drunk, and somehow stumbled in the door and did it right on the kitchen table or whatever.

Nope.

Nope. It happened.

He had his arms wrapped around your torso, one snugly around your hip/lower waist, the other running up over your spine, with his hand sinking into your hair.

He tossed his foot back, knocking the door closed with a donkey kick as your hands struggled to untuck his stupid maroon button-up.

Instead of fumbling with the buttons, he ripped it off himself, a few of the buttons popping off and being sent flying around the room. He shrugged it off himself before guiding you over the living room sofa.

The flat was a mess, you had tried to tell him, because you weren’t expecting to bring him (or anyone, ever) back here. But that wasn’t a concern at that moment.

John fell on top of you on the couch, his hands already ripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere it wouldn’t get in the way (you’d come to find it behind your flatscreen tv).

His fingers kneaded and caressed your torso, squeezing at your waist as his mouth slide away from yours, over your jaw, and down to your neck, biting down onto it and sucking at the skin like it was his to mark.

Your hands found the back of his white crewneck and you pulled it off, momentarily getting him tangled in it, before you tossed it on the floor. 

You barely had a moment to feast your eyes on the sight of his bare torso before he was slipping your boots off and then dragging your jeans off your legs… Like a rabid animal, primal and hungry. 

You caught glimpses of his figure as he raised your leg and peppered kisses from your ankle, wet tongue jotting out to lick up your thigh toward your underwear.

He’s strong but soft, the owner of large pecks and a warm belly, both covered in thick, dark, coarse hair, that disappear in a happy trail under his jeans.

You pull his face toward yours, locking your lips into a deep kiss again, your tongues finding each other as he holds himself up over you. Pulling away from the kiss, you looked at him. “Flip over…” You whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing you around the waist again and hurling you up as he shifted to sit down on the couch, thighs spread to accommodate the growing bulge in his jeans.

You knelt between his legs, nimble fingers undoing his belt and immediately tugging the dark fabric away from his thick thighs. He groaned in relief as he watched you struggle with his boots for a moment before you succeeded in getting it all off him.

His hand palmed at his hardened cock, eyelids droopy as your hands ran up his legs, feeling the hair in them, and sometimes catching the little bumps and scars of past injuries, some of them discreet, some of them obvious and particularly gnarly. Some of them could rival some of his Simon’s.

You tugged down his boxers briefs, allowing his cock to spring free. It’s uncut, long and decently thick, and his hair is neatly trimmed. The head peeks out just a bit, showing how red and angry it is, the whole length throbbing, needy for your touch.

Your eyes locked onto his, spotting that it wasn’t just his cock that was needy. He looked at you like a starved man about to have a meal. Barely restrained, his jaw clenched, fists tightened shut, the muscles on his thighs taut with anticipation.

You ran your tongue over your palm before wrapping it around his cock, hearing him hiss and throw his head back as you started stroking it. Your other hand slowly, carefully, pulled back the hood of his cock before you wrapped your lips and tongue around it, gingerly sliding it further into your mouth.

You could’ve sworn John was going to have an aneurysm. “Fuckin’ hell… That’s it…” He grunted and huffed consecutively as he tensed up a bit, bucking his hips upward to meet your mouth.

“F-Fuck… That’s it…” He grumbled under his breath as he looked down at you. John had been with plenty of people, but something about the way you looked on your knees with his cock steadily slipping down your throat, got him in a way no one else did.

“Jesus… Fuckin’... Christ…” He dipped his head back as your tongue drew circles around him before you swallowed him deeper, breathing steadily through your nose so as to not choke.

“God… Been… B-Been a while since I got… Christ-” He grunted again, one hand shooting up to grip the back of your neck as he slowly rocked his cock into your mouth, beads of precum drooling over your tongue.

“C’mere.” He demanded as he pulled you back from his cock and up to your feet. He grabbed hold of his jeans from the floor, in search of his wallet and pulled out a whole sheet of condoms which was folded neatly inside, He stuck them between his lips before he stood.

Grabbing hold of you, he walked you across your flat, making use of the sitting room lights to navigate the hall into the bedroom, and dropped you onto your bed. He tossed the condoms aside and his lips crashed into yours, lips parted so that your tongues found each other.

His hands grabbed hold of your underwear and tugged it off, sending it flying across the room while he grabbed hold of the condoms and ripped off one, rough fingers search struggling to open the foil, before he finally succeeded and slipped it on.

“You good?” He checked on you, eyes locked on yours as he slotted himself between your legs, kneeling in front of you and adjusting you to fit him. One leg wrapped around his waist, the other over the bend of his elbow to keep you spread open for him.

“Yeah.” You replied, immediately feeling him rub the leaking head of his cock against your entrance, allowing the lube of the condom to lubricate you just a bit.

It had been ages since you had last gotten laid, a miserable consequence of your ex-boyfriend, Ethan, and one of the main reasons you had broken up. Sex with him, much like your relationship, was dead and unfulfilling.

You felt John push his way inside, slotting himself in the warmth and snugness of your body as you squealed, your head falling back onto the bed. He grunted some incoherent praise, or what you assume was praise, his fingers digging into the extra fat on your legs to keep him steady enough.

He leaned over you, one closed fist on either side of your head, curling you onto yourself and allowing him easier access to thrust into you. Slow, torturously slowly, his cock stretching you and forcing you to accomodate him.

“Fuckin’ hell… So fuckin’ good…” He groaned, eyes closing and mouth falling open as he threw his hips down against yours. It was slow and considerate, but the way he huffed and grunted told you it was already too much for him.

But John was a man of focus. He uncurled his fists in order to grip your bed covers and squeeze them tight as his hips bounced off yours, his weeping girth always burying itself to the hilt before he pulled back again, making sure to bottom out every time.

You whimpered and moaned, eyes screwed closed and a shiver running down your spine every time the bouncy cock plunged into you, the upward tilt of it making sure to drag dangerously slowly across the one spot in your body that caused your mind to go blank, stars prickling in the corners of your eyes.

“F-Fuck… John…” You sighed as he kept the torturously slow pace, somehow driving you crazy just as much as he would while pounding you into oblivion.

“Yeah… that’s it. Moan my name, love.” He ordered as he leaned closer.

“J-John…” You cried out softly as his hips stuttered lightly, causing him to bury himself deep twice in a row.

“I know, darling. I know.” He grumbled. “You haven’t gotten properly shagged in a while, have you?” He taunted a bit. “Haven’t either, sweet thing…” He added.

His hands grabbed your jaw on either side, his thumbs hooked onto your cheeks, the remaining fingers slipping under and around your ears, nails digging lightly into your scalp.

“I’ll make sure to make it last as long as possible, hm?” He added as he kissed at your lips, sucking your bottom lip between his lightly.

-

John was in a much better mood when he sat down for breakfast at the mess hall with Ghost, Gaz and Soap. He actually greeted them with a ‘Good morning’, his tray was piled high with food and his hair was wet from a recent shower.

The other three were looking at him with raised brows and intrigued glances, even if Ghost was trying to be discreet about them. They could read between the lines to know he had gotten lucky with you the night before, so they didn’t need to ask questions they knew the answers to.

Instead, they exchanged glances and kept eating their breakfasts… All except for Simon, who was simply drinkin a cup of breakfast tea.

“I don’t think it’s fair.” Soap ended up saying as Price was halfway through shoveling a hash brown into his mouth.

“What isn’t, Soap?” Price asked, eyes narrowed in confusion, and brows scrunched.

“We all matched ‘em on Tinder and didn’t get more than a ‘I’ll think about meetin’ up with you’.” The younger sergeant explained halfway through chewing his bite of sausage. “You meet with ‘em, get a shag… And we did all the work for it.” He added. “But when it comes to us ourselves, they don’t want us.” He complained.

“What are we gonna do?” Gaz complained. “Maybe they just like older men…” He said with a shrug. “Sucks but there’s other people out there.” He adds while drinking his orange juice.

“Are you seriously going to call dibs on the fact you saw ‘em before Price?” Ghost said in surprise.

“I’m just saying!” Soap grunted and shoveled some more scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Learn to take rejection with class, MacTavish. It’s going to happen to you more and more often as you get older.” Ghost quipped.

“Awa' an' bile yer heid!” Soap scoffed and flipped the middle finger at Ghost.

Meanwhile, the Captain was giving them all a look, while staying silent, seeming amused by their antics and a little by their jealousy. He could tell that despite the fact Gaz and Ghost had disagreed with Soap, their eyebrows were also furrowed in contemplation.

So, he simply turned off to the side and drank from his own tea with a smug smirk on his lips.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago

[egg04]

[ID from Alt Text: Digital drawing of ROTTMNT April. To the left is a flat color drawing of April sitting and eating an apple looking forward. Apple blossoms are drawn around her in pink. On the right, under typography of the name "O'Neil," is a half-body rendered drawing of April holding an apple wearing a sleeveless green hoodie with a 5 on the front and an intersex and transgender button, white arm-warmers, butterfly chain belt, Vocaloid style 05 tattoo on her right arm, star earrings, moon choker, loc bangs, and multicolored star clips in her afro puffs. There are 4 other apples drawing in a vertical line on top of hers, each with a different sticker color. April's being green, then a red one, then purple, blue, and finally orange at the top. She has a dialogue bubble next to her that says the Japanese "Ou!" interject in the casual greeting context. In the corner is a turtle version of April winking and holding an apple still. She has green skin with darker green stripes, a yellow mask, and a maroon beanie with two puffs. Image two is a close up of the righthand April without a cold-ish filter. /End ID]

________

♥︎ Commission/Tip Me on My Ko-Fi!

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[ID from Alt Text: Text saying "Pirate Nickelodeon/Paramount+ Shows" edited over the Palestine flag /End ID]

[wroteclassicaly]

For The Record

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️

Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.

You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.

His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.

And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”

You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.

You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”

“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”

He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”

“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.

“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”

“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”

“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.

“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.

It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.

“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”

And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.

“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?

You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.

The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.

You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.

That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”

And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”

And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”

You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“

“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”

“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.

“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”

“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”

He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”

Your lip releases with a plop.

“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”

“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.

Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”

// Eat me paragraph //

[legendary-pink-dot]

Please, Mr Postman

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit

Warnings: Unprotected PiV sex, butt play, creampie, oral (f receiving), and lots of sex toys. No ages mentioned or alluded to. Reader is married. There are themes of infidelity, blackmail and stalking, but Reader is fully consenting and willing. Mailman Joel is a sleaze, consider youself duly warned.

Word Count: 4.3K (by far the longest thing I've ever written, whew)

Summary: Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck.

Notes: Poking my nose out of my hiatus hidey-hole to write this as a gift for my very very dear friend @magpiepills for the prompt "Stole your mail and uses it to sexually blackmail you mailman Joel". I love you, my sweet Bat. 💜 Giant thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for the last-minute rapid beta read. Much love to my sluts for cheerleading: @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen I have never written Joel before, so please be kind. Thank you and enjoy.

Please, Mr Postman - Joel Miller x f!reader

Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck. The squeak of the rusted brake pads as he parks at the end of the block is a melody, as distinctive to you now as the chimes of the classic ice cream trucks from your childhood, eliciting a Pavlovian response of salivating over the treats it held within.

Life was easy and carefree at that age. You didn't have responsibilities, grown-up worries, or this present burden of being a Stepford wife to a rich man who occasionally did some illegal activities. He was kind to you and you loved him, desired him even, but despite being a criminal he was boring. He was not the adventurous, filthy man in bed you secretly hoped for. But you knew things about his work that made it dangerous to leave, and financially he made sure you were kept comfortable enough to not want to tell. So you stayed. And here you were, marooned in a leafy suburb, stuck at home all day and fantasizing about the hot new mailman. What a cliche you've become.

The mailman's name was Joel. And he really did command attention.

Salt and pepper hair that curled around the edge of his blue cap. Dark brown eyes that showed a few flecks of amber the rare times you've seen them up close. A strong nose with a neatly trimmed mustache and gorgeous facial scruff. Large hands that could football-hold an entire package in each.

And speaking of packages: his looked prodigious. It looked obscene what he was carrying around in those standard issue United States Postal Service shorts. You dreamed about it at night -- how thick his cock must be and how you'd lick it like those sweet summer popsicle treats -- as your husband snored beside you after giving you one pitiful orgasm and then immediately coming himself and falling asleep.

You never thought anyone could be attractive in such a dumpy grey uniform, but somehow Joel found a way.

In the summer heat he always rolled up the edges of his pleated shorts, a thick pocket chain clacking along his meaty thigh. Light hair dusted his tanned legs. His black leather belt was cinched tight, further emphasizing his delicious bulge. The sleeves of his polo shirt were similarly rolled and showed off well-toned forearms from all the lifting and carrying. In short: he was a dream.

But you'd never go further than look. You loved your husband, for all his faults. You'd even placed a big order of sex toys last week in the hopes he'd be willing to spice things up in the bedroom. The tracking app says it's out for delivery, and right on cue, Joel comes walking up your driveway cradling a large cardboard box in his hands. Damn, he looks good today.

"Mornin', ma'am," he drawls politely. You think he winks at you, or maybe it's just the sun hitting his eyes. "Got a big one for you today."

You move to take it, but he shakes his head. "It's heavy. Let me put it inside for ya."

The thought of him being inside your home makes you tingle. You don't even think to consider that postal workers aren't supposed to go past a customer's front step.

You hold the door open and Joel stomps through, leaving bootprints of dirt on your "Home Sweet Home" welcome mat.

"Ma'am? Where d'ya want it?" He sounds amused, and you realize with a start that he's been standing in your entranceway for an awkward length of time. You'd been too busy ogling his legs, and more, in those rolled-up shorts. Was it your imagination, or was he not wearing underwear?

"On the coffee table, please." You lead him to the sitting room beside the entranceway. It's your happy place, your sanctuary, the spot you have your morning coffee in as you listen for the siren song of his mail truck.

Joel gently places the box on the coffee table and turns to you.

"I'll just wait here while you check that everythin's in order."

"What… what do you mean?" You feel your cheeks heat. Fortunately the box was nondescript, but it did give off a brown paper wrapping porn vibe.

"It's insured for $700. Must be some expensive stuff. 'S my job to write a report if anything's broken."

Nervous sweat starts beading down your back. "It… it's okay… I can report online if there's a problem…"

"'S no trouble. Let's just take a quick peek." Joel's already pulled his keychain ceramic boxknife out of his shorts, slitting the box open before you can say a word.

You stand there mortified and unable to speak as Joel opens the flaps, pushes aside the cushioning packets, and stares at the huge assortment of boxed sex toys.

"Well, well, darlin'. What do we have here?" His voice is a mixture of amusement and something deep and growling. Predatory.

Your face burns in embarrassment. "You… you can go now," you manage to squeak. "Please."

"Don't think so, sweetheart. Gotta check that everythin's in good working order." His boxknife shicks open the first product, a G-spot vibe from the looks of the box. Just before he can unwrap it, you find your voice. You hope you sound self-assured and assertive.

"That's enough. Please leave. My husband will be home any minute."

Joel smirks as he continues to rifle through the box. "Naw. He won't. Just did my route on Pine Street and saw him gettin' busy with that blonde divorcee in the cul-de-sac. Miz Perkins, wasn't it? Big tits."

It's a gut punch, and it makes you forget that this suddenly skeezy mailman is in your home and looking at your new collection of sex toys. An affair? He wouldn't. Not YOUR husband. Not your husband who rarely wants to do anything interesting in bed…

"Sorry, darlin." Joel pulls you out of your thoughts. "Fuck that guy. Wanna have some fun?" He pulls the vibe out of the box and waves it in front of you with a lopsided smirk.

This is too much to deal with. Your head is spinning, a mixture of emotions running through you. Including lust, incredibly enough. This mailman appears to be the take-charge dominant you wish your husband was.

"No. Like I said, you can leave now." You manage to say it firmer this time despite the gushing between your thighs. "Just go."

"Think I'll stay," he says, crossing the space between you in one step and pushing you backwards onto the sofa. "Don't want me reporting your ol' man to the authorities, now do ya?"

"Wha… what?"

He chuckles at your comically large-eyed look of shock. "Yeah, know all about it. Been readin' yer mail," he says matter-of-factly. "He's shit at covering his tracks. Who sends fake invoices through the mail? With his real address too. Amazin' he hasn't been caught yet."

"You've been reading our mail?! I should report you!" Who is this guy?

Joel looms menacingly over your prone figure. You didn't dare move. "Sure, darlin. Postal employees got a responsibility to report crime. I'll be fine," he smiles, leaning back a little, but not enough for you to escape. "But the Postmaster General don't take too kindly to mail fraud, or those aidin' and abettin'. That's a felony."

"But it's not a felony for a mailman to read people's mail?"

"Tell you what," he drawls, still in that matter-of-fact tone that should be so very wrong in this situation. He rifles through the box and pulls out a hot pink butt plug, wiggling it at you. "You're gonna let me try out some of these toys on ya, and I won't report him."

Blackmail shouldn't turn you on, shouldn't turn anyone on, but it does. You're only human, and besides, you definitely don't want to go to prison. You can't control your reaction as your upper half shrinks back into the sofa while your lower half stretches out towards Joel, the hem of your sundress hiking up like it has a mind of its own. He gives you a wolfish grin and rests a broad, heavy hand on your knee.

"Jus' what I thought, sweetheart. Seen you watchin' me out the window every mornin'. You been wantin' me to stuff your pretty little mailslot, haven't ya?"

A whimper escapes your throat. "Yes. Please," you whisper, thighs sticky between your panties and suddenly aching.

"Okay, honey. Gonna start easy with this lil' thing." He holds up a clit sucker, shaped like a penguin with a little pink bow around its neck, and switches it on to test it. It springs into life immediately. "Ah, great. Love how companies pre-charge things now-a-days."

How can he be so conversational about this? Does he blackmail all the married women in the neighbourhood? Well, maybe just the ones who have something to hide. Like you. You silently thank the heavens for sending you an attractive skeeze, at least. And Joel is so very, very attractive.

You spread your legs for him.

He ruches your sundress up your thighs and whistles appreciatively, the sound going straight to your core. "No panties? And gushin' out of that tight little snatch already? Didn't take ya for such a filthy girl."

"It's… it's hot out," you stammer, unable to think straight.

"About to get hotter," he smirks again, and damn that attitude is doing things for you. "You ready, sweetheart?"

You nod, and he keeps eye contact as he nestles your clit into the little penguin's mouth and switches it on.

Your back arches and you nearly scream out loud.

The sensation is warm, and there's no direct contact but it's like your clit is being gently suckled. You've never felt anything like it. It's only been three seconds and your hips are already squirming to chase more.

His hand presses lightly on your hip to give you something to brace against as he clicks the intensity button up a couple notches, and it's like waves upon waves of the absolute perfect pressure on your clit. The buildup in your core is so fast that you don't even realize you're coming until it's almost over. You also hadn't noticed that you'd grabbed his muscled forearm and sunk your nails into it, leaving little half-moon indentations in his tanned skin.

"That was… wow." Your gasps echo around the quiet sitting room. Joel doesn't say a word, just reverently watches your pussy pulse and gush out a few drops of slick. "Thanks." You wish it had lasted longer and were sad it was over. Oh well, a nice memory for the next time you think about Joel, or try out some of these toys with your husband.

You start to push your sundress down, assuming he'll leave now and half-grateful for it, but he grabs your shoulder and forces you back down into the pillows.

"Where you off to? I'm just gettin' started with you, darlin'."

"But…."

"But nothin'. Ain't done till I say so."

All you can do is stare at him, unsure if you should be angry, turned on, or plotting an escape.

He undoes his leather belt and slowly, threateningly, slides it out through the loops on his uniform shorts. "Don't make me use this, sweetheart. Gonna be a good girl for me now, ain't ya?" The depth and tone of his voice say he isn't joking.

You gulp, still tingly from your rapid orgasm. And ready for another one, you think as you make eye contact with Joel, feeling a bit bolder now. We're here, I let him do that much already, might as well go for it.…

The penguin gets discarded as Joel carelessly tosses it to the carpet and takes the hot pink butt plug out of the box again, running a finger along the curve of its long but slim length. "Hmmm. Pretty. This for you, or your husband?"

"Uh… me…"

"Ah, ah" he tuts. "You really are a nasty girl. You take one of these before?"

You shake your head, suddenly shy. You hadn't even wanted your husband to know about the butt plug, thinking he was so sexless that he'd be disgusted. Apparently not, if he's railing Ms Perkins with the big tits over on Pine Street.

"S'okay. Gonna slide it in real good for ya." While you shove a little sofa pillow under your hips, Joel combs through the box on the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of lube. He pops the cap and drizzles some over the plug, and you gulp again imagining it inside your ass. A faint scent of synthetic vanilla fills the air and for some reason it calms you, allowing you to relax your muscles as Joel slides the plug along your crack, rubbing and smearing the lube around your asshole.

"You like that?"

You do. You really do.

Your little moan spurs him on and he gently presses the generously lubed tip of the plug against your hole, just the teensiest bit. You look up at his face, that stupidly attractive face of a skeezy mailman who is sexually blackmailing you, and find yourself desperately wanting to feel his scruff on your inner thighs.

Apparently he's a mind reader, too. He smiles and lowers his head to your crotch, and licks your clit with his wide tongue at the same moment he presses a bit more of the plug into your ass. You nearly scream for the second time in minutes.

"That's it, honey," he breathes against your core, wiggling the tip of the plug in and out and hitting nerves you didn't even know existed back there, making your hips jump involuntarily. "Openin' up so nice for me."

A few more mind-numbing, distracting licks of your clit and the plug slides all the way in with a little pop. You're equal parts turned on and proud.

"Well, ain't that a pretty sight," Joel whistles appreciatively. He pulls up to sit back and just stares at you all spread out on the sofa with one leg hiked over the back, your sundress balled up over your stomach. He taps the pink flared base of the plug a few times like he's idly flicking away a cigarette. It wiggles inside you and you squirm and squeal. Actually squeal. You're still mad and weirded out and other things, but you're feeling too good to give up now and you're starting to not care how easily you're caving to this man.

"Lessee what other treats we got in here." He rifles through the box again. His face falls into a comical droop of sadness and he sighs loudly, holding up a little box marked 'Girth Extender Sleeve'.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." The condescension in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Yer old man got a tiny dick? Not fuckin' you proper? No wonder you been starin' at me every day, desperate for a real man."

Before you can protest -- he's not tiny, I just wanted to spice things up, well okay maybe he could use a bit of help -- he unzips his uniform shorts and pulls out his hard cock, holding it at the base so you can take a good look. "Got a special delivery for ya, baby."

Yeah, Joel definitely doesn't need any artificial enhancement.

His cock is thick. Not super long, but probably one of the thickest you've seen, outside the few porn films you watched when you were younger and more uninhibited. There's foreskin covering what looks like a large mushroom head, and a prominent pulsing vein running up one side. It all looks delicious, and you unconsciously lick your lips as he smirks at how you take it all in.

"You want it real bad, dontcha?" He fists himself a few times, his foreskin sliding on the downstroke to give you a peek at the thick head. "Yeah, you sure do. Never knew I had such a little slut livin' on my route."

Shuffling forward, he grabs your thighs and spreads them wider. The head of his cock feels impossibly heavy as he slaps it on your clit, making you gush a little with every hit.

"Joel, will you… can you lick me again for a bit?" Your squeaky voice is impossibly needy and pathetic.

"Naw," he says, flicking the base of the butt plug again and making your hips jump. The plug was so comfortable that you'd already forgotten it was in there. "Gotta finish my route. Can't talk to customers with my face smellin' of pussy, ya know. I'm representin' the United States Postal Service out there."

"Oh, does the USPS regularly fuck its customers too?"

"Sure does, darlin'. Bends 'em over and gives it to 'em hard with the price hikes every year."

He roughly pulls you up and bends you over the sofa arm, positioning you like the personal little fuckdoll you are for him.

"Got the next best thing though." He slips on a tiny purple fingertip vibe, your free gift from the toy company for such a large order. With such thick fingers, it looks like he's wearing an upside-down Ring Pop. It gives a loud rumble when he switches it on, and he laughs as he tugs his shorts down over his thighs. "Cheap ass shit. Hope the battery lasts. But it don't take you long anyway, right sweetheart?" He reaches around your hips, lifts your sundress and presses the vibe straight on your bare clit without any preamble, and your hips slam backwards into his crotch as you scream again, his cock jostling the base of the butt plug and sending shockwaves both up and down your core at the same time.

"Yeah. Thought so."

Amid the mixed sensations suddenly comes a new one: the thick head of his cock slipping into your cunt as he swirls the vibe around your clit, not letting it rest in any one spot long enough for your liking.

"… Wait! No condom?"

"Naw. You're on the pill, right?" He doesn't wait for your answer, as if he already knows.

Normally you don't enjoy this position but you're too far gone now, pushing your hips back and encouraging him deeper in, more than wet enough from all the playing to take him in.

"Greedy little slut, ain't ya?" He feeds you another inch, pauses, then another, torturously slow as you stretch around his thickness. "Tight little snatch feels so good. Miz Perkins with the big tits probably don't feel this sweet." Joel demeaning your husband like this and throwing the adultery in your face should make you mad -- at both of them -- but it only turns you on more, beads of sweat dripping down your spine as he slides all the way in to the hilt, giving you a few moments of grace to adjust to the size of him.

One strap falls down your shoulder, letting your tit pop out of your sundress and he palms it roughly, giving it an exploratory squeeze. The finger vibe is still buzzing and he swipes it across your nipple, the nubby texture chafing just before the point of pain. "Nice. You like that? Let's add somethin'."

Mentholated 'arousal balm' was another of your free gifts, and not something you'd ever thought to try. Joel twists open the little tin and dips the finger vibe in it.

"That smells strong, do we have to?" Wooziness hits you as the peppermint smell goes straight up your nostrils.

"Like I said, baby, gotta make sure everythin' works. Else I gotta do a return," chides Joel, tossing the tiny tin on the floor. You watch it roll under the baseboard heater as he grabs your hips roughly and repositions you. "Real fucking pain, returns. Lotsa paperwork."

He brings the now-mentholated finger vibe back to your clit, and two seconds later it feels like your entire pussy is on fire.

Thank goodness he didn't put any on my a--

Joel moves the base of the butt plug aside and presses the finger vibe against your asshole.

The menthol soaks into your tender membranes and it's so, so cold and hot at the same time. Your brain melts along with it.

Everything is lit up now and you squirm as he slides his hardness back into your pussy and gives a few experimental thrusts. "Tight fuckin' snatch," he mutters, your walls clenching around him in time with his finger flicking at the plug, your entire lower half burning but not in a terrible way. "But could be tighter." He suddenly pulls his cock out and you whine, loudly and needily.

"Please, Joel."

"Please what, darlin'?"

"Put… put it back in? Please."

"All in good time. Gotta give those walls an extra little stamp."

You look over your shoulder to see him drizzling lube into the girth sleeve and slipping it onto his cock. He's already so thick that it's a tight fit, the soft tube slipping off a couple times before he finally stretches it enough so it can slide all the way on, pulling it down so his large head pokes out of the top. You clench involuntarily.

"Umm. That's not gonna fit."

"Sure it will, honey," he drawls. "Didn't think you could take that pretty little pink plug, right? And look at ya now."

He's got a point.

"Gonna stuff that little slot full to the brim and turn ya into a size queen. Open wide, baby."

He's merciless as he slides back inside, at a curved angle since you're turned slightly to brace both your hands against the back of the sofa. The extender is smooth and feels just like his skin, and you're powerless to resist the incredible feeling of the extra width. He was exactly right: you felt full. With the thick pressure in your cunt pushing against the plug in your ass, you felt more stuffed than you ever had in your life, and what's more your pussy is still burning from the menthol balm. It was overwhelming but also glorious. In that second you knew it would be impossible not to think of Joel next time your husband fucked you, even if he wore this toy. Stupid sexy blackmailing mailman.

Baby animals had more stability in their legs than you do right now, your thighs spasming uncontrollably as Joel palms the vibe around your clit while holding almost half your waist in the span of his other large paw. He fucks into you hard from behind until you're so close to coming you can taste it. With the extender, his cock is hitting spots inside you that you didn't even know you had. A heavy chain pops out of the neck of his polo shirt and hits your nape with a loud clank as he slams into you from behind, the cheap poly-rayon blend of his polo shirt chafing your shoulders in a delicious burn as his chest presses close against your back and his hips smack against your ass, jostling the butt plug with every thrust.

whirrrrrr goes the finger vibe as the tiny cheap battery dies, and he slaps your clit hard with the vibe one, two, three times and you come, yelling for the nth time since he left his bootprints on your welcome mat that morning. His grunts are loud and lewd as he fucks you through it, easing up only to make his thrusts shallower so he can reach a hand between you and gently pull out the butt plug with a little 'pop'. He tosses it and the finger vibe onto your pristine off-white carpet, not even bothering to aim for the opened box on the coffee table.

"So fuckin' tight," he wheezes hoarsely, "I gotta extra big load for ya," and he presses his hips so hard against your ass that you almost fall over the sofa arm, his voice faltering as he groans and you feel hot spurts of his come coating the inside of your pussy, as deep as he can put it.

You slump forward onto the sofa and he pulls out, both of you heaving. The fiery balm has mellowed to a gentle tingle and your core is pleasantly warm. Stretched out. Fucked out.

"Welp, gotta get back to my route." It's been only a minute and his matter-of-fact conversational tone has already returned. You peer over your shoulder and watch him pull his shorts back on, rolling up the hems and slicking his belt back into the loops, tucking his polo shirt back in with practiced efficiency.

"Will I see you again?" You hate how pathetic you sound, and you must be a real sight too, half naked with a sweaty rolled-up sundress stuck to your back, your ass still up in the air like you're waiting for him to stick it right back in and rail you again immediately.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be seein' each other again real soon," he says smoothly.

As you stand up, knees a little weak, a drop of cum drips down your thighs. "Glad I'm on the pill," you mutter to yourself as you pat down your wrinkled sundress and pause at the mess of packaging and boxes littering your sitting room.

"About that, darlin'." Joel smiles, pausing by your front door. "Miz Perkins over on Pine Street orders sugar pills and well, you know, packages get mixed up sometimes on the route. Might wanna check you got the right pills."

Joel slams the door and the mail slot squeaks rhythmically as you stand there, horrified, listening to him whistle a jaunty tune as he walks down your driveway and back to his mail route.

[datsyuks]

Dessert First

Nico couldn't keep his hands off his pretty girl.

Warnings: mostly just f receiving. Smut below the cut.

(A/N: I love Nico. That's it. More to come. Enjoy.)

“I’m so full. The seams of my dress are going to bust.” You exclaim, walking into the hotel room. You toss your purse on the couch not bothering to place it nicely in your suitcase. The bed was calling your name.

Nico let out an airy laugh from behind you. “But you still want ice cream?” He followed you into the bedroom and stopped in front of the dresser, placing his watch in its case and taking his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Of course!” You plop down onto the bed, sinking into the feather duvet, your legs dangling over the edge. “I always require a little treat after a good dinner. It’s part of my DNA!”

Nico laugh fills the room and you start scrolling through Yelp to find a ice cream shop nearby.

The dinner was delicious. It was at a place you and Nico have been talking about for weeks. The ambiance of the lowlights and cloth napkins gave you the excuse to wear your new maroon dress. The fabric went down to right above your knee, just flowy enough to where Nico could push up the hem and rest his hand on the inside of your thigh during dinner. After winning his last game and a small break coming up, you decided a little staycation was in order.

Nico's movements out of the corner of your eye snap you out of your scrolling. You watch him turn around and lean against the dresser. You pretend to concentrate on your phone and hope that Nico doesn’t notice.

His fingers move to undo the buttons on his shirt, his eyes are glued to your body. His eyebrows crinkle in concentration and lines on his forehead appear. His hand moves down to his belt and stops, “hey baby?-“ Righ as you turn your head, he unlatches his belt, swifty tugging it off in one pull. You couldn't even focus on what was coming out of his mouth.

“Baby.” Nico says, a little firmer now.

“What?” You say quickly, trying to hide the fact you just got caught.

“I asked if you still want to go in sweatpants?”

Your eyes tilt up to him then down to his hands. It was a quick move but one Nico noticed.

“Yes please.” You whisper breathlessly.

He walks over and places a soft kiss on your forehead, “Ok good.”

Nico comes out of the bathroom not even five minutes later adorning black sweatpants and a gray hoodie. You, however, are still laying half off the bed in your dress and strappy heels from dinner.

“Did you change your mind?” Nico asks, coming to stand in between your legs.

“No. I think I found a good place. It’s only a five minute walk from here.”

Nico hums in response as he kneels down between you legs. He grabs your right leg and places your foot on his thigh. His fingers move along your ankle and his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion until he was able to unclasp the buckle on your heels.

He tosses the shoe off to the side and lifts your leg up, leaving a trail of little kisses up your calve to your knee. Each kiss leaving a little trail of heat. His big brown eyes glance up at you meeting your own, he gives one small smile before placing one last kiss on your knee.

Locked on a trance, you feel every brush of his fingers, every soft breath of air coming from his nose while he kisses up your leg then places your calf over his shoulder. You don’t even notice him unclasp your other shoe until you hear a loud thud.

Your breathing hitched as his mouth continued past your knee moving to the inside of your thigh.

His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you still.

“Nico, what are you doing?” You ask nervously, placing your elbows back to sit up. Nicos arms tightened around your legs, halting your movements. “Hmmmm?” He hums.

“What are you-“ you were cut off when Nico pulls your lower half off the edge of bed. You squirm around trying to adjust yourself, but your lower half is now being supported by Nico.

“Oh my god!” You grip the comforter for dear life. “My hearts racing!”

Nico leans up scrunching your legs up with him. “Sorry baby,” he pecks your lips, “I just wanted to eat my dessert before we go.” Your mind whirls at his words and he pecks your lips again. “Can I do that baby? You’ve looked good all night. When I saw you come out of that bathroom earlier in that dress. I knew I was a goner. I thought I could wait until after we get back but…,” he adjusts himself back down at the end of the bed, your leg is still hooked over his shoulder, "I dont think I can."

He slides his hands up your thighs, bunching your dress up in the process. His fingers dig into the sides of your underwear and drags them down your legs.

You can feel his wet kisses lead up your inner thigh to your core. A gasp leaves your lips as Nico's arms tighten to hold you in place as he pushes his mouth further into you.

Nico wasn’t lying. He continued to lick and suck until he had your hips desperately trying to lift off the bed. He decided to give in when a whine left your lips. He nudged his tongue into you, making sure to move one hand to your clit.

“That's it baby,” he lifts his head to to peer up at your face over your bunched up dress.

His eyes grew darker as he watched your mouth fall open in pleasure as he picked up the pace with his thumb. He knew you were close.

His tongue replaced his thumb on your clit sucking hard. Two thick fingers slide into you curling into you.

He let go of your hips as soon as you released, letting you roll your hips into his mouth. He lapped up every drop, not caring his mouth would be covered by you.

Your heavy breaths filled the air as Nico finished lapping you up. He presses last kisses onto your inner thighs before he leans up to your face.

“Satisfied?”

“For now," he replies.

Nico gently places your legs back onto the bed and stands up, holding out his hands for you. "Come on, I'll help you up."

Reaching up and Nico easily pulls you up into his chest.

"Woah," you wobble on your feet, your palms rest on Nico's chest.

"Too good huh?" he cheekily grins.

You giggle. "Alright, let's get going."

"Round two after?" Nico asks, his hands slide down your sides and rests on your butt.

"Hmmm," you start to pull away with a sly smile on your lips, "buy my ice cream and i'll think about it."

Nico playfully pinches your butt in return. You giggle, breaking away from his hands and head toward your suitcase.

"If were fast enough maybe we can start in the hot tub downstairs before they close?"

"Oh my god." You pick out your clothes and move your hair to one side, ready to ask Nico to unzip your dress. But he's already behind you, carefully zipping it down.

"Maybe i can ask the ice cream shop for a cup of whip cream to go?"

Your laugh echos through the bathroom.

"Is that weird?" Nico yells back. You only laughed in response, giving Nico his answer. This is going to be a long night.

[steviewashere]

Welcome Home

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Wayne Munson, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Not Graphic But Prevalent), Referenced Period Typical Homophobic Slur(s), Referenced Drug Use (Recreational Use of Marijuana) Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wayne Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Wayne Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington has Bad Parents, Coming Out, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Gets a Hug, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Al Munson is a Bad Person

Read the content warning!!

🫂—————🫂 He knows the person he wants isn’t home. But Steve can’t afford to stall any longer. If he continues to wait out in his car, it’ll probably be towed, and he’ll be arrested, and he won’t have the person he needs to bail him out. It’s not like he can just turn the car around, though; make his way back home.

Home doesn’t even exist anymore. It took one night where he thought he was alone, because he was always alone, for them to come back and see him. See him with another boy. Not experimenting, because he knows damn well who he is. But making semblance of love, because he’s been desperate enough for it his entire like. Now that he had it, or something as close to it as he can get from a late night cruising pull, it’s even farther away.

Yeah, maybe he should’ve rain checked. Maybe he should’ve bought out a motel room for the night. Maybe he should’ve just entertained himself with his own hand and the wrinkled magazines that Eddie smuggled for him.

Speaking of Eddie, he’s not here. His government replaced van isn’t parked outside the new Munson’s trailer. Only Wayne’s is. And he’s not sure if he’s ready to face another adult. He is an adult, he knows this, but sitting behind the big wheel of his car—his hands look like they belong to a child and looking at himself in the rearview mirror, it’s like matching gazes with ten year old him; wide-eyed, afraid, and forced against his will.

He is afraid. And maybe he should just let himself feel that. But he doesn’t have the time or the energy or the gall. So he shuts his engine off, hauls an old duffel bag over his shoulder, and makes the arduous journey that is the thirty second walk up the front steps.

Knocking, he swallows his pride. Every part of him is lost and disorganized. He didn’t style his hair. And he couldn’t grab his belt from where it had been kicked under his bed in panic. His shoes are untied. There’s also a large hickey at the base of his neck, unhidden by the stretched collar of some ratty maroon t-shirt he thought he tossed years ago. It’s stark against him in the reflection of the nearest window. He can also catch the dark bruises left on his biceps—grabbed by his dad when he tried to make an initial escape. Maybe he should’ve risked the arrest.

The doors open rather quickly, though. And through the screen, a plume of smoke pools over him from—what smells like—a stale joint. Wayne Munson stands on the other side with tired eyes and a pinched mouth. He’s dressed down in flannel pajamas and has that joint between his fingers. All his movements are slow as he takes Steve in.

“Eddie’s not home right now,” he states instead of offering a greeting. “Is there something I can do you for?” His eyes dip low from Steve’s. Following down the stretch of his neck, where it’s tense and rigid, over that hickey. Pauses momentarily. And then continues to look around, over, down—right up until he notes the bruises on Steve’s arms. “You…Uh…You making a runaway from a bad date, kid?”

Steve swallows. It stings a bit, though not from the hickey. When he closes his eyes to gather his words, he can almost feel the hand around his throat—the wedding ring cold over his wanted bruise, but the red hot spray of spit over his forehead. All as he cowered against his bedroom wall, tense to the floor he stood on, praying that his dad would make it quick.

He’s shaking, he knows. Trembling something minute that, hopefully, Wayne won’t pick up on. “Good evening, Mr. Munson,” Steve greets quietly, voice quaking. “I—I’m sorry to intrude, but I don’t know…There’s nowhere else I can go right now.” He peels his eyes open and peeks up through the screen door. Wayne’s eyes are the size of saucers when they lock stares. He hefts the bag over his shoulder higher, there’s a warm ache through his upper back. Slammed against the wall; remember, he reminds himself.

The screen opens wide and Wayne gestures over to the couch. “Leave your stuff by the door, kid.”

He steps through, plops his bag by the small breakfast nook, and chucks his sneakers to mingle with the pile. Then, he just stands in the doorway. Wayne’s off of his right shoulder. Towering over him a bit, but warm and solid. Steve knows he doesn’t have to be afraid, yet something in him skitters when Wayne’s left hand rests gently on his lower back. “Have a seat,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Acknowledging, without words to say, Steve nods. He shuffles over to the sofa and sits on the farthest cushion on the right, where he tends to settle when he comes over.

“You eat?” Wayne asks.

“No,” Steve mutters, “my dad didn’t give me enough time.”

“You like pepperoni on your pizza?”

Steve nods. “Anything except mushrooms, sir.”

“Wayne,” he says softly over his shoulder, “that’s my name and you wear it out all you like. I ain’t your daddy.” Steve just grunts in response, watching warily as Wayne orders them some food.

When he’s done, Wayne faces him again, leaning against the edge of the dining table. His joint has long since been put out, resting warm in the ashtray on the same table. Steve leans forward on his cushion, hands dropped between his knees. His hair falls limp in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters now, does it?

“I’ll only be here a night, promise.” His shoulders hunch inwards. That ache back and persistent. And he knows wherever he sleeps, be it on the floor or the sofa or even in the grass outside, he’ll just wake up hurt. More than just physically. “I know that there really isn’t space for me here and I…I don’t know. I’m not expecting you to take me in just because I get myself in messes.”

For a moment, the room stretches with silence. Going diagonal with the former words.

Then, Wayne takes a deep breath. Shuffles over to a dining chair. And plops down, watching. “You mind telling me what happened?” He asks gruffly, though not pessimistically. “If you’re in trouble, I can only let you stay here a night.”

“Depends on what you view as trouble, Wayne.”

Wayne narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. His left hand rests on the surface of the table, fingers stretched towards the ashtray and the discarded lighter next to it. “Illegal shit. Anything that gets you in trouble with that Powell bastard. Not including weed. That’d make me a hypocrite, and that’s one thing I ain’t.”

Again, Steve nods his agreement, the acknowledgement. He fidgets with the tips of his fingers. Nails digging into the fatty parts, turning them white with pressure. “I didn’t do anything illegal, swear. Just did something stupid.” Warily once more, he eyes Wayne. “How do you feel about Reagan?”

“That man can rot in hell for all I care.”

He chuckles, despite everything. Then, he takes a sobering breath. “I had a…I picked up a boy tonight. Because I wanted to have—We were going to have sex, to put it simply, Mr. Munson. And I took him to my room, thinking I’d be alone for the rest of the night…”

“And you weren’t,” Wayne states, not asking. What questions need to be asked to an admittance like that? Steve nods, mouth pinched and eyes shiny. “I’m guessing your folks came home.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers just loud enough to be heard. “I must’ve made a…noise loud enough to be heard downstairs. And my dad had just come home. And he…maybe the boy also made a noise, I don’t know. But one thing came after the other, and the next thing I knew my dad had gripped me on my arms and threw me against the wall and I thought he was going to kill me dead right in my own room and he was spitting about…he called me a-a fag and a fairy and I…

“I didn’t fight back. I didn’t speak. I was so scared. I am scared, Wayne,” Steve admits, voice trembling and his nose burning. “All I could do was take it.”

Carefully, Wayne extracts himself from his seat and situates himself on the coffee table. Right in front of Steve. “Where all did he hurt you, Steve?”

He swallows, remembering. “My arms,” he mutters, pointing, “and my neck and…he dropped me down on the ground and while I was reaching for my shirt, he got me on the ribs.” Narrowly, he misses Wayne’s furious gaze. Instead, he finds a shiny blank spot between mugs on the far wall. “He was so furious he didn’t even take his dress shoes off by the door,” he meekly states, “and he didn’t stop until my mom screamed at him to at least let me grab some of my stuff. She told him it wouldn’t be worth it, and I quote, ‘to murder our son.’ He told her that I wasn’t his, but he let me leave.” 

He’ll never thank his mom for that, but at least she granted him grace. Though, she didn’t look pleased either. Her face set and jaw clenched. He knows that if she had the chance, when he wasn’t in earshot, she would’ve said the exact same thing as his dad. Steve withers further at the thought, if that’s even possible.

“I’m just lucky that I’m not dead, right?” He adds a moment later, face wet with tears and throat thick with grief.

Wayne sharply inhales. “You’re safe here,” he says lowly, “just as Eddie is. You’ll forever be safe here, I promise you that.”

Steve’s eyes cut back to him. That ferocity in his gaze like a warm blanket over Steve’s shoulders, something he can cling onto and believe. “You know about him?”

“You’re not the first kid to run here from their daddy,” Wayne utters.

Something in Steve’s stomach twists slowly. His chest crackling with those words. Remembers when Eddie Munson was out of school for a week in eighth grade. When he came back: long sleeves in late May, hair shaved close to his scalp, heavy eyes, and new silver scars over his knuckles.

“I’m not…”

“Eddie would never cut his hair voluntarily,” Wayne states, voice grim.

Steve looks down at his lap, fingers picking nervously at each other. He murmurs, “I’m safe here,” but more of a reminder to himself. He’s not sure if he’s had a promised safety in years. All the stuff with Vecna and the Upside Down and now his dad—which never started with tonight; it had been growing to that, always something small like a slap to the wrist or a dull smack to the back of his head, but his life had never been almost choked out of him. He never feared, just always worried.

God, he always worried. And now here he is, trembling with his tail between his legs.

The silence stretches between them after that. Wayne gets up at some point to pay for the pizza, gather a couple plates, even relight his half-gone joint. And in the time it takes him to sit back down on the sofa with the food, Eddie comes back.

He tumbles through the door, a thousand words spilling out of him, coat hanging off of his elbows, and one shoe already stepped out of. He’s a whirlwind of movement and thing after another after another. But then he spots them on the couch; Wayne eating slowly and Steve curled nervously, face turned away from the door. “Aw man,” Eddie drawls. “Sharing pizza and weed without me? You guys always have all the fun when I’m not here.”

“Ed,” Wayne mutters, “we need to have a conversation, alright?”

Steve peers over, just as Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Did I…Is it something I did?” Eddie murmurs, voice falling meek. “Is everything okay?”

He can’t help but try to hide further. Flinching into himself, eyes closing on their own accord, cheeks flushed, and lips trembling. Tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he’s already opened the waterworks once tonight—they’re not going to close up again just from this. He looks to Wayne, eyes pleading for him to explain. He’s so tired of having to digest this, let alone regurgitate it.

“Come sit in my chair, Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing to the brown chair near the window. He waits until Eddie does what he’s told, sitting slowly and looking at them with his too big, concerned eyes. His eyebrows raise, even Steve can make that out through his blurry vision, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Okay, I need you to listen and not ask questions. No interruptions unless I ask you to respond, you got that?”

“Wh—Yeah, Wayne. I’m all ears; you’re freaking me out.”

Wayne nods gently, his left hand out in a placating manner. “You remember, I mean you most definitely do, but do you remember when you had to come here all those years ago?” He asks softly. Eddie acknowledges by nodding, nothing more. “Steve is going through something similar,” he explains gently, “and I’m letting him stay. If you want to know the specifics, that’s something that you’ll have to hear when Steve’s ready, got it?”

Eddie inhales slowly. His face gaining that same furious ferocity that Wayne’s had. But then he looks to Steve and all the hard features of his face soften. Back to something familiar and warm and homely. “Stevie?” He ventures. “You okay?”

He shrugs. Answers thickly, “I don’t know.” His cheeks wet with more tears and he roughly wipes them away with a shaking hand. “I don’t…I thought they loved me? Even just a little bit.”

Warmth crowds him as Wayne lays a firm arm over his upper back, hand wrapping around his right shoulder, just missing his bicep. “Eddie? Why don’t you clean up a bit in your room for his stuff? Get some new sheets on your mattress, too. Think he could use a sleepover, that alright?”

“Course,” Eddie answers almost instantly, voice soft and calm. “I’ll set out some pajamas, too, Stevie. You want a sweatshirt or a t-shirt?”

Steve sniffs and swallows heavily. “Sweatshirt, please.” 

Slowly and carefully, Eddie comes over towards the couch. He places a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s head. Thumb running up and down at the base of his skull. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “we’ve got you now, though.” And with that, Eddie retreats to his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind him. The rustle of things being moved around ever apparent through the thin wood.

Wayne clears his throat and pulls Steve in a little closer, tighter. He says close to Steve’s ear, “We love you here, you got that? You have no reason to hide yourself or sneak around or try and fit yourself in a box.”

He nods minutely. “M’kay,” he mutters, “I’ll try and find another place soon, I promise. I just don’t have the money—“

“Nonsense,” Wayne states steadfast, “this is your home now. And I won’t have it any other way.” He pulls back just enough to make them lock eyes again. The air smells of grease and weed and Irish Spring. Amber light flooding around them and dim enough to not hurt his head. Everything around him is soft, gentle. It feels like home. Wayne holds him by the shoulders, firm but not suffocating. “Don’t tell Eddie I said this,” he whispers, “but he doesn’t shut up about you. He’d kill me if I didn’t let you stay and I’d beat myself up about it. As long as you stay true and playful with my boy, then you’re my boy, too. You hear me?”

Steve’s eyes blur again and his nose stings and he wishes that he could stop crying, but this is nice. The warmth and the love and the tenderness. He could burn alive from it and still be grateful. It’s so much better than the lonely, cold sprawl of his parents’ house. A house he never thought he’d leave.

“I hear you,” he musters.

“Good,” Wayne murmurs. “Why don’t you go use up some of the hot water and take as long of a shower as you want? I’ll get your things into Eddie’s room and—don’t tell that Powell bastard at the station—but I’ll roll something for you, if you want it.”

Despite everything, Steve finds himself laughing from his belly and smiling enough to ache his cheeks. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Warning, though, I’m really annoying when I’m high.”

“Then annoying you’ll be,” Wayne gets out around a chuckle. “And keep smiling, boy. You ain’t got a thing to worry or fear here. Even if your daddy comes running on over, I’ll make him leave just as fast with his tail between his legs, swear it.”

His smile relaxes to something soft, a ghost of a thing. He leans forward and hesitantly wraps his arms around Wayne, relishing in the hug that he gets in return. “Thank you,” he says, muffled into Wayne’s pajama shirt, “think you literally saved my life tonight.”

“You’re a good kid, Steve,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re always welcome in my home.”

He knows he’s crying again, a gentle and silent thing into Wayne’s shoulder. And yet, despite everything, he’s lighter.

Later, he tells Eddie all that happened and is held close, a hand in his hair and fingers tracing over his trembling shoulders. Later, Wayne will make a grand breakfast spread to celebrate new family. And even later, Wayne’ll crack a joke about no funny business while he’s sleeping. But Steve will know, through the tired and playful glint in Wayne’s eyes, he’s all too happy that Steve and Eddie figured themselves out.

For now, though, Wayne hands him a clean, soft towel. It’s dark green and well loved. And he knows, too, that his soul will eventually look just like that. And just like the towel, he soaks it all up. Including the warm, “Welcome home, son,” Wayne says before he closes the bathroom door.

🫂—————🫂

[sxorpiomooon]

What should you dress like based on your rising sign.

hello!! If you guys want to you can also check for your venus sign for a more accurate description and lmk if you guys would want me to make a post with some clothes example!

check out my paid readings as well

Aries-

Athletic wear,edgy bold prints, leather, acubi aesthetic, cargos, lose shorts, formal, bold genderbending style. Y'all just wanna look cool😭

Colours- red, monochromatic.

Taurus -

Feminine clothes, net, maxi dresses, sweatpants, a lot of accessories, satin plain shirts, blazers jumpsuit y'all love smelling and looking rich and classy lmaaao

Colours- sage green, beige

Gemini-

Playful, I literally had a vision of jeans with dress and jersey with skirts, mix and match, two three aesthetics all at once, vibrant colours, Y2K, bratz, quirky accesories, glasses lmao I'm seeing so many tiktok videos in my head rn

Colours- neon, vibrant colours, splash or colours

Cancer-

Soft, coquette, loves pearls and carrying purses or cute wallets, cutely and ethereal at the same time, white colour

Colours- soft feminine colours such as sky blue, lavender etc

Leo-

Wants to stand out, flashy colours, gold jewellery, rings, bold colours, rock grunge might suit you guys

Colours- black, prints.

Virgo-

Formal,old money ralph lauren lmao, skirts, belts, floral skirts, forest fairy core? Cares alot about details and will always want to personalize the look somehow

Colours- green also you guys would look really good with basic jewellery

Libra-

Cute maxi dresses, clothes that have art on them, bunch of charms, alot of colours, ethereal jewellery and clothing, old channel vintage or clueless sort of clothing.

Colours- soft colours like baby blue, baby pink as well as lilac

Scorpio -

Bold cuts and colours and clothes and accessories, less accessories more eye makeup perhaps, bold fashion statements, might, v cut and boots. You guys might also look good while wearing only one colour instead of two three at the same time

Colours- wine red, maroon, velvet clothing

Saggitarius-

Eclectic, upbeat clothes, lose shirts, flamboyant, mix colours and different patterns at once it's like wearing different earrings on both ears.

Colours- yellow, orange

Capricorn -

Formal, elegant, old money, big handbags, old vintage watches I also heard Italy flea market for some reason so lmao

Colours- neutral tones

Aquarius -

Comfy, sweatpants, trousers, oversized, streetwear, patterned clothes might really care about good statement shoes, thrift, flamboyant clothing lmao

Colours- faded jeans and clothing, blue eyeshadow or blue colour in general honestly

Pisces-

Transparent, net, shiny, pastel shiny colours, chunky aesthetic jewellery, pendants, sunglasses, delicate, silver.

Colours- lavender, baby blue etc

Thankyouuu!!

[legobiwan]

For the drabble prompt list

"none of this is your fault" mario and luigi

Drabbles, they said, Ha! I answered. Anyway, I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy this barely-edited not-drabble. I am apparently incapable of concise writing right now :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“None of this is your fault, Lou.”

Luigi scoffed, pushing dampened sleeves up both arms, smearing dark, sweaty grease across his skin in wide, impressionistic lines.

“You tell that to Toadsworth in three days. I’m sure he’ll be happy to believe you,” Luigi groused, tightening a stubborn, thick bolt with a violent twist. That should keep the engine boosters from flying off at speeds exceeding thirty miles an hour. (Or as they were counted in the Mushroom Kingdom, five hundred and two mycelia per second, a measuring system so opaque - and infuriating - that Luigi had sat through an entire five-hour Toad Council meeting just so he could petition the government to introduce a bill to launch a public vote on switching to any other quantifier that made a modicum of sense. The notion, of course, was voted down in a manner of seconds. Tradition, Mister Luigi, Toadsworth had sniffed, rapping his long-handled gavel with an imperious gesture, closing off all debate on the matter).

Snobby old toad could stuff it up his spore holes.

“He’ll get over it,” Mario said. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Make us sit through another boring state dinner?”

Luigi poked at a serpentine belt that resembled some slices of old cheese he once found in the back of their fridge in Brooklyn. How these guys managed to stay competitive with equipment in this condition was a complete slap in the face to basic physics.

“You like those dinners.” Luigi crawled out from under the dented chassis, sitting back on his haunches as he gestured at his brother with a ratchet-wrench, making curly patterns in the air as if he were a Magikoopa casting a spell.

“I hate those dinners as much as you. They’re hot, stuffy, and the food is an insult to the entirety of Brooklyn. It’s not my fault I get to sit next to Peach and you’re always stuck with Lady Maitake and her hundreds of onion bulb-pup photos for two hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Did you know she’s trying to train them to do circus acts and take them on the road?” Luigi ran a finger down one of the dusty schematics strewn about the stone floor. “Hand me that spanner, will you?”

Mario shook his head, chuckling, handing off the hooked tool to Luigi, who shimmied once more underneath the maroon-and-black kart. “Look, you got hoodwinked into a bad contract. I should have looked over the fine print before you signed.”

“You’re not my keeper, Mario,” Luigi grumbled, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And it’s not even the contract that I care about. Frankly, I’m impressed Bowser’s been able to get these things to do anything beyond cough up smoke and crash into the nearest palm tree. It’s a good challenge to get them running again.”

“So what’s the issue, then?”

Luigi stilled, his hands guts-deep in a mess of wiring and cables that looked like an earthworm graveyard. After a moment, he sighed, letting the spanner tool clatter to the floor with a bright, metallic jangle. 

“The issue,” he began, staring up at the internal electronic system of one of Bowser’s so-called best racing karts. “Is that he’s probably going to win. Bowser, that is. And everyone will make nice about it at the awards ceremony and Bowser will get too drunk on elderflower wine and get kicked out of the post-race party.”

“That happens every race, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you know Bowser. He’ll let it slip that I was the one doing repairs on his karts. And then in the morning, there will be a meeting. And Toadsworth will go on about the standing of the Kingdom being compromised and it being a diplomatic catastrophe that we allowed Bowser to win and that,” Luigi adopted a whiny, pompous voice. “Mr. Luigi has once again strained his credibility within the Mushroom Kingdom.” 

“Look, that stodgy old Toad has no chance of making those charges stick. You were exonerated, Weeg. Nothing that happened with Bleck - “ Mario clenched his fists, hissing through his teeth. “Nothing that happened in that place was you. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.”

Luigi reached towards one of the dangling battery coils, playing with the violet and yellow wires between his fingers. “Sure,” he breathed. “Not me.”

“Not you,” Mario insisted, his voice steely. “And besides,” he continued, a hint of humor creeping into his words. If you’re so concerned about Toadsworth, why don’t you sabotage Bowser’s fleet?”

Luigi pushed himself out from under the kart, snapping up to a seat in wide-eyed horror.

“And ruin my reputation as an engineer? No way, bro. I’ll risk the treason charges, thank you very much.”

Mario guffawed, ambling over to take a seat next to his brother, the two coming shoulder-to-shoulder, backs set against the passenger door of the Koopa Coupe. “I think your reputation is beyond reproach, Lou.” Mario gave a small, uncertain smile. “After all, you did build two killer robots in the span of two weeks.”

It was a huge step forward, just being able to talk about the whole incident in Flipside, no less joke about it - the ordeal with Bleck and the jester and Luigi’s brainwashing. Mario had stayed tight-lipped about the entire debacle for weeks after they had gotten back, much to Luigi’s aggravation, until things came to a head one night due to a series of ill-conceived plans on the part of the Toad Council, the most brazen of which featured a misserved cup of tea laced with a dubiously legal truth potion.

Luigi sniffed out half a chuckle, nudging his brother in the shoulder. “Well, I can’t let Bowser think I’m slipping, right?”

Mario eyed his brother carefully, his features brightening as he caught the note of mischief in Luigi’s voice. Grinning, he clapped his brother on the knee. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you? The Old Koopa King doesn’t know what he’s got coming.”

Luigi straightened, composing himself into the picture of innocence. “Dear brother, I am a man of my word. Bowser will win the race, just like the contract stipulates.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” Luigi drew out the word, schematics and thermodynamic equations taking shape in his mind. “Let’s say the engine modifications I’m making happen to engage a set of rocket boosters at a certain speed threshold. Bowser’ll like that. But then maybe the activation of those boosters, given a certain location and time input, temporarily cede control of the brakes and steering to a pre-programmed route of the engineer’s choosing.” Luigi paused for dramatic effect. “All after the race is finished, of course. No injuries. No harm. Just a little post-race joyride through the forest.”

Mario gave a joyous whoop, bringing his brother into a tight, side-hug. “They’ll hear him screaming all the way in Rogueport! Ha! You know he’ll threaten to invade during the after-party! No one will care if you worked on his kart once he shows back up breathing smoke!”

“He’ll do that regardless,” Luigi laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “But you know how these modifications are. Always a chance of overburdening your circuits.”

“And at least it’ll be a while before he tries to trick you into doing his dirty work again,” Mario added.

“I hope so.” Luigi placed a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Mario.”

Mario beamed back at his brother, playfully flicking the brim of Luigi’s hat. “Come on, Lou. Show me how to build a sentient robot race kart.”

~~~~~

Drabble writing challenge: Make me sweat!

[pasukiyo]

DON'T COME FREE

leon kennedy x f!reader word count; 1,760 warnings; suggestive ending, set in a brothel, reader is a sex worker, leon is kind of an idiot! summary; everything about this was a bad idea. leon disobeying orders, leon walking into a brothel, leon following a woman up to her bedroom...

1946

 “You look like you shouldn’t be here, stranger.”

 Leon turned towards the staircase where a woman leaned with her back against the railing, cigarette clutched between her middle and forefinger. She wore a tight-fitted black dress, the silky material parted on her upper thigh, the straps slipping from her shoulders down to her elbows. Leon circled his hand around the watch on his opposite wrist, peering around the empty foyer for anyone else who may be listening. 

 “S’ just me, honey,” she said behind her cigarette, prying it away from her mouth, blowing her smoke. “All the other girls are working.”

 Leon let his gaze settle back on the woman on the staircase and she blinked at him, an arm crossed just below her breasts, her opposite elbow resting against it. She rolled her cigarette between her knuckles, waiting for his response. 

 He cleared his throat, “technically, miss, I shouldn’t be here.” She raised her eyebrows at this, taking a long drag of her cigarette as he continued. “I’m looking for… someone.”

 The woman hummed against her cigarette, glimpsing at the handsome agent as he cautiously approached. She looked him up and down— from his slicked back dark blonde hair, to the brow dipped over his sharp stare, down to the maroon tie tucked neatly into the gray vest worn over his broad chest. Her eyes lowered to the rolled sleeves of his white collared shirt, to the forearms where veins were practically bulging from. 

 He was definitely the kind of stranger they didn’t get very often here at the whorehouse and she knew it was wrong to gawk but fuck, he was the most gorgeous man she’d sworn she’d ever seen. 

 Her gaze dared to venture lower to his belt where a bulky, golden badge rested on his hip— shit. He really shouldn’t be here. 

 “That someone sure seems like they’re in a lot of trouble,” she said, rolling her cigarette between her fingers again. “For someone like you to wander in here without any sort of warrant.”

 Leon glanced around the foyer again, ensuring nobody was eavesdropping in on the conversation. Fuck, he knew this wasn’t a good idea, going against orders. But he had a lead on the fucking guy, he saw him walk in here with his own eyes. He’d be crazy to let such a lead go to waste, absolutely insane. 

 Banging could be heard in the room just in front of him and a woman’s name echoed behind the closed door, the woman on the stairs stiffened. Leon glanced between her and the door as she nodded towards the badge on his hip. 

 “Might wanna put that away, officer,” she advised. “Carol’s a drunk with a loud mouth.”

 Leon peered down at the badge and cursed beneath his breath as he hastily tore it off his belt, tucking it in his back pocket just as the door swung open. A thin, pale-skinned woman stumbled in, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a shot glass in the other. The woman, who Leon could only assume was Carol, looked between him and the woman on the stairs, hiccuping. 

 “The fuck are you still doing down here?” Carol slurred, waving her whiskey bottle towards the stairs. “You don’t talk in my foyer, you go to your room, fuck, and bring me my goddamn money.”

 Warmth pooled in Leon’s cheeks at Carol’s drunken words and he looked to the woman on the staircase as she took another drag of her cigarette. 

 “Careful Carol,” she said, gesturing for Leon to come closer. “Talk like that in front of paying customers and ratings will start going down.”

 Carol grumbled and hiccuped again, waving the two of them off as Leon warily made his way up the steps, trailing just behind the woman. Her hips swayed as she walked and Leon mumbled a string of curses beneath his breath as he tore his stare away to instead look at her feet. 

 Leon followed her down the hall, past many rooms with many sounds thundering each’s four walls, many noises he really shouldn’t be listening to. Finally, she stopped at the last door on the left, twisting the doorknob and gesturing for him to follow her inside. He drew a deep breath into his chest— this was not how he imagined this going.

 Leon turned to close the door behind him and when he faced her again, she was sitting on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, the slit in her black dress falling further away from her skin. She leaned forward with one elbow against her exposed thigh, cigarette between her lips. 

 “So… this someone,” she spoke as smoke rolled from her lips. “Think they’ve been here?”

 Leon cleared his throat and stood a little taller, dipping his chin in a nod. “Seen him walk in here with my own two eyes,” he replied. “Name’s Walter Hachett. Ring any bells?”

 She pressed her lips together and casted her eyes towards the ceiling, as if deep in thought. After a pause, she shook her head. “Hardly any of the men tell us their names here, honey. Gonna have to describe him for me,” she replied, blinking up at him. 

 “Around six foot, brown eyes, brown hair…” Leon trailed off, scoffing at his own vague description. “He has this… this slit through his left brow…”

 The woman wrinkled her brow, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. This didn’t go unnoticed and Leon stepped forward, “sounding familiar now?”

 “Yeah,” she nodded. “Think that’s the guy that paid extra to have a threesome with me and Deb the other day,” she scowled at the memory. “Real dick.”

 “The other day wouldn’t have happened to be this last Thursday, would it?” Leon pressed, his heart thudding against his chest. Finally, information he could work with. She nodded in reply but her entire demeanor seemed to shift, her playful manner from before replaced with distaste. 

 “Yeah,” she answered quietly, reaching over to stub her cigarette on the ashtray on the nightstand. “Guess that’s your guy, huh?” 

 Leon’s spark of joy already seemed to dull at the sight of her so deflated, although he wasn’t sure why he cared so much. What she did for work was still illegal and despite giving him the information he’d been searching for, it didn’t change that. But Leon looked at her now and couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Whatever memory the mention of his guy brought up, it couldn’t have been any good. 

 “Did he do something to you?” Leon asked and she glanced up at him, her scowl twitching, just a little bit. “I mean, something… something that’s not…”

 “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, uncrossing her legs to instead cross the opposite one over the other. “You’re gonna arrest him, right?”

 The lump in Leon’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed— he didn’t quite think he’d make it this far, if he was perfectly honest. He glanced towards the window of the bedroom, at the moon peeking just above the top of the thin, white curtains. 

 “Well, uh… I could, but I need more information to go off on before I can really make an arrest,” he stammered and she leaned back on her elbows, rolling her neck. “You’re a bit green, aren’t you, officer?” She asked through a smirk, her head lolled to the side as she gazed to where he still awkwardly stood. Leon’s lips opened and closed, a light pink flush across his cheeks. She chuckled, “you’re adorable. Too cute for a place like this.”

 Leon blinked as she sighed, pushing herself back up into a sitting position. “Anyways, what’s in it for me if you’re gonna use me as an informant?” She questioned. “I don’t come free.”

 Leon swallowed the bulge in his throat, willing his gaze to stay focused on her face. He didn’t realize how difficult it would be to talk to such a pretty woman, how hard it would be to stay focused when said woman wore a dress like that. Leon usually prided himself as being a gentleman— what was it about this girl that made him want to revolt so badly?

 “I’ve got money,” he stammered, reaching for his wallet tucked away in his trouser pockets. The woman’s features softened and her bottom lip rolled into a pout, making Leon half his actions altogether. “That’s it, officer?” She asked and Leon watched, feeling a spark ignite at the pit of his belly when she uncrossed her legs, unable to tear his gaze away as she slowly spread her thighs further apart. 

 “You could have a taste, you know,” she purred, her dress rising further up her thighs as she bared herself to the attractive officer. Leon’s breath hitched and he shivered when his stare met her arousal, the folds of her pussy glistening as it gazed back at him, the physical embodiment of a bad idea. “Could be a treat for the both of us.”

 Leon choked back a groan as his erection grew in his pants, straining against the material until it was almost painful. He should’ve known better than to fall for the siren song of a woman like her but fuck, there was something about her he felt so drawn to. Maybe that was just his raging hard-on talking for him, and he cursed, frustrated with the position he’d put himself in. 

 He really shouldn’t be here. 

 “I…” he trailed off, drawing in a deep breath to keep his composure, willing himself to look away before he made a decision that would more than likely come back to bite him in the ass later. Not in the position he was in, anyways. “…I can’t.”

 The woman sighed, closing her legs and pushing herself up from the mattress to saunter his way. Leon stiffened as she approached— just the smell of her was driving him insane. What was this woman doing to him?

 “Four dollars,” she whispered near the shell of his ear, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Four?” He repeated and she smiled as she leaned back, eyes surging into his.

 “Two for Carol, one for me, and another for my information. I never said I was cheap, officer.”

 Leon cursed beneath his breath as he fished for his wallet, counting out the money. 

 He was never coming back here again. 

 Her smile widened as he pressed the dollars into her palm, spun around, and walked straight out of her bedroom. 

 She had a feeling she’d be seeing him again.  

a/n; i'm gonna be so fr right now, i hate this one LMFAOO it didn't turn out quite the way i wanted it to and i almost scrapped it entirely but you guys are getting it anyways 😘

TAGLIST;

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@corruptcoder

[nats-firefly]

blackmail

professor!natasha romanoff x student!reader

summary: it’s a regular morning, you wake up in your professor’s bed, she’s having coffee on the balcony and you look good enough to eat. when you get home there’s an important email waiting for you.

warnings: prof!nat, legal age gap, exhibitionism kinda, oral (r giving), ass eating briefly (r giving), power bottom!nat, boob fondling, strap on use (nat receiving), breeding kink, blackmail, smut 18+ only

a/n: kinktober repost! i think i'll be able to finish a new fic for the end of the month but we'll see how things go, i'm quite busy

🚩 warnings are clearly stated please do not report/flag :) 🚩

words: 1.4k | feedback is always welcome | masterlist

divider source | gif source

The bright light in the room is what woke you up. Your arms searched the cover for her but found nothing, which wasn’t an unusual feat but you were in her huge home and weren’t sure if you could find your way out without her. You groaned as you stretched the morning haziness out of your limbs before sitting up and rubbing your eyes in an attempt to get them to adjust to the light. 

You found her sitting on the balcony. Her body was only covered by a maroon silk robe and by the way her perky nipples fought against the fabric you could tell that was the only thing shielding her body from you. You licked your lips, her taste from the night before still lingering on your tongue only reminding you that you want more. You looked around the floor, spotting your sports bra and sweatpants discarded on either side of the bed; that’s all you really need. 

“Good morning,” You said, stepping out onto the balcony. Natasha looked up at you, ignoring the way her breath caught in the back of her throat when she looked at you. You smirked as you leaned in over the small deck table to kiss her. Natasha almost chased after you, craving your lips on her skin once again.

“Good morning,” She purred looking up at you. She motioned to the coffee cup in front of her, you thought it was sweet she also brought you a mug. You took it, placing it on top of the railing then bringing your hands over your head for a big stretch, grunting as you felt your back stretch out. 

Natasha’s eyes raked over you, taking in every detail of your body with a predatory gaze. She watched as your back twitched, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip when she heard your grunt, memories from when you thrust your strap into her last night so beautifully fresh in her memory. Her eyes wandered down past your waistband, eyes widening when she noticed the bulge waiting for her underneath the fabric. 

“What have you got there?” She asked, unfolding her legs from under her. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, taking a sip of the coffee and looking out over her backyard. Your eyes wandered to behind the tall hedges around her yard, wondering if there were any neighbors around. You’re not sure if you’d make it to her bed. 

When you turned back to her, she was approaching you, leaning into your side and joining you in looking over the balcony. She loosened the robe belt, turning to you and grabbing the mug out of your hands to place on the table. She pushed you into the railing when you turned around, hand grabbing the strap over your sweatpants. 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Her lips kissed yours hungrily, scratching her nails against your scalp. Your hands gripped her hips, pulling her into you so that she could feel the strap. Just by the size of it Natasha knew it was the one with the cum reservoir. Her skin bubbled with goosebumps, making her pull away with dilated pupils. “I need you to fuck me.”

You moved to pull her into the bedroom but she stopped you, hungry gaze in her eyes. “Here?”

“Now,” Your eyes darkened, pulling her in by her robe belt, untying it as she moved closer to you. You gripped her hips under her robe, kissing her deeply before pulling her way and flipping her to face the railing. 

“Careful,” She warned, reaching back to reach the back of your neck to pull you closer, feeling the strap press deliciously into her ass. “Now fuck me like only you know how.”

She slid her robe down her shoulders to pool at her feet, your mouth watering as you took her body in. You pressed closer to her again, lips meeting the skin on her neck as your hands traveled up her front to her chest. She moaned and threw her head back onto your shoulders as you sucked on her skin, your fingers working her nipples, sending electric shocks through her body. 

You continued kissing down her back, Natasha’s knuckles turning white as she gripped the trailing. You kissed over the curve of her ass, sliding your hands along to grab a handful of each cheek. Your tongue flattened over her hole, her hips twitching to meet your touch. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Natasha growled, back arching in pleasure. Your tongue swirled over her most sensitive part and she swore she could’ve cum right there. You gave her one last swipe of your tongue before reaching further down, prodding her cunt with your tongue. Natasha moaned, adjusting her position to give you more access. “Enough.”

Natasha willed herself to pull away from you, pulling you up and pushing you against the wall. “I need you inside me.” 

Natasha pulled your sweatpants down, pulling the strap out. You took a moment to react, hands immediately finding her hips. “Natasha, we’re outside.”

“I have hedges for a reason.” Your grip on her hips tightened before you turned her around and bent her over the table, her dripping pussy making it easy to slide the large dildo into her.

Natasha moaned loudly, the stretch in her core sending another round of goosebumps all over her skin. Her back arched, pushing back into you as you started to move in and out of her. “Love being stretched out by my cock don’t you?”

Natasha moaned again, eyes rolling to the back of her head as the tip of the strap nudged her in just the right place. “You know how to fuck me so well, baby,” She replied, voice airy and smooth. “Feels so good.”

You gripped her hips, thrusting into her deeper and harder, making her scream out in pleasure. Natasha gripped the edge of the table, moaning the closer she got. “Baby,” She moaned, core tightening with every movement. “I’m gonna cum.”

“M’ gonna fill you up baby,” You continued moving, before pulling her up tight against you. She moaned as your hand slid around to her front and between her legs, fingers playing with her clit. “Gonna make your pussy a pretty mess for me.”

Natasha gripped your arm, nails digging into your flesh as you dispensed the sticky substance into her. The feeling of your cum filling her up pushed her over the edge, her throat going raw as she screamed out in pleasure. You fucked her through her orgasm, kissing down her neck as she reached up to entangle her fingers in your hair.

When you pulled out the toy made a squelching sound, the cum mixed with her wetness flowing out of her. You turned her around and sat her down on the table, meeting her lips hungrily. Your fingers brushed her short hair back as she relaxed in your hold. 

“You’re good at that,” She mumbled, goosebumps littering her skin in the cold breeze. You chuckled, giving her one last peck on the cheek before pushing yourself away from her. 

“Let’s go inside,” You said. “There’s more where that came from.”

Natasha bit her lip, walking towards the bed on shaky legs. You followed her in, taking one last look outside, not able to shake the feeling of being watched.

—

When you got home and decided to check your emails for anything that had come up since your stay with your Professor, you noticed a new email from an unknown sender.

Dear Y/N Y/L/N, You should be more careful of what you do outdoors. I’d hate to have to send this to the Dean, you’re a good student and Professor Romanoff is a damn good academic. I wonder what would happen to her reputation if this ever came out. Don’t make me be the bad guy. Professor Maximoff 7 Attachments

As you clicked through the attached pictures your heart dropped to your stomach, you saw pictures of you and Natasha on her balcony. At first just having coffee, but the pictures soon turned to her naked, you on your knees, Natasha’s blissed out face leaned back with her full chest on display, your hand between her thighs. It was too much. You quickly replied.

I'll do anything for you to keep this under wraps.

Your leg bounced impatiently as you waited for a reply, your breath coming in shorter puffs, no oxygen reaching your brain. Your life was over. If this got sent out, you’d be kicked out of school, your scholarships would disappear, not to mention Natasha’s reputation would tank- ding. 

Perfect. Do me.

[bits-and-babs]

javier peña x tipsy sex 👀

-ˋˏ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˎˊ-

— pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

— word count: 1k

— warnings: alcohol consumption, passing mention of Escobar, oral (male receiving), exhibitionism. 18+, or else!

javier peña masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration

The liquor burns your tongue when you set the latticed glass down, tastebuds prickling with the oaky spice and vanilla. Your cheeks tingle, the high points of your face warm beneath the golden lighting on the inside of the bar.

Yep. You’re edging on drunk.

The handsome DEA agent in front of you loosens another button on his shirt. It’s maroon, and his tan stands out like honey against the rich fabric. Javi watches you over the rim of the glass as he takes another sip of the amber liquid.

“… Do you think we’ll get him?” You whisper, your voice sounding breathy to your own ears- pitchy. A whole day of tailing Escobar to result in nothing had left you feeling flayed. Vulnerable.

Javier raises a slight eyebrow at you, looking at you with a pointed expression. He doesn’t need to say anything. ‘We have to’.

Your eyes slip down his face, unable to hold his inscrutable gaze. Instead, you follow the curve of his moustache, the way it frames his plush lips. His pointed chin, the column of his neck and the chords that stand pronounced against the thin skin splayed across them.

His open collar exposes his clavicle. It glistens under the low lighting, his sweat sparking a thirst that even copious amounts of alcohol couldn’t whet. It’s like you’re an addict, keening for something you know you shouldn’t have- that was dangerous. But every atom, every molecule, from your neurons to your electrons, screams with need.

You could cry. Javier is practically bursting out of those ridiculously tight jeans. The denim clings to him like a candy wrapper, disguising the sweet beneath yet sticking to its form and teasing you with the view of the delicious insides. He drags his palms over his thighs, and your eyes catch the outline of his half-hard cock when he shifts his hips in the wooden seat he occupies.

Impulse pushes you forward, but Javi is out of his seat first. His strong hand wraps around your wrist, his skin hot and clammy to the touch as he drags you across the bar floor. It’s a daze, the flash of the patrons as they dance or lament at their table over their work, love, secret lives.

Then the door to the bathroom is swinging open, and Javier pulls you inside with little ceremony. He closes the door, spinning you on your heel and pressing his back against the wood to hold the single cubicle entrance closed.

“Hermosa,” he whispers, and it’s almost as though he’s scolding you when he takes hold of your chin in those pretty hands of his, “Stop looking at me with those eyes.”

You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to question. Do you dare? ‘What eyes?’

Javier crushes your lips with his own, yanking your head forward and pressing his lips to yours in a hungry, deft kiss that steals your breath. It’s like feeding a flame oxygen, your arousal blooming through your body and burning hot beneath the stretch of your skin.

A groan leaks from his lips when you taste them with your tongue, savouring the flavour of nicotine and menthol that clings to them. Your hands slip down the front of his body, enjoying the hot waves of pleasure that roll off him when you take his belt into your hands. You undo it quickly, nose bumping his as you trace your tongue over his own. That vanilla spice is back, whiskey coating the inside of his mouth.

Opening his belt, you undo the button that clasps the front of those ridiculous jeans together. You feel his hands leave your waist to offer the same, but you dip to your knees on the tiled bathroom floor. It’s grotty, but the look of complete awe on the office playboy’s face is enough to compensate for you wanting to burn your jeans at the end of this.

“Hermosa-“

Pulling his jeans over his hips, your ears are shocked by the distress in the moan that leaks from your lips. He’s bare beneath the denim, ruddy cock springing free without the confines of boxers. Your mouth waters, looking up at Javi through your lashes as you scrape your nails over the peaks of his hip bones.

God, you take him in your tongue and just hold him there for a minute. The natural, musky scent of him tips you off that ledge, intoxicating you. Javi sighs when the velvet skin of him hits your palate. He sweeps his fingers over the top of your head, kind enough to note it might not be best to push your head onto him, given your inebriated state.

“So fucking pretty, Hermosa. Mhmm?” He whispers softly, his expression so sensual that it arcs up your spine in a blissful buzz that makes you swallow him down, taking him into your mouth and wrapping your lips around him.

He chokes out when the warmth of your mouth envelops him, hand curling into a fist when he rests his forearm against his head. A vein pulses on top of your tongue, salty precum cutting through the sweetness of your whiskeys aftertaste.

You bob your head slowly, tracing the ridges and the head, covering the silky skin with your spit and his own precum. Javi tilts his head back, the crown of his head knocking against the wood with a quiet ‘thud’.

“Hoh- oh shit, that’s so fucking good,” he mumbles, upper lip pulling upwards in a slight snarl as you swallow around him, his eyes rolling back. “Hnnngg, that’s right Baby, taking me so good.”

The praise melts in your stomach, bleeds through your nerve endings and sets them alight all at once- petrol on an already raging fire.

A knock on the door of the bathroom startles neither of you. Instead, you sink your mouth further onto Javier’s cock, his groan of your name even louder when your nose brushes his pubic bone.

“Fu-uuuck, Hermosa. That’s it. That’s it Baby- Hgnn-“

END

[trulyumai]

Oh, Mr. Mosses (Series) III

Synopsis: You were fine with the job, the steps were easy enough but the secret  of the D.D.D was getting harder and harder to contain. Each night a new entity would enter the building, each with its own horrific look and intentions. Just as you debate on leaving, a new resident has entered the premises; Francis Mosses who is absolutely entranced by your being.

Will you be as smitten of him as he is of you? Only time will tell.

Taglist: @tfamidoingwithmylife @mariaflor873 @fandomfeind @greycloudsy (Let me know if you want to be added!)

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Death

Oh, Mr. Mosses III

He shook under her touch. She lightly padded her fingers across his chest, going lower until they were right above his trousers. “You're so cute, Francis.” She mumbled, fumbling her hands with his belt, moving his undergarments lower and lower. He puffed, ignoring the comment, he could feel his face getting warm again. Lowering his hands, they met the underside of her thighs, so plush, so very soft. 

“Please- ah! Please sweetheart,” He whispered, staring up at her lovingly. And although it came out as a beg, he began moving her clothes away himself, not waiting for an answer. 

“Ah, ah, ah, patience darling.” She tutted, skirting his hands back to where they once were, each on one either side of her hips.

He groaned, letting his hands reside there as the warmth in his chest got unbearable. She was gorgeous, the moonlight peaked in behind his window, falling down and mirroring her gorgeous image. She was like an old painting, sitting there staring down at him. A nymph, a goddess. 

And if it wasn't for the incessant beeping, he could have came right then and there just staring up at her. Those eyes, that slender neck, her chest-

Jolting upright he cursed. So fucking close, yet so far. With a sigh he leaned his legs over to the side of his bed. Covered in sweat he grimaced, ever since his meeting with the darling receptionist he's had these dreams, visions. He'd wake up in the same state; desperate, sweaty and needy. And oh so close to release. 

With his elbows on his knees he sighed once more while looking at the clock, just beside his bedside. The red numbers mocked him and read out 4:30AM. 

Today was going to be a long day. 

“The reports my dear, were utterly ruined I tell you! Such an incompetent assistant I have, truly.” Mr. Gauss was a loud man, too loud for the poor receptionist to handle at the moment. He spoke of his job, his reports almost every meeting they would be unfortunate to have. With a sigh she handed his papers once more, yet it went unnoticed as he rambled on about his assistant. The poor lady who had spilled coffee over his reports this morning. 

“Mr. Gauss,” She shook the ID in her hands once more, in case this time he would notice. He didn't. 

“I'll tell you, the job couldn't be easier I mean, you should know shouldn't you darling? It's just a simple desk job!” 

“Mr Gauss!” With a firm tone she pursed her lips, finally getting the older man's attention. 

“Your papers, sir.” 

“Oh how silly of me, thank you sweetheart! Listen, I'm getting a call but I'll see you soon my dear!” With a wink he was off, his attention already diverting to the phone that he pulled from his gray and black suit pocket. 

Groaning, she slouched back down on her chair. Easy, she wished it was as simple as he made it. With no screaming residents, bloody faces and hands being slammed in her direction. Just the other day a mimic cried to her, screaming she was a murderer. It begged to be let in. “I'll die out there, please you don't understand!” Its tone was racked with fear, it shook with plenty of emotion and if it wasn't covered in someone's blood, she might have thought to let it inside. It went out with a fight too, one of the guards bodies had to be dragged out, their yellow hazmat suit stained in maroon. Everytime she blinked she could see his body, crumpled up in the corner of the lobby, limbs hanging limply at their sides, mask torn.

It was getting late, and soon she could go home, take a nice bath, forget about the color red for a while. 

“Excuse me,”

“SHIT!” She jumped, not noticing the man standing just in front of the window. Holding her chest she cried out. 

“Francis, jesus christ you startled me,” 

With a light frown he reached out, letting his palm splay over the clear glass. “I'm sorry, sweetheart, are you okay?” Sweetheart? That was new, she thought, calming her chest as quickly as she could. 

“It's okay I was just- I zoned out it seems,” she smiled, it was light, a comfort to the man in front of her. 

With a small smile of his own he grabbed his forms, sliding them through the slot per usual. 

“You're early, no one wanted any milk today?” She blinked up at him, grabbing the forms while staring blatantly at the taller man. His uniform was normal, the hat laid atop his black hair and his eyes were as tired as ever. 

“You could say that,” The milkman mumbled, leaning comfortably over the counter, looking down at her as she compared the forms. 

She began reading his ID, slowly as practiced, mouthing each number as she went. 

235569-

“Hey.” Looking up she noticed how close the man got, closer than ever before. His face was practically touching the glass. 

“Hi?” She looked at him confusedly, tilting her head to the side unconsciously. 

“I'm free now. For the coffee?” 

That's right! The date, she had nearly forgotten after the day she had. It slipped her mind, she would have worn something cuter, more revealing than this old sweater she's had stuffed in her closet. It was cold today, lightly sprinkling with rain from time to time so she grabbed the next best thing to keep her warm, not even thinking she would see Francis today. 

“Oh! Um, yeah I have some back here if you'd like?” Skipping over the numbers she started comparing them.

23556941989-

BANG. 

Francis hand made contact with the glass, his pale fingers flexed as they made contact, nails digging lightly into the material.

Noticing her hesitancy he laughed. “There was a bug, didn't mean to startle you. Again.” 

Where was she again? At nine? No, perhaps the eight.

“Everything looks in order,” she mumbled, slowly glancing back up at the milkman. Smiling, she slid the papers to the side, fumbling for the keys around her pocket. 

“One moment and i'll open the door okay?” 

Francis said nothing but nodded, flexing his hands as she made her way towards the wooden door just to his left. With a click the door was open, Francis was already on the other side by the time it unlatched. Maybe he was just eager, she thought. That would be cute, no man had been eager to see her before, so the newfound feeling was exhilarating. 

Standing aside she gestured him in. My was he much taller face to face, she only came up to his shoulders, if that. He stepped in, walking just past her towards the room on the side, where the little kitchen resided. 

Closing the door she followed, humming a little tune as she grabbed coffee cups just past him. “How do you like your- oof!” Turning to talk to the man she was met with his chest, when had me moved so close? 

“I'll get that, sweetheart,” He mumbled lowly, his voice just barely above a whisper. So quite, so low. 

“Oh, um, okay” Without thinking she passed him the mugs, not even realizing she forgot to tell him her coffee preference before walking towards the door once more, to the front desk. 

“I'm gonna make sure no one needs any help, I'll be right back!”

With a hum, the man got to work on the drinks, it was only then she noticed his hands. Veiner than normal, his nails were a little longer too, had they always been so sharp? 

Turning her head she padded her way to the desk, to the forms residing on her desk. 

Francis form stared back at her, along with his ID. Dusting her fingers over the numbers she read again.

235569418995

Now the other one 

235569418895

No, she had to be mistaken. Reading it again, and again, the paper was starting to crumple with the amount of force she exerted from her fingers. 

The numbers, she noticed, the numbers, there off by one number. How did she miss it?! Biting her lip she looked back towards the kitchen. The room had gone silent, she prayed she still had time. The D.D.D had to act fast, she still could live, it couldn't be too late. Glancing back in front of her she reached out, just before her hand met with the phone she felt it. 

The pressure of someone standing behind her. 

A breath on her neck.

Light nails digging into the side of her hips. 

“Don't spoil the mood, pretty girl,” Francis sneered. 

“Our night has just begun after all.”

She couldn't help but shake, she didn't want to die, this creature whatever it was wasn't prone to showing mercy. Any kindness whatsoever. 

“Your coffee will get cold,” He teased, lightly reaching his hand up, playing with the hair around her face before displaying itself on her cheeks, tightly grabbing them until her lips protruded with the pressure. 

“Such a daft little thing,” He tutted.

“Cute, but oh, so daft.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt tears spring loose, dribbling down her cheeks until they made contact with Francis' hand. 

He laughed, a deep somber one before he craned his neck down, licking the salty liquid from her face. His slimy tongue stopped just before her eye, where she finally opened it to see him smiling at her. 

His teeth. Jesus Christ they were so sharp. All of them pointy and white, each one more jagged than the other. 

“I'm tempted to keep you, you’d be a good little listener wouldn't you?” With a mocking tone he squeezed her cheeks harder, until little red crescents were indented on her face. 

"You're so good for me, so obedient." He moaned, rubbing his other hand around her body, going lower, and lower.

“Ah-!”

“Quiet!” He seethed, glancing now to the front desk. The window. It was then she noticed, a silhouette peering over the desk. A resident waiting to be checked in. 

“Please,” She begged, more tears streamed down her soft face.

“Don't hurt me.” 

Looking back over his squinted eyes, his pupils were dilated and his mouth slightly open and set in a frown.

“What the fuck did I say-

“Hello?” A masculine voice rang out. Francis. With widened eyes she gripped the hand covering her mouth, felt the roughness of the hand and shook. 

The other Francis heaved, with anger he gripped the receptionist's face once more. Hands bloody he slid his thumb over her lips, lightly parting it and pushing the digit forward.

The taste of iron invaded her senses, wincing she tried to pull back but was only met with resistance. 

“I'll be back, sweet thing.” He promised, pulling his finger back he looked at it with wild eyes. Putting it up to his own lips before sucking them clean. 

“You be a good girl, you here?” He laughed, lightly smacking her cheek before entering the back. Towards the kitchen.

Without thought she ran to the desk, meeting the eyes of Francis, the real Francis. 

Noticing her wide eyes and bloody mouth he looked with concern, eyebrows leaving a frown mark on his face.

“Are you alright?”

She wanted comfort, wanted help. With a light shake to her fingers she took his ID, not bothering to compare the numbers. 

The rules. If she uddered anything about the mimics, the D.D.D, she would face even more backlash than she faced now. How was she supposed to bring this up to management, let alone Francis. 

Gathering her thoughts she passed the ID back through. Putting on her best face she smiled at him, though it looked more like a grimace. 

“Yes, just… A long day. You're free to pass,” With a touch of a button the elevator was left open. 

Francis eyed her once more. 

“Mmh, okay. You can call me if you need anything. I'm just a floor away.” Grabbing his ID he shifted uncomfortably. His tongue felt heavy and the words he wanted to say seemed to get stuck on the top of his mouth. With a tired gaze and small wave, the receptionist moved out of his sight and he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Maybe he'll ask for a coffee next time.