#maybe stick to furniture design

[javelinbk]

The Beatles talking about the future on ‘The Mersey Sound’, filmed 28th August 1963. Part 4 - Ringo Starr (Part 1 - John, Part 2a, 2b - Paul, Part 3 - George)

[gamebunny-advance]

Random Question Time

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

SFX Magazine Issue 372 - Designing Good Omens ❤ 😊

PRODUCTION DESIGNER MICHAEL RALPH REVEALS HOW THE SHOW’S CENTREPIECE SET, WHICKBER STREET, WAS GIVEN A DEVILISHLY CLEVER UPGRADE FOR THE SECOND SEASON

WORDS: DAVE GOLDER

Invisible Columns And Thin Walls “The new studio is Pyramid Studios in Bathgate – it used to be a furniture warehouse. And unfortunately – or fortunately, because I accept these things as not challenges but gifts – right down the middle of that studio are a series of upright columns. But you’ll never spot them on screen. I had to build them in and integrate them into the walls and still get the streets between them. And it worked.

“There’s all sorts of cheeky design values to those sets. Normally a set like this is double-skin. In other words, you do an interior wall and an exterior wall, with an airspace in between. But really, the only time a viewer notices that there’s that width is at the doors and the windows. So I cheated all that. I ended up with single walls everywhere. So the exterior wall is the interior wall, just painted. All I did was make the sash windows and entrances wider to give it some depth as you walked in.”

GOOD OMENS HAD A CHANGE of location for its second season, but hopefully you didn’t notice. Because Whickber Street in Soho upped sticks from an airfield in Hertfordshire to a furniture warehouse in Bathgate, Edinburgh. It’s the kind of nonsensical geographical shenanigans that could only make sense in the crazy world of film and TV, and production designer Michael Ralph was the man in charge of rebuilding and expanding the show’s vast central set. “I wish we could have built more in season one than we did,” says Ralph, whose previous work has included Primeval and Dickensian. “We built the ground floor of everything and the facades of all the shops. But we didn’t build anything higher than that, because we were out on an airfield in a very, very difficult terrain and weather conditions, so we really couldn’t go much higher. Visual effects created the upper levels.”

But with season two the set has gone to a whole other level… literally. “What happened was that the rest of the street became integrated into the series’s storyline,” explains Ralph. “So we needed a record shop, we needed a coffee shop that actually had an inside, we needed a magic shop, we needed the pub. To introduce those meant we had to change the street with a layout that works from a storylines point of view. In other words, things like someone standing at the counter in the record shop had to be able to eyeball somebody standing at the counter in the coffee shop. They had to be able to eyeball Aziraphale sitting in his office in the window of the bookshop. But the rest of it was a pleasure to do inside, because we could expand it and I could go up two storeys.”

For most of the set, which is around 80 metres long and 60 metres wide, the two storeys only applied to the shop frontages, but in the case of Aziraphale’s bookshop, it allowed Ralph to build the mezzanine level for real this time. According to Ralph it became one of the cast and crews’ favourite places to hang out during down time.

But while AZ Fell & Co has grown in height, it actually has a slightly smaller footprint because of the logistics of adapting it to the new studio.

“Everybody swore to me that no one would notice,” says Ralph wryly. “I walked onto it and instinctively knew there was a difference immediately, and they hated me for that. I have this innate sense about spatial awareness and an eye like a spirit level.

“It’s not a lot, though – I think we’ve lost maybe two and a half feet on the front wall internally. I think that there’s a couple of other smaller areas, but only I’d notice. So I can be really annoying to my guys, but only on those levels. Not on any other. They actually quite like me…”

Populating The Bookshop “The props in the new bookshop set were a flawless reproduction from the set decorator Bronwyn Franklin [who is also Ralph’s wife]. It was really the worst-case scenario after season one. She works off the concept art that I produce, but what she does is she adds so much more to the character of the set. She doesn’t buy anything she doesn’t love, or doesn’t fit the character.

“But the things she put a lot of work into finding for season one, they were pretty much one-offs. When we burnt the set down in the sixth episode, we lost a lot of props, many of which had been spotted and appreciated by the fans. So Bronwyn had to discover a new set decorating technique: forensic buying.

“She found it all – duplicates and replicas. It took ages. In that respect, the Covid delay was very helpful for Bron. There’s 7,000 books in there and there’s not one fake book. That’s mainly because… it’s a weird thing to say, but we wanted it to smell and feel like a bookshop to everybody that was in it, all the time.

“It affects everybody subliminally; it affects everybody’s performance – actors and crew – it raises the bar 15 to 20%. And the detail, you know… We love a lot of detail.”

(look at the description under this, they called him 'Azi' hehehehe :D <3)

Aziraphale’s Inspirational Correspondence “There’s not one single scrap of paper on Aziraphale’s desk that isn’t written specifically for Aziraphale. Every single piece is not just fodder that’s been shoved there, it has a purpose; it’s a letter of thanks, or an enquiry about a book or something.

“Michael Sheen is so submerged in his character he would get lost sitting at his own desk, reading his own correspondence between takes. I believe wholeheartedly that if you put that much care into every single piece of detail, on that desk and in that room, that everybody feels it, including the crew, and then they give that set the same respect it deserves.

“They also lift their game because they believe that they’re doing something of so much care and value. Really, it’s a domino effect of passion and care for what you’re producing.”

Alternative Music “My daughter Mickey is lead graphic designer [two of Ralph’s sons worked on the series too, one as a concept artist, the other in props]. They’re the ones that produced all of that handwritten work on the desk. She’s the one that took on the record shop and made up 80 band names so that we didn’t have to get copyright clearance from real bands. Then she produced records and sleeves that spanned 50, 60 years of their recordings, and all of the graphics on the walls.

“I remember Michael and Neil [Gaiman] getting lost following one band’s history on the wall, looking at their posters and albums desperately trying to find out whether they survived that emo period.”

It’s A Kind Of Magic One of the new shops in Whickber Street for season two was Will Goldstone’s Magic Shop, which is full of as many Easter eggs as off-the-shelf conjuring tricks, including a Matt Smith Doctor Who-style fez and a toy orang-utan that’s a nod to Discworld’s The Librarian. Ralph says that while the series is full of references to Gaiman, Pratchett and Doctor Who, Michael Sheen never complained about a lack of Masters Of Sex in-jokes. “He’d be the last person to make that sort of comment!”

Ralph also reveals that the magic shop counter was another one of his wife’s purchases, bought at a Glasgow reclamation yard.

The Anansi Boys Connection Ralph reveals that Good Omens season two used the state-of-the-art special effects tech Volume (famous for its use in The Mandalorian to create virtual backdrops) for just one sequence, but he will be using it extensively elsewhere on another Gaiman TV series being made for Prime Video.

“We used Volume on the opening sequence to create the creation of the universe. I was designing Anansi Boys in duality with this project, which seems an outrageously suicidal thing to do. But it was fantastic and Anansi Boys was all on Volume. So I designed for Volume on one show and not Volume on the other. The complexities and the psychology of both is different.”

[puck-luck]

one bed trope by design | dawson mercer

warnings: fwb but unspokenly more, eldest daughter vibes in the first paragraph, teasing & annoying your partner, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, heavyyyy making out, dirty talk (it’s pretty sweet, actually), possessive!dawson, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming, whimpering man (slay), begging (only a little), mentions/allusions to consensual somnophilia, and a little bit of a fixation on spit (as i am wont to do) pairing: dawson mercer x reader summary: the one when dawson comes over to build a bedframe for your guest room, demands multiple rewards,  and pouts when you try to make him test it out alone. he ends up getting everything he wanted, though. wc: 4636

You have a bone to pick with anyone who writes furniture-building instruction manuals. After all the years of “building things” (holding flashlights, standing aimlessly for support, fetching beers) with your dad, you would think that you’d be able to build a bedframe. You would think that you could read the directions, screw in some nails, glue some pegs into place, and your guest room would be all set. In another world, you’re flying through this process and the bed’s already done. Here, in this world, the real world, all you’ve done is sort all of your supplies and read the first page of directions and it’s been shit. The wording is unclear, the pictures don’t make any sense, the bags of supplies aren’t clearly labeled in conjunction with the guide in the manual, and you’re at your wits end.

So you call Daws. 

Your best friend in the world, Dawson Mercer, has always been skilled with his hands. Never mind the double entendre, you’ve seen how deftly Daws can handle a stick and a puck, so he is surely able to handle a screwdriver and a drill. 

In fact, continuing with the entendres, you know Dawson can handle a drill. On top of being your best friend in the world, you two had started hooking up in his second season at New Jersey, after you’d gotten a job in New York City and relocated. With just thirty minutes between you two and a lot of pent up feelings on both sides, it was only a matter of time until one of you broke and jumped the other. It ended up being him, but it was your fault.

It was a late night and you’d been up working on a proposal for your boss. It was well past midnight and you had work the following day, but you were in a groove and you couldn’t stop until the task was done. It had already been a tough day and you started to feel better when your work began to flow, but then you forgot a word and could not find it no matter what thesaurus you used or what questions you googled. You knew it was the perfect word for this proposal and it sounded so intelligent in your head, but you could not fucking remember it. It might’ve been the sleep deprivation of it all, but this sent you over the edge and before you knew it, you were calling Dawson and tearfully explaining your situation. He couldn’t understand you through the hysteria and was at your door as soon as possible, scooping you up and taking your computer away. You had explained everything again through your tears and he had held you in his arms, tucking your head away in his neck so you could hide from the world. When your breath evened out, Daws had registered the flutter of your eyelashes against his pulse and couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. It had been sweet and it was a long time coming. Things escalated that night about as far as you could go for the first time, with Dawson treating you like something that would break if he held you too tightly or looked at you too long. You both were shy but cared so much for each other that it just felt right.

You hadn’t defined it in the year since, but you know and Dawson knows that there is something special between you. You’re best friends and maybe, one day, you’d both be ready to commit to more.

For now, though, Dawson is the guy who’s going to sit in your guest bedroom and build your guest bed and maybe you’ll repay him if you felt like it.

Dawson comes over as soon as you call and walks into your apartment sopping wet. When he walks into your space, he shakes like a wet dog and you shriek. He gives you a toothy grin, your heart fluttering with fondness like it always does when you see the space between his teeth. “It’s raining out there,” he says unnecessarily, walking over to plant a quick kiss on your lips. “Where’s this bed you need your big, strong man to build, baby?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Big, strong man,” you mock. “Where’s that guy? I don’t see a big, strong man here.”

Daws pinches your hip for your comment, but it doesn’t really hurt.

“I’m turning my office into a guest bedroom,” you continue. You lean up and give Daws another little peck. “The bed is in there.” You reach around and give him a pat on the butt. “Go on, get in there.”

“You’re not going to help me?” Dawson calls over his shoulder, teasing you as he walks down the hall towards his daunting task. 

“Darling, you’ll just get distracted by me,” you reply. “I’ll be in here if you need me.” You take a seat on your couch and pick up the book you’ve been reading. You drape a blanket over your legs and lean back against the arm of the sofa, finding your bookmark and opening the book to that page. 

You can hear the rain growing heavier as you continue to read, as well as the sounds of Dawson putting the new bedframe together. He’s making quick work of it and takes a break at his self-proclaimed halfway point. He wanders into the living room and washes his hands in your kitchen sink before joining you on the couch. He sneaks under the blanket and lays between your legs, resting his head on your stomach. His hand reaches up, comes out from under the blanket, and rests on your chest. He palms your breast, just holding the weight of it in his hand. You place your bookmark and close your book, setting it down on the coffee table to your left. You lift the blanket and make eye contact with Dawson. You can’t help but think of your friend’s cat from university, who used to cuddle on your lap under the blanket just like this.

“Hi,” Dawson greets, smiling wide.

“Hi, sweet,” you reply and card your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Have you given up on that bed yet? It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, no,” Dawson hums, purring like your friend’s cat used to when you pet him. He pushes into your hand just the same. “Just taking a break with my favorite girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease. Your hand moves to pinch his cheek like a grandmother would. “You’re trying to get in good with me, huh?”

“You always assume I’ve got an ulterior motive,” Dawson complains. “Maybe I just want to hang out with you.”

You give him an unimpressed look with a tilt of your head. 

Dawson snickers quietly, burying his head in your stomach. “No, you’re right.” He kisses your tummy, just next to your belly button. “I always have an ulterior motive.”

You spread your legs a little wider, allowing Dawson to fit his shoulders between your thighs comfortably. “What do you have in mind?”

“A snack,” Dawson replies in a cheeky voice, the smirk evident in his tone before he ghosts a fingertip under the hemline of your sleep shorts. 

Because you’re a brat, you twist away from Daws. You move to get up from the couch. “Shall I make you something?” You ask. 

Daws holds you down with his full weight, wrapping his arms around you until you’re effectively immobilized. You can’t see him anymore, having dropped the blanket when you moved to get up. “No,” he whines, drawing out the word and pulling you to him. He bites the side of your hip gently through your shorts. “Stay here, you’ve got what I need.”

“What you need,” you repeat, smiling to yourself. This is the side of Dawson that rarely anyone gets to see, even though he’s a happy-go-lucky guy most of the time. No one gets to see Dawson all whiny and eager to please, happy to get himself off by just getting his mouth on you. He’s sated like this, happy to stay between your legs for hours and make you come time after time, until you’re oversensitive and pushing him away. You’re happy to let him indulge most of the time, but that bed is still only halfway built. “Can you make it quick?” You ask. “Need you to finish building that bed for me.”

Dawson presses a kiss to your core, making you shiver. He hums in agreement. “Can we christen it after I’m done?”

You giggle and swat the back of his head under the blanket. “You wish.”

Dawson hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and drags them down, removing them delicately and placing them on the ground next to him. He kisses down your leg as he does it and it’s even more arousing than it normally is, given that you can’t see him under the blanket and can barely guess his next move. “I do wish,” he agrees before moving onto your panties. “Can I earn it?”

“You can sleep in there by yourself and let me know how it is, since all my guests will be on their lonesome,” you say. You inhale sharply when Dawson dives in and flicks your clit with his tongue. “I think that would be more effective.”

Dawson bites the side of your thigh sharply and makes you jump. “Don’t wanna sleep alone,” he complains. “You’re mean to me.” He licks over your folds again, shifting to use both hands to spread you open so he can begin to eat you out properly.

“Fuck, Daws,” you groan, throwing your head back. You take a breath before continuing. “If I’m so mean to you, why am I letting you eat your snack? I could tell you no at any moment and make you go back to the guest room and work some more before kicking you out of my apartment and sending you home.”

“You’re talking a lot for someone who’s supposed to be enjoying herself,” Dawson mutters. You can hear his pout, not needing to see it to know that he’s annoyed that he hasn’t rendered you speechless. 

“Maybe you need to do better,” you breathe out, grinding down on the fingers that are slowly tracing your entrance, begging for them to enter you without actually saying it.

Dawson growls at that, taking it like a challenge and dipping his fingers into you and flicking his tongue against your clit quickly, giving everything he can to bring you to your peak.

You moan, reaching under the blanket to thread your fingers in Dawson’s hair. You tug at it and he moans, the vibrations making you shiver and bringing you just that much closer to your orgasm. “Dawsy,” you breathe out. “More.”

“Not much more to give, baby,” Dawson mumbles against your pussy, but pistons his fingers into you more quickly. “Giving you all I’ve got right now. Trying my best to make you feel good, sweet girl.”

“Feels so good,” you reassure him. “Need something else, need a little more.”

Dawson adds another finger, stretching you. He reaches up and pulling the blanket down so he’s not covered anymore. You can see your wetness dripping down his fingers and onto his wrist as he continues to move them inside you. You grip his hair as he brings his other thumb to your clit, rubbing in rapid circles. He spreads his fingers and leans in, doing his best to lick between them and get his tongue inside you. He looks up through his eyelashes at you when he does it and it’s that image, his wide eyes filled with so much admiration for you and determination to prove that he can make you feel so, so good, that makes you clench down and let your release wash over you. 

Dawson continues to thrust his fingers into you through your climax, mouthing over your clit and suckling at it until you’re squirming and panting. You pull him up your body by his hair, needing his mouth on yours. You keen into his mouth as he speeds his fingers up again. “Daws,” you gasp.

“Baby,” he replies, then kisses you again. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you two make out, movements lazy. He continues to finger you through it, unwilling (maybe even unable) to pull out of your wet heat just yet. He’s laying on top of you at this point and the weight of him is wonderful, always comforting you like nothing else could.

You kiss for what feels like ages, just feeling each other. Dawson grinds his hips against your leg, pressing his hardness into you, but making no move to do anything about it. It’s lovely, this moment, and comfortable like you two had been in love for years and you could do this every day. In the least cliché way, you knew that Dawson was your soulmate, the person you were meant to find in any universe at any time. He wasn’t yours, but he was. 

“Love you, Dawsy,” you tell him between kisses. 

He hums in agreement.

“Can you go finish building my bed now?” You ask, your one-track mind itching to get Dawson back on task. You really wanted that bed to be finished today, just so you didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Dawson pulls away and glares down at you. “Here I am, making out with you with my fingers inside your pretty pussy, and you’re going to make me work?” He demands. 

You giggle, leaning up to plant a wet kiss, a real smacker, on his cheek. “Yeah,” you say, shit eating grin on your face when you settle back onto the couch cushions. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, Dawson slides his fingers out of you and gets off the couch, licking his fingers clean and adjusting himself in his sweatpants. “So mean,” he reminds you with a cutting glance before he disappears back down the hallway and into the guest room.

You return to your book. “Holler when you’re done!” You yell to Dawson. 

“I don’t know why I ever do anything for you,” Dawson replies, voice floating down the hall with ire. 

You laugh out loud, loud enough for him to hear, and get comfortable with your book. You read for probably another hour before Dawson summons you to the guest room to inspect his handiwork.

When you round the doorway, Dawson’s eyes grow wide, noticing that you never put your panties or shorts back on. He’s standing next to the bed as you approach and he licks his lips. “You’re sure we can’t christen my handiwork?” He asks again.

“No,” you insist. “Merc, you already got what you needed.” You roll your eyes and flip the bird at your best friend, chastising him for being insufferable in his desire for you. “You’re such a horndog.”

Dawson shrugs. “Can you blame me? I’ve seen you how beautiful you are naked, I’ve heard how pretty you sound when I’m fucking you, and I’ve been loving you since forever. Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to ask. You’re lucky I ask because you know I could pick you up and take you, and you’d love it”

“Do you want me to call you a wah-mbulance?” You retort, folding your arms over your chest. You glare at him with an eyeful of reproach, but he’s right. He’s taken you like that before and it’s been incredible, something you’ll even ask him for on occasion.

“Want you to let me fuck you,” he replies in the same tone, mirroring your actions.

You two stare at each other before bursting out in laughter. You walk over and loop your arms around Dawson’s neck, pressing your body against his and giving him a chaste kiss. His hands rest on your hips, holding you tightly. He kisses you again.

“Go to bed, Merc,” you say when you finally pull away. You step back. “Let me know how the bed feels.”

Dawson bids you goodnight and  turns around. You walk to the door. You leave the room and make it all the way to your bedroom before you hear a crash and rush back in.

Dawson is smiling, proud of himself as you take in the lopsided bed. One of the legs of the frame has been hastily removed and if you’re not mistaken, you can see it peeking out from where Dawson’s arms are crossed behind his back. “Oh no,” Dawson says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It broke. I guess I have to sleep with you.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief and you let out a laugh. “Dawson!” You exclaim, still giggling. “What’s the matter with you?”

Dawson shrugs. “Well, I can’t sleep on a broken bed,” he tells you. “That would be unsafe.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” You play along, a small smile still written across your face. 

Dawson takes a step forward and bats his eyelashes at you. “I guess I have to sleep in yours.”

“You’re insatiable,” you tell him. You turn on your heel and leave the room, listening for the clatter of the leg of the bed before Dawson’s footsteps trail after you. Both sounds come, just as you expected, and Dawson’s hands find your hips again. He walks with you, pressed along your back, lips attached to the back of your neck. 

“I want you,” he teases, his voice light and melodic in your ear. He reaches his hand up and traces your neck. “Don’t I get a reward for building furniture for you?”

“You already got a snack.”

“Ugh, but then you took it away from me after I made you come,” he complains. “And you’re teasing me, not putting your panties back on before checking my work. It’s a little slutty, baby. Is that what you wear for all the people that come to work in your house?”

Now in your bedroom, Dawson turns you around and walks you back until your knees hit the edge of your bed. You fall down onto the mattress and bring Dawson down with you. He reaches up your shirt and grabs a handful of your tit, gripping it in a way that directly contrasts how he was just holding it on the couch. 

“No bra either,” he notes, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in. “You give all these workers quite a show.”

“You know I only dress like this for you, Dawson,” you reply. 

“Wish you’d commit to the bit and just be naked all the time.” He kisses your shoulder, other hand sliding up your shirt to grasp your other breast. He kneads them both, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers. 

“Wish you’d take an article of clothing off,” you retort. 

“I’ll take it all off for you if you want me to, baby, just say the word,” Dawson promises. “Can I take your shirt off? Wanna get my mouth on these pretty tits.”

“Only if you take yours off too.”

Dawson doesn’t waste a second, pushing up to stand over you. He grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing his muscular body to you. His chain falls between his collarbones beautifully and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down his legs, leaving him just in his boxer-briefs. The dark gray briefs leave nothing to the imagination and you bite your lip, gazing at the wet patch on the front of the briefs, right at the tip of his dick. 

You reach up and Dawson grabs your hands, pulling you into a sitting position. You raise your arms and he kneels between your legs, pushing your shirt up and bunching the fabric in his hands before he pulls it over your head and reveals your body to him. 

Dawson kisses up your stomach, slowly rising from his knees. He lifts you up and gently places you down so your head is on the pillows at the top of your bed. He then leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, shoulder, collarbone, and sternum until he makes his way to your breast.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He grinds down on the bed, rolling your other nipple between his fingers again. You moan and once he’s determined that your breast has received enough attention from his mouth, he switches to the other one. It’s slow and sensual, with Dawson taking his time and savoring the moment and the sounds that he pulls from your lips.

“Dawson.” You find your voice, signaling to him that it’s time to move on. 

“Mmm?” He continues to suckle on your chest, leaving a hickey on the side of your boob now.

“Fuck me,” you say. “Come up here and fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Dawson asks, pulling away from you to grin at you. “Need my cock, baby?”

You pretend to think. “Need is an exaggeration,” you tell him.

Dawson scoffs and leans down to kiss you, lining his cock up with your entrance. “No pussy gets this wet if ‘need is an exaggeration,’ sweet girl.”

You whine as he sinks into you and he lets out a breath that sounds like a groan, his head falling with the sensation. He presses his forehead against yours and bucks into you, holding back to take in the sensation of your heat around him. He always gets pussy drunk on you and goes too fast, loving the way you squeeze him and milk him for every drop. It’s only so long before he does it again and starts to really fuck into you, but he’s intoxicated now by the slow drag of your walls against his length.

“So warm, so wet,” Dawson groans. “All for me.”

“All yours,” you agree. You close your eyes and kiss Dawson, swallowing the moan that comes from his lips at your words. 

His hips start to pick up speed. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

Dawson’s hips move with desperation. It’s the easiest way to bring him to his climax, you’ve learned over the past year. He’s possessive over you and although you’re not boyfriend-girlfriend, he knows that you belong to him. When you admit it, when he hears those words come from your mouth, it squeezes at his heart the same way you clench down on his cock when he hits that spot inside of you.

“Dawsy,” you breathe out, clutching at his shoulders. “Feels so good.” 

With every thrust of his hips, he brings you closer to your second orgasm of the night. He thrusts forward and sucks at your neck, leaving wet kiss after wet kiss. His saliva cools on your neck as his wet, hot pants leave his lips. He grunts and kisses you deeply, his tongue filling your mouth as deliciously as his cock is filling your pussy. He pulls back and looks down, watching his cock disappear into your heat. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, pressing a hand against your stomach and feeling himself inside of you. 

A wanton moan leaves your mouth, back arching from the pressure. Your mouth hangs open and Dawson leans up, biting your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Feeling good, honey?” He asks quietly. “Love hearing you.”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, and you let out a squeal when Dawson reaches up to give your nipple a sharp pinch. “God!” Your stomach turns, so close to climaxing. With every light touch of his fingers and the consistent kiss of his cock to the spot inside you that makes you see stars, you inch toward your peak.

“Just me,” he says, cheeky but like it’s an afterthought. He soothes the pinch with a kiss before leaning back up to kiss you. His hips stutter and Dawson groans. “Gonna come, baby,” he says. “Gonna come with me?”

“Always,” you whine, voice high in the back of your throat but sounding far away, like Dawson’s fucked your soul right out of your body. 

“Come,” Dawson breathes out, hips stuttering as he moves them with abandoned fervor, chasing a high that’s just out of reach. “Come, baby, need to feel you. Need you to come on my cock before I do, please,” he begs. “Fuck!”

You can’t control the scream that bubbles in your throat as you let go, juices absolutely soaking Dawson’s cock inside you and the covers beneath you. It wasn’t often that he made you squirt, but tonight was one of those nights. Your release burst out of you like a dam and left you completely boneless on the bed. 

It only took a few more thrusts for Dawson to whimper and shoot off inside of you. You’re like a vice around him, clenching down so hard that it’s almost difficult to thrust in and out of you. “Sweetheart,” Dawson whines, voice dripping with emotion. “So tight, fuck, love your pussy.”

He collapses onto you, his head on your chest, his hands on your waist, his weight pressing you into the bed the same way he trapped you onto the couch earlier in the night. 

You trace the lines of his face with your thumb as your breath syncs with his and you both come down from your climaxes. 

Dawson hasn’t pulled out yet, his cock still half-hard inside of you. He moves his hips slowly, fucking his cum into you at an excruciating pace. 

You plant a kiss on Dawson’s head and hug him to your body. “We should probably get up, Daws.”

Dawson shakes his head. “Gonna fall asleep right here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dawson looks up at you with tired eyes. “Gonna keep my cock inside you all night, wake you up by making you come again.”

You let out a breath at that, clenching down on him subconsciously. You can’t help it. He’s so honest and he’s unabashed about how he wants you. 

He smiles, almost devilish. “You like that idea, huh?”

“Gimme a kiss,” you request, puckering your lips and waiting for him to come to you.

He does easily, unashamed and eager. “Could kiss you all night long.”

“Don’t, I’m tired.”

“Just think,” Dawson murmurs against your lips. “We could’ve done all of this in your guest bedroom.”

“Well someone broke the bed.”

“I wouldn’t have had to break the bed if you had just slept there with me.”

You two bicker like a married couple before you remove Dawson’s cock yourself and swing your legs over the side of the bed. He trails after you when you head to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with your toothbrush as you use the toilet. It’s all very domestic and you argue with him about the toothbrush, too, because he has his own and knows exactly where it lives (next to yours in the holder). You steal the brush from his mouth and leave him to rinse his mouth of the minty substance. You turn your back to him to hide the satisfied smirk on your face when you pop the toothbrush in your mouth without rinsing it of his germs.

When you make your way back to bed after cleaning yourself up, Dawson lays behind you and plasters himself to your back. He slips his cock back into your heat again and sighs, settling into the comfort of your heat. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck and breathes evenly until he falls asleep. You fall asleep with him, and if Dawson makes good on his promise of fucking you awake, that’s nobody’s business but yours.

notes: don't ever put me in a room with dawson mercer because i will make it my mission to stockholm sydrome that boy. welcome to my longest fic yet and man, oh man, did i have fun writing this.

[duskier]

Invisible man but it's toxic Ghoap x reader ...

cw: this is literally just ghoap mentally torturing reader and there are mentions of them intending to kill the reader 🫶

Them having access to fictional sounding levels of military technology and getting two suits of their own that allow them to go completely invisible- suits designed to even erase their shadows via a complex system of reflections and lights.

Of course, you're the first thing to come to mind when they put them on. You were their favorite barista at a café close to base. You probably didn't remember them out of your sea of regulars, but they never stopped thinking about you, a mutual fixation on you blooming between them. They start out small, breaking and entering in the middle of the night. Unplugging your phone from the charger so you wake up without an alarm, the battery long dead. Turning off power to your fridge and leaving the doors open, the food spoiled by the time you wake up.

The best part of the suits is they get to stick around and watch your devastation. Scrambling out of bed with a panicked, half asleep noise, putting on the first set of work clothes you can find. Soap leaning against your fridge so he can get a full look at your face as it crumples at the sight, your vegetables wilted and your meat already smelling.

Ghost takes it a step further after nights of keeping you awake with strange knocks around the house or precious items crashing to the floor. Soap has to bite his lip to keep from giggling as they take turns whispering your name in the night. They wait a few minutes between while they watch you peer into the dark, breath shaking in your chest in fear. You look so adorable with your eyes wide and darting about, like a pretty little thing of prey in your thin tank top and comfy panties. Like you're just waiting to be eaten.

Ghost brushes by Soap, hands reaching out purposefully to give his hand a squeeze. A silent command to stay. Soap is left waiting with you, continuing to admire how vulnerable you look. All it does is leave his cock swelling in the pants, fantasizing about ways he could get you to make that pretty frightened face for him more directly. Soap couldn't wait to get his hands on you, make you feel real weakness under his grip. They weren't going to fuck with you forever, this was just them playing with their food. A sort of foreplay. He wonders if you'd cry, if you'd beg for your life. Or would you try and play along, in hopes they'd spare you? Would you try to fight back, could you maybe land a blow on him? Soap palms himself quietly, careful to not let your now focused hearing catch him in the act. He really hopes you can split his lip or something, leave a scar to remember you by.

The both of you startle as suddenly you hear Ghost bellowing your name from somewhere on the first floor. His voice is so loud, so angry, it barely sounds human and is left ringing in your ears for a full minute after. You're paralyzed with fear, hyperventilating now. Before you could snap out of it and reach for your phone, you screamed at the feeling of a hand gripping your ankle and yanking you to the foot of the bed.

There was nothing and no one there. Even in the limited light you could tell that you were alone. This must have been a break in your psyche, you reassured yourself, just because you haven't been sleeping well and things have been going wrong in the house. No matter how you reassure yourself, you still creep down the stairs to look around for any signs of intrusion.

Every step, you pause and listen around for something, anything. Maybe a bear broke into your house for food or a thief was rooting through your office for your safe box. Maybe it was something as small and harmless as mice knocking over furniture. Every second feels like an eternity, your heart racing in your throat.

"Hello? I know there's someone here. Just leave, and I won't call the cops."

Ghost sneers at you behind the suit. What a stupid thing for you to do and say. He considers jumping the gun, ruining the mystery by revealing himself and teaching you a lesson. Soap inadvertently stops him, setting off your security alarm.

The high pitched alarm rang out, making you wince and cover your ears. Your house phone starts ringing, you scramble to pick it up. Backing yourself up against your living room wall to stare wide eyed into the darkness.

"Knight Security. Please provide your security code." The voice on the line said. The man sounded calm, kind, certain. It somehow helped to make you focus, take a deep breath. Probably why the guy worked there.

"CL-NG-8675."

"Alright, got you. The alarms were tripped at your property. Everything alright?"

Was everything alright? Now talking to another living being, you weren't so sure. You tried to put everything you were experiencing into words but found you sounded incredibly silly... or one foot into a mental break.

"...Yeah, I'm alright."

"That's good. I'll get those sirens turned off for you and call off emergency services. Now, procedure does require me to have you walk through all possible entrances and exits in the home just to verify security. Would you mind checking the front door, love?"

Blissfully, the alarm turned off. The ear piercing sound finally gone, you let out a sigh of relief. The handsome voice on the phone asked you to check the front door, so you did. Confirmed it was locked and secure, just as you left it before bed.

He had you do the same with your garage door, the side door to the yard, and the back door.

"Perfect. You did a great job. Best customer of the night, if I may say," You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Why, thank you. You may," You quipped back, smiling to yourself in the darkness of the living room.

The man on the phone sounded like he was going to say goodbye, but he paused and made a small sound. "Oh! Before I let you go, I have one more question I have to add to the report."

"Of course, anything," You say, eager to please now that your heart had stopped racing.

"Are you alone in the home?"

Your response was immediate. "Yes."

The line went silent for a few beats. "...Are you sure?"

You could still hear the smile in his voice, but these words were spoken softly, dangerously.

"...What?"

"Turn around."

[irisintheafterglow]

i'm having many thoughts about bf!satoru playing pretend with little megumi so bear with me.

"oh no, we've been hit by a sudden lightning storm! get down, buddy!"

"no, we haven't! your yelling is going to scare the tigers away."

"tigers? i thought we were in africa."

"we were in africa yesterday, but we took a ship to india and now we're looking at tigers."

"oh, you're right. sorry, i'm not good at keeping track of our travel itinerary."

"it's okay; that's why i write it all down in your passport."

the vague sounds of your boyfriend and your unofficial son ring out in the apartment. you shake out your umbrella and hang your coat by the door, the sounds of incessant rain pattering against your windows. your boys are nowhere to be found.

"megs? 'toru?"

"in here!" you follow your boyfriend's voice to the room that you've designated as megumi's room, a place for him to call his own whenever he wasn't staying with family. it was sparsely decorated because you'd only moved into the new space a few days ago, but it was already cozier than the stale dorms at jujutsu tech. "we've decided to adventure into the jungle," satoru says from within the tent pitched in the middle of the room.

"mhmm," you hum in amusement and slight confusion, "and where did you get the tent?"

"stole it," megumi pipes up, his face sticking out of the zippered door flap. he unzips the entrance all the way and you give your boyfriend an incredulous look. "satoru said it was okay."

"you stole it?" megumi snickers at your tone that makes satoru raise his hands defensively.

"you think yaga's gonna be camping in this weather, sweetheart?"

"you're teaching him that stealing is okay," you argue with a hand on your hip.

"if it's from yaga-"

"satoru," you chuckle, dragging a hand down your face. he really was an idiot when he tried to be. you can't say that megumi's smile wasn't making you happy, though. "look, just make sure he gets it back without him actually knowing it was gone."

"deal, now get in here," satoru says before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the tent. it's so small that his shoulders pull forward because he can't sit up straight and his hair brushes the top of the tent. it becomes even more cramped when you crash into the various pillows and blankets they'd pulled from the closet. "look at what we did." his finger points up at the string of lights they'd successfully strewn across the top perimeter of the tent, making your faces glow in soft hues of yellow and orange. "what time is it out there?"

"what, in the jungle?"

"in the real world," satoru corrects. "this explorer is getting a little hungry."

"it's almost 5:00, so we can grab something for dinner soon. but, first, i wanna see these tigers you're looking at." you run your hand through satoru's hair and he leans into your touch. megumi enthusiastically shows you his binoculars toy that changed pictures of different animals with the flick of a bright blue switch. as he plays, you lean back into satoru's chest and his arms wrap around your body. "what were you thinking for dinner, love?"

"i was thinking soup, but i'm good with whatever you're craving," he murmurs in your ear. "i'm just glad you're home."

"me too. maybe we can go furniture shopping tomorrow if the weather lets up," you suggest. his body is warm like a space heater and it's a nice contrast to the chilly winter storm raging on outside.

"i'm also just as happy to sleep in this tiny little tent with you and the kid."

"i love you, satoru."

"i love you more. also, we should get him more pictures for that little toy."

"or, i just portal us to see some actual tigers." you feel him laugh softly against your body. "i could portal us to africa, too. just depends on your itinerary."

"you're very funny," he deadpans lightheartedly.

"i know i am. it's why you love me so much."

"very true. i'll go anywhere as long as i'm with you."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 2 - An affair to remember

A/N: Chapter 2, here we are! Leave a comment, heart or reblog if you enjoyed reading this. And no, I couldn’t just settle on one photo.

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ loss of virginity, age gap, smut.

Word count: 4025

An affair to remember

After trying around eleven outfits and disliking each of them for some reason or other, you settled on a simple floral button down blouse with a pair of jeans. You weren’t exactly sure if he’d asked you out on a date or the drink was just a friendly offer.

Of course it’s a date, you kissed him, Y/N, you thought to yourself. The mirror of your car revealed a visibly nervous reflection of you, fixing your hair multiple times, redoing your lipstick before you shook yourself mentally and drove off. Stark tower was a twenty minute drive from your apartment, and since it was a Sunday, traffic was in your favour thankfully.

By the time the tall, shiny building came into view, you had worked yourself up into taking this as a business meeting. You would be professional with the man and politely decline drinks if he’d offered. It would be inappropriate. You were sure he felt the same way.

Apparently your arrival was expected and welcomed in a pleasantly surprising way. A chubby, friendly looking man gave you a smile as you entered the foyer, introducing himself as Happy Hogan. He escorted you up to Mr. Stark’s floor or rather floors which was the penthouse of the ninety-three storeyed building.

The space was swanky, stylish and impeccably designed. Floor to ceiling windows that offered the most stunning views of the city, sleek and modern furniture that only screamed rich. You smoothed down your top and cleared your throat as you approached the outdoor seating area where Tony sat, wearing a dark coloured shirt and some jeans. Casual but still quite well put together, you thought.

“Ah! Miss Y/L/N, you made it. Thanks, Happy.”

As your hands touched, the spark was back, one that made your insides buzz with excitement as you smiled at each other, letting your handshake extend for longer than necessary. It was only when Happy cleared his throat to announce his exit that you broke contact.

As he left, you considered bringing up the elephant in the room that loomed large, causing you to shuffle your weight from one foot to the other. Maybe if you addressed it right away, you could move on and be done with it? Not let the meeting be awkward for the rest of the evening.

Meanwhile, Tony was trying his best to focus on anything but your irresistible lips. He was drawn to them, it was quite unexplainable but he wanted nothing more than to have your lips on his again.

“So…” you started, twirling a lock of hair nervously between your fingers as you looked around, aware of his gaze following.

“So.”

“I think we should talk about what happened. Look, it was a mistake, I don’t know what came over me, I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Tony blinked his disappointment away and nodded in agreement. It was probably for the best.

“Yeah, probably. You’re right. It—it was inappropriate.”

“Yes! I mean, you’re friends with my Dad and also way out of my league.”

Your admission made him smirk, watching your cheeks flush with realization of what you had said.

“Out of your league huh? What is your league? Overzealous frat boys?” he teased.

“Haha. You’re funny.” You rolled your eyes but hoped he’d drop the subject, thankfully he did, brushing it off as no harm done, much to your relief.

You unconsciously reached for your camera, thinking it’d be better if you steered the subject to the big photoshoot.

“You brought your camera, why?” Tony murmured, pointing to the device sticking out from your bag.

“I just thought I’d do a few test shots of the locations you’d be photographed in. Check the lighting and things. It will be a day shoot, right?”

Tony frowned, realizing he was yet to work out all of that or he probably had been sent the schedule but it slipped his mind. He also thought it’d be a good idea to inform Natalie about the change in photographer, since the magazine had been adamant on bringing their own person for the job.

“That’s a good question, I have no idea. But don’t worry, I’ll have my secretary send you the details.”

Humming in agreement, you asked if he could show you around the space, get an idea about what the vibe of the interview was going to be like. He happily agreed and began a tour of the place, explaining what housed on each floor, giving you a background about his business which you kinda already knew - one Google search was all it took to give the necessary details and some unnecessary ones as well. Tony had a notorious reputation of being a playboy, he certainly lived a very colourful life and had made no qualms about it.

Still, his eyes reflected the passion he had for technology as he spoke, the pride he took in pointing out all of the achievements Stark Industries had over the years.

Primarily a weapons manufacturer, he decided on taking a different route for his company after a particularly life-changing incident in Afghanistan. The man was abducted by a terrorist group called Ten Rings and kept in a cave for three months.

While how he escaped remained a mystery to the world, his return had been miraculous. He led you back to his grand living room, gesturing you to take a seat.

“You said an explosive blew up not far from you and yet you came out of that cave scratch free? How?” you asked about his incredulous story.

“Not just any explosive, it was one of my own creations. And I never said it was scratch free.”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking around as if to check if anyone was spying on you two before he reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them to reveal what looked like a circular battery-like device emitting a faint blue light. It seemed as if it was jammed in his chest, the peripheral skin scarred.

“What is that?”

He chuckled as your eyes went wide, glancing down at the device that was keeping him alive.

“It’s an electromagnet that essentially keeps the shrapnel from reaching my heart. It’s called an arc reactor, there is another one of these, a much bigger one that powers this building.” he explained, buttoning his shirt back up and letting you know how he managed to power it with the help of a man named Ho Yinsen in the caves.

If it weren’t for that little device, and the brave sacrifice of Yinsen, the world would’ve lost Tony Stark and you would’ve never met this incredible man.

“And here I assumed you sold your soul to the devil.”

Your words made him laugh, feeling a little flutter in that battery-operated heart. He wasn’t sure what made him reveal the arc reactor to you, he hadn’t let anyone see it, except for Rhodey since he found him in the desert. Something about you reassured him that you were trustworthy. You were like a breath of fresh air.

After returning, Tony Stark had dedicated much of his business to RnD in the field of science and technology. You listened with keen interest, getting to know the man better with each passing moment, you couldn’t help but admire him for all the success he’d achieved.

“Gosh. Where are my manners? I haven’t offered you anything to drink, Miss Y/L/N.” Tony exclaimed, right as one of his bots whirred in with a silver tray that had a bottle of champagne on ice with two glasses.

“Robots bringing in champagne? You planned this, didn’t you?” you chuckled, finding it rather hard to refuse it. I mean, it wouldn’t really hurt having one glass. Right?

“I���m just trying to make a good first impression.” he shrugged, popping the bottle open expertly before filling the two glasses.

“Why? You’re not an overzealous frat boy.” you teased, taking a sip of the champagne while holding his gaze.”

“Oh honey, I’m much better.”

There it was again.

The tingle of excitement you felt deep within your belly every time you had a banter. Even though you wouldn’t admit to yourself, you were attracted to the man. He was just so sure of who he was, he carried himself with a certain confidence that was quite sexy.

For the next couple of hours, you two spoke about anything and everything, making you realize how easy he was to talk to despite the age difference. You spoke about your relationship with your parents, your eyes lit up each time you mentioned how your father had been your biggest cheerleader while Tony listened with a soft smile on his face. His phone kept buzzing every now and then and he kept dismissing it. When it rang for the fourth time, you thought it was time for you to head back since you’d stayed for longer than you had intended to.

“You should get that, it’s probably important. I’ll get going.”

Tony stood up with you, not really ready to let you go just yet, though the incessant buzzing of his Stark pad was hard to ignore.

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you for another glass? Perhaps some wine? Happy could drive you home later..”

The offer was tempting, and you weren’t ready to say goodbye either but you had to. You would see him next week anyways.

“Thank you, but I think I should head back, it’s late. What you’ve done with Stark Industries is truly remarkable. Thank you for sharing your story with me. You’re an incredible man, Tony. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for it.” You smiled, meaning every word you’d said.

He had been complimented many times before but something about your words made him believe it. He felt his heart dance a little with joy.

“See you on Wednesday then?”

“Uh yeah. See you.”

Deciding on a friendly hug, you wrapped your arms around him, breathing in his scent, something so oddly comforting about it. Smiling to yourself when you felt Tony’s breath against your hair, you pulled back only to find him staring at your lips. You kissed him on the cheek quickly, and stepped back, not trusting yourself to not make the same impulsive decision no matter how much you wanted to do it.

“Bye, Tony.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

He watched you until the elevator doors closed, leaving you to let out a sigh and lean against the cold metal. The whole way down, you contemplated what it would be like to kiss Tony, recalling the moment your lips had touched the other night. It only lasted a second but it hadn’t left your mind ever since.

You wanted to do it again.

You wanted more. Him. In every way possible. It was like a need you felt that drew you to him, like a moth to a flame. You knew it would be dangerous and yet it was impossible to resist the temptation.

It was probably why you decided to go with your instincts and press the button that led you back to Tony Stark.

He had his back to you when you reached his floor again, you saw the same flame of desire dancing in his eyes that danced in yours as he turned to find you standing there. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as you took long strides and he met you halfway, lips colliding in an instant.

You felt your breath knocked out of your chest as you kissed Tony Stark, a rush of excitement surging through your body as his arms went around you to pull you flush against his chest, keeping you there. You gasped at the intensity and Tony used the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss.

A lingering taste of champagne mixed with a hint of coffee is what you tasted as you gave in and your hands found their way around his neck, carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

Not realizing he had walked you back until you were met with the cool wall behind, you felt Tony smile against your lips before they trailed lower, along your jaw, down to your neck. Letting out a soft moan, you tugged on his hair silently signaling him to not stop. Desire flooded through you and gathered between your legs as he continued nipping at your skin, reveling in the little sounds you made. His hands slid up your body to brush against your breasts, his thumb deliberating until your nipples stood erect against his touch.

You felt goose pimples across your body where he touched you as his hands slipped inside your blouse, wanting to feel more of your skin. Wasting no time, Tony unbuttoned it hastily and threw it to the side, bringing his lips over your collarbone, littering small kisses along it.

Letting out a sigh, you felt his hands toy with the hem of your jeans as his mouth closed over your bra-covered nipple. You weren’t alien to the feeling but your eyes fluttered open when Tony unzipped your jeans and let it slide down your legs.

“Bedroom?” he asked huskily after you’d stepped out of them, leaving you in a matching pair of lingerie. You managed a nod before following him inside his bedroom, a heady cocktail of desire and lust swimming in your mind as the man gently laid you against the soft mattress.

“So gorgeous, Y/N.”

He crawled over you with purpose, his gaze darkening as he took in your form before his lips crashed against yours once more. The kiss had more urgency this time, while he prodded your legs open to allow you to feel his growing erection.

You let out another gasp feeling his hardness brush against your core, a rush of ardor followed by sudden insecurity made its presence known as you sat up on your elbow, breaking the kiss.

“Tony, I’ve never um–I mean I’m a–” you fumbled with the choice of words, heat creeping up to your cheeks as you tried to convey you had never done this before. Tony rested his arms on either side, still breathing heavily as he took your words in, his own heartbeat pounding against his ears while blood had rushed southward.

“Do you want to stop? We can if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, not wanting to back out this but you had apprehensions which he could sense. Gently caressing your bare legs, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Tell me what you want.”

You answered by pulling him in for another hungry kiss and wrapping your legs around him to let him know the answer.

“Words, sweetheart.” he murmured, rolling his hips towards your center once again.

“I want you, Tony. I want this.” you managed, unbuttoning his shirt quickly, surprised at your assertion. In the darkness of the room, the blue glow emitted from his arc reactor acted like a source of light, rendering his features luminescent.

With a couple of hasty kisses against your lips, he made you lie back before trailing his path of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, discarding your bra to expose you some more. Cupping one in a hand, tweaking the nipple between his fingers, Tony closed his mouth around the other one, coaxing out a needy whine.

Treating both of them equally, he allowed his hand to travel lower to cup your sex over your panties, smirking as he found them already damp. You felt your breathing turn shallower as his fingers traced along your clothed slit, brushing against your bundle of nerves every so often.

“I want to taste you, sweetheart. Want to know if you taste just as sweet down there as you do here.” Tony’s words turned your insides to jelly, his lips sucking on your tongue as he slowly peeled the last remaining cloth from your body.

Your heart hammered inside your ribcage as he kissed his way down your body, settling between your legs, holding them apart as you instinctively went to close them.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

You did as you were told, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue as you felt his breath down there, the air making your glistening folds shine eagerly. He first laid small kisses along your inner thigh before his tongue peeked out to tease you open. You let out a cry when his tongue licked a strip up your entrance, the action wildly exciting and new for nobody had gone down on you before. You felt him draw small circles around your clitoris, sending waves of desire down your spine as you squirmed for more.

“Oh my God!” you panted, anchoring your hands in his hair while he continued.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” he did everything in his might to not devour you the way he wanted to, knowing you’d probably feel overwhelmed if he did. In all honesty, your scent drove him mad and your taste was irresistible, he couldn’t get enough.

“Yes! Feels so good, Tony!”

Your words encouraged him to continue the assault, every lick and nudge drawing the sweetest of sounds from you. Your wetness gathered on his finger as he traced a line along it, pushing it inside your heat, grunting as he felt your walls immediately clamp around it.

“Relax, Y/N.” Tony repeated, slowly stroking you with his finger, getting you ready for his cock that strained against his pants. Your slickness helped when he added another finger, drawing out yet another moan as you felt an increase in pressure down there.

His thumb brushed against your clit while he massaged your walls open for him, making you lose all sense of coherence as you felt something building inside of you. The familiar tightness low in your belly when you pleasured yourself when alone, only this time, it felt like it had increased by tenfold. Tony held you down as your hips rose up from the bed in their own accord, matching his ministrations. As your moans got louder, you sensed you were close, tugging on his hair once more, you felt your walls tighten around his fingers.

“Let go, Y/N. Come for me.”

And you did. It felt like a tight-wound rope snapped, giving way for an intense wave of pleasure that shook your body. It felt exhilarating at the same time unreal, like you were floating away on a cloud of bliss. When you came down from your high, Tony had discarded his pants and was slanting his lips over yours, letting you taste some of your essence.

Feeling bolder now, you reached between your bodies to stroke his hard cock over his boxers, hearing his breathing hitch.

“Remove them.” He ordered, aiding you when pushed them down his legs to let his cock spring free.

You felt your walls clamp around nothing at the sight of him, he was big, making you wonder if it would hurt when you finally had him.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you watched Tony tear open a foil of condom and roll it over his length. Settling between your legs once more, he kissed you again, this time with a languid urgency.

You tensed up as his erection poked against your core, sensing it Tony broke the kiss to look into your eyes for signs of apprehension.

“We can still stop if you want to, Y/N. Just say the word.”

Appreciative of how considerate he was being, you knew you were ready. You wanted him, as much as he wanted you. Wrapping your fingers around his length delicately, you stroked him a few times, watching his mouth fall open.

“I want you to fuck me, Tony.”

You whispered, lying back against the pillows and allowing him to take control. He lined up against your entrance, gathering your arousal as he went before slipping just the head of cock inside.

“This will hurt a little. Breathe through it for me?”

Nodding, you felt him push in further, letting out a grunt at your tightness. He was right, the girth of him sliding inside your channel felt odd but electrifying. Tony felt his cock push past the barrier as he entered you, giving you time to get used to the feeling.

You let out a cry as he bottomed out, the feeling of fullness overwhelmed your senses as the pain stung.

Retracting only a little at first, Tony drove his hips back into you, repeating the action a few more times as you felt pain receding and giving way to a new kind of pleasure.

“More.” You begged, digging your fingers into his back as he complied.

Your tight heat felt so amazing around his cock, Tony felt himself getting lost in the feeling. Steadily he set a pace, pushing you against the mattress as his hips speared into you, drawing sinful moans.

The feeling of being wound up again took over, Tony smirked as you wrapped both your legs around his hips tighter, the new angle making his cock reach deeper inside your pussy.

“You’re so tight, Y/N. You’re close again, aren’t you?” He breathed, increasing the force of his thrusts to make his pubic bone brush against your clit.

“Yes! I’m so close. Please, Tony.” You whimpered, moving your hips to match up as sounds of your combined pleasure filled the room.

Reaching between your bodies, he teased your clit while driving in and out of your sopping heat, aiding your second orgasm. You felt yourself clamp around his cock before the same feeling of euphoria took over, making your walls spasm out of control.

Vision blurred and body convulsed under the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your veins as you rode out your high. Tony grunted against your ear as your spasming walls fueled his climax, causing his balls to tighten before he emptied himself in the condom, holding you close. Gingerly, he pulled out of you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness you felt.

“You okay?”

“More than okay.” you grinned lazily, accepting the soft kiss he offered.

As tired as you were, you didn’t protest when he nudged you to get up, leading you to the shower for a quick clean up, the soreness between your legs evident.

You exchanged several kisses in the shower, the hot water working wonders on relaxing your muscles, making it evident you were in need of a nap soon.

Once fully dressed, Tony resisted the urge to make you stay again and walked you out while your car stood, waiting. He could sense you were preoccupied with something since you hadn’t said much.

“Tony, about the photoshoot..”

“Oh no, that’s no longer required. I just wanted to sleep with you.” He shrugged, making your stomach drop for a second before he chuckled, enjoying his joke way more than you did.

“Come on, Y/N. I asked you because you’re the person for the job. This doesn’t change anything.” He smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist to give you a quick kiss.

That definitely quietened your insecurities, but it didn’t ease the thought that you had lost your virginity to this gorgeous man who was not only older, but very good friends with your parents. If they ever found out…

On your way back, you also thought about how you’d break the news to Izzy, there was not a thing you kept from her. And if you didn’t, you were positive she’d find out somehow, she was quite shrewd about these things.

As uncertain as you were about it all, you couldn’t shake off the fact that you had slept with Tony Stark.

And it was fantastic.

Changing into comfortable clothes, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with a smile that refused to leave your face before deciding on pulling out your phone.

Cocky billionaires are still not my type, you know…

You texted Tony once you reached home, a big grin on your face, waiting for his response as the three dots appeared almost instantly on your screen.

Oh I know. Maybe I’ll change your mind. Actually I’m pretty sure of it.

Thoughts?

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 3)

The house does not make a home, but a home can make a man.

The trash pile has grown again. It's spilling out of the bin.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The house is bigger than you remember it being from the game. For one, there's a sectioned off washroom hidden partially under the loft stairs and a full kitchen area in the left rear of the house. The ceiling is also ridiculously high for a one story (technically two) house, but you let that detail slide. It's to your- Link's, benefit, after all.

Another thing, upgrades are not offered automatically here. Though that should've been obvious in hindsight and you're a bit embarrassed to admit it'd slipped your mind. Most people would decorate and furnish their own homes with either their old furniture or newly bought.

That's what the many, many shops the game never had reason to show were for, after all.

Therein led to your current dilemma.

Practicality or comfort? The large thin rug with dark patterns, or a smaller plush one with elegant designs embroidered at the edges? Red covers? Blue, white, gray? All of them perhaps? Maybe just three?

Does Link prefer cast iron or the wok? Steel forks or maybe chop sticks? A full set of pots and pans, or just two or three good ones for repeated use? Which set of knives? The specialty set or a general use one?

Should the loft have a rug too? Should you get both? Should you get three? What about the washroom?

Towels? A vase...

Dumb idea. No vases.

Should there be two beds? When Link frees Zelda from the castle, surely the poor woman won't be made to live there in that festering monster's nest of a ruin. And having been trapped there for a century as the world outside moved forward (after having been royalty nonetheless), would she even know how to live on her own?

Would it be presumptuous of you to already set up for her arrival before Link even properly remembered who she was? You didn't want to make Link feel obligated to fufill your assumptions like that. He already had so much on his shoulders. He didn't need you to add more.

So, only one bed. Sheets?

"Jus' get them all, ya cluckin' mother cucco." Adino snapped waspishly, thin brows pulled down into a severe looking glare. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall closest to the 'Odds and Ends' shop's door, pointedly.

You barely spared him a glance, used to his attitude after having known him for nearly three years. And honestly, it was all for show anyway. Adino loved shopping with you, but the spiteful little shit would never admit it. Even under pain of death.

'Jus' making sure the walkin' rupee bag doesn't fall dead to an ill fated breeze.' He'd snark if ever questioned why he was following you around on his days off.

Lies, of course. The truth is he's lonely. So very lonely and too hurt yet to reach out to anyone else for companionship.

The man he'd called father for 14 years of his short life suddenly throws him out of the only home he'd known with barely the clothes on his back. All after finding out his recently departed wife had been having affairs. And the kicker, the bastard claims he supposedly doesn't even know if Adino's his or not (despite them having the exact same eyes and brows).

It'd been convenient though, you'd give him that. Just washed his hands of the situation entirely. Started fresh with a new wife and got rid of the unnaturally (Adino had parroted coldly, like a curse and a confession breathed in the same breath) effeminate son that may or may not be his.

No stings attached. Just living comfortably on his late wife's family property and shacking up with her younger sister.

And that abandoned son running, running, running across Hyrule. Until he dropped right outside of Hateno, quiet and hurting and nearly driven mad with hateful, writhing loathing.

You pull yourself from those thoughts. It's not your business. Adino may have shared that information with you during his mandatory background check, but that doesn't mean it's any of your business.

Even if the boy is living with you, and has been for the last three years.

(Even if you already ruined that man's fletching business. Even if you never told Adino why that man'd taken a very long walk off a very tall cliff.

Even if Adino knew and left flowers on your desk every year on that day ever since.)

"I'll take them all. As well as the rugs, towels and curtains, please. Oh. And that tapestry. Yes. The one with the apples."

Adino snorted, rolling his eyes, and you smiled. A merchant's got to advertise wherever possible, after all.

The older, greying woman behind the counter nodded, glancing over to two younger women (her granddaughters, twins and five years orphaned. turned 17 last Fall) waiting unobtrusively near the back of the shop. They didn't need any more instruction than that, swiftly gathering your choices and folding them into neatly wrapped bundles.

You swear this family had to have some sheikah blood in them somewhere. Even if they had pitch black hair and the darkest grey eyes you've ever seen. They were just too quiet and efficient to be normal Hyrulians. (And were little known for their discretion above all else.)

You tipped the women for thier help. They thanked you with a quiet tilt of their perfectly kept heads, before returning to their preferred corner in the far back.

You didn't bother to barter with this woman. You paid full price for everything, and then tipped her too.

Four gold rupees. And a note, which she took with a nod and a knowing glint in her eyes.

(Because they were known for their discretion, and you appreciated that more than anything.

You knew she understood the flowers you left on her desk every year on the same day.

And you knew she'd understand this too.)

You left, but not before catching one of the twins (the one with the blue head cloth and lip rouge) staring longingly after Adino's back as he marched from the store in a dramatic huff. Her sister hiding a probable grin behind her red painted hand.

'Interesting. But not my problem.'

---

Link looked up the curved path to Hateno's guarded gate as he sheathed his guardian sword, the black mist of two hopelessly mangled bodies blowing away in the strong mountainside winds. Further back still was the semi-conscious groan of a young woman surrounded by fallen mushrooms.

Link ignored her slowly rising form, having checked her vitals earlier before being ambushed by a pair of bokoblins. He knew she'd be fine, and honestly, if she was sneaking around monster infested forests for mushrooms (Link could still hear the snorting of the beasts further past the treeline) then she must be able to take a hit or two and come out okay.

She must have had the same thoughts because she merely dusted herself off, picked up her fallen produce and made for the trees once more. Barely sparing Link a backwards wave before disappearing into the thick underbrush.

Link blinked after her. And sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

So. That happened.

Link let it roll off his back easily enough. He had more important issues to deal with. Such as was it appropriate for him to just show up at your (and now his) doorstep fresh from the road and smelling every bit of it.

He discreetly sniffed under his arm and grimaced.

Surely you'd understand. You and him were connected after all, and you knew his name and knew he'd be coming to Hateno. A little roadside reek shouldn't be a big surprise.

Yet. He couldn't shake the self-consciousness. The irrational fear that you'd look at him and expect more than what you got.

Like that old man who was actually a dead person. Like that Impa woman, and everyone in that little village she lived in.

For how quickly he'd steamrolled through the untamed wilds of Hyrule just to meet you, he was oddly reluctant to continue now that he was at your metaphoric (and soon literal) doorstep.

He glanced down at himself, taking himself in with a critical eye.

The Sheikah armor he wore (it had been under 10,000 rupees, he checked) was covered in dust, grim and the unflattering stains of sweat, dried bloody drool (from that unfortunate incident with the bokoblin horse), grass and meat grease. His hair was so filthy it was nearly brown despite that equally unfortunate incident with the octorok having put him in the water several times (strong inconsistent winds make aiming bows hard, he'd discovered).

Hopefully you wouldn't be disgusted. He hoped you understood that he wasn't- well-

He wasn't who he used to be. Apparently.

"Link." A flat voice called out, and Link nearly jumped to attention at the unexpected interruption. He nearly reached for his sword too, before he stopped himself.

When Link looked up and met dark gray eyes, his heart started to tightened.

'Is that you, AM?' His eyes asked earnestly, wide and round with quiet searching. For recognition. For understanding. For anything at all.

Instead he got a slow, dispassionate blink and confusion as the woman spoke into the silence between them. "AM instructed me to lead you home, Master Link."

Link pointed to himself. "Master?" He rasped out quietly, voice rough and unpleasant even to his own ears. Nothing to say for the pain it caused at the base of his throat.

Without missing a beat the young woman nodded once, the blue bandana holding her dark hair back catching slightly in the wind. Blue painted lips barely moving as she said. "Yes. I will explain more once we arrive at your home."

Link nodded, still uncertain but trusting enough of this strange woman who knew the name (Alis? Nickname? Title, perhaps?) of his sheikah slate partner.

Tomorrow, he would be given a small journal detailing many of the dangers and wonders of this beautiful, wild world he now lived in. And he wouldn't be so trusting anymore.

And he'd have bananas, apparently. So many bananas.

But that's for tomorrow. Today?

Today was the first time he walked across the old, but sturdy footbridge. The first time he glanced over at the shrine glowing faintly to his left, peeking from behind a small cluster of buildings.

It was the first day he stood on the threshold of his (and your) new home. The first time since awakening he felt the beginning of heartbreak as he realized you were not there to greet him. That you would not be living with him. Ever.

('For now,' He thought in quiet defiance.)

And the first time since he opened his eyes in that dark, eerily glowing shrine he felt loved. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light of the house and found a home waiting for him.

Not just an empty building with four walls and a bed, but a rug with pretty dark patterns under a heavy wooden table. A bowl of apples at its center, with thick candles at either side. An intricately sewn tablecloth just slightly hanging over the sides in delicate little weaves.

He felt loved when he walked around the front room, boot-heavy steps thumping softly on polished hardwood floors, slowly taking in the space (the blue woman waiting patiently at the door). The small wooden sculptures upon carefully arranged tables, cute and quirky banners and tapestries brightening up the dimly lit room (one was slightly lower than the rest, another was slightly off-center, and Link felt warm at the imperfections). Sunflowers, a bird, a rock formation, an apple tree, a cat with a bell.

A sword and shield rack. Two armor stands. A few weapon's plaque hanging above them.

The food in the kitchen pantry. Completely unnecessary, but for the way it made Link feel. The way it made his throat tighten and itch. The thought that this was put here because it was meant to be his home.

And so much more. So many things he couldn't even remember the uses for. So many bits and pieces that slot together into the jumbled mess that is a home. It was more than he had the heart to acknowledge without weeping.

Noticing his brewing turmoil, the blue woman spoke. "Perhaps a bath and bed before we speak of business. AM said you may be tired when you arrived."

Link nodded, unwilling to speak and risk his voice breaking entirely. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the washroom, holding back tears when he found bottles of sweet smelling soaps and hair cleansers on a small table beside a stool above a drain. A tub beside it all, shaped like a bowl but with a drain at the bottom and a water spout at the rim.

He looked to the blue woman, overwhelmed and dazed by the strength of his emotions.

Something in her softened at his lost expression. "Let me bath you, Master Link." She said, keeping her voice even, though her dark eyes were gentle. "Just until you learn how to do it yourself."

Link nodded. Quiet and trusting in his vulnerability.

She helped him undress. She made him sit on the stool as she gathered what she needed.

Her hands were so, so gentle as they brought a warm, wet towel over his dirtied, battered skin.

He nearly fell into a doze twice as she washed his hair three times until the suds came off white. He was only minimally aware of the strong (deceptively strong) hands that helped him into the tub. He nearly slumped into the side of the bowl, body completely lax within the warm, welcoming water.

He opened his eyes from one blink to the next and blankets (thick and soft, smelling of fresh soaps and linen) were being drawn over his shoulders. The pillow beneath him gave under the weight of his head, as did the mattress he laid upon.

Every part of him felt warm and soft and safe. He smelt like flowers and sweet nuts, his skin felt clean and supple under the tender caress of his nightclothes. The further dimming lights eased him further down into slumber.

"Rest well, Master Link. I will guard you as you sleep."

Link couldn't even bring himself to respond, lost as he was to the call to nothingness.

He was lost not long after.

"One day." The blue woman said softly, sitting beside the unconscious man with an amused smile. "I will teach you to identify sleeping oils before they reach you. But not tonight. For tonight you sleep. Tomorrow, you will learn to be wary."

She wiped her delicate finger tips across his relaxed forehead, a slight sheen left in their wake.

"Sweet dreams, Courageous One."

---

Link,

I apologize that I could not be there to greet you properly. However, after careful consideration I decided it would be safest for our paths to remain separate at this time.

Herein this text, you will find all relevant information I've amassed over the years regarding our world and the dangers within it. Including, but not limited to, the continued threat of the Yiga clan.

May you never have to make use of the less savory of this knowledge.

Yours truly,

AM

---

To the shadows I return.

[molluskmirage]

The villainization of Bad is perplexing to me for a lot of reasons. Fandom wanting him to pay for his actions when he didn’t even have the highest kill rate in purgatory on his team… Bad and Tubbo had the same amount of kills day 1. Bad was probably killed more by red team then he killed yet still its not enough for the red fandom.

also regarding Dapper. ‘Bad’s actions made it so no one would help dapper’…. Bad would never hold a parents actions against a child. Leo actively helped Vegetta and Roier place bombs all over Bad and Dappers farm house causing them to move. And even when they moved Bad still included Leo on the allow list. He loves Leo. Dapper really admired Vegetta and wanted to speak with him but was struck by him for teasing Foolish.

Bad teases and tricks and lies about unimportant things, steals furniture and he has trust issues yes, but he also counter balances that by providing others with lavish gifts and items and knowledge that takes hours to do. He repairs broken machines the kids have done for there parents, he takes care of the kids so no one dies of neglect, he keeps people company, he’s provided so much countless food and armor and exp to everyone at such volume its absurd to count. He made spawn so that it would be easy for others to get around when they died and constantly refills the xp.

He’s rp an actual demon but genuinely most of Bad’s actions while surface level inconvenient in depth he’s ridiculously generous and kind. The only time of him ‘cutting loose’ being in a game that was designed for killing and his son instructed him too. So many in the fandom gave weight to Chayanne’s message but for Dapper it was :eyeroll: whatever. Dapper who had been self harming themselves to help aid his siblings and other islanders was instructing Bad to run over other islanders, he wouldn’t say that unless it was important.

I can understand not liking a character theirs plenty I dont personally find my cup of tea but that doesnt make them evil. Its so strange to me that the fandom finds Bbh to be ‘the worst’ narratively, when Slime actively tried to murder Dapper and the other kids, Cellbit has gone full serial killer, Vegetta nearly killed Bobby with bombs, Forever lashed out in anger at Leo yet Bad stealing furniture that can be replaced by sticks and wool is the absolute dread of the server. Bad in a killing game was mean when others were mean and one of the few members of his team that could protect his team.

it’s interesting because for the most part Bad’s crimes are psychological (not to say its not a torment) but it’s interesting because it seems to be labeled so much worse then physical actions other characters have made. Bad doesn’t let others actions get to him he forgives and picks himself up and tries again maybe more guarded this time but he doesnt complain about others actions he always blames himself and carries on. Bad doesnt excuse himself he knows that his actions can cause distress from others and still does them without regret but he also understands others wont like him for his actions and fully accepts and expects it.

[galaxygirl-katie27]

Vector Redesign

Tap for better quality

Notes under the cut!

-Okay so first of all, I had to finally figure out his nationality, so that it would make sense with the story. Which led me to my headcanon of Vector being Turkish-Persian mixed, with his father being Turkish and his mother being Persian. But ultimately he would be the prince, later king, of Persia. I‘d like to make a full post about this topic specifically later, but in short: His father was the second Turkish prince, so in order to be king himself, he married into the persian royal family, who had no male heir, so he could have his own kingdom. So that later, Vector could jut walk through Türkiye with his army to attack Nasch in Greece, because of his blood-relation to their royal family without any problems.

-To the design. I gave him a ponytail, just to try it out, but I just liked it so much, that I had to stick with it.

-He has big eye bags from Insomnia, because of many nightmares almost every night. He has major PTSD from his past, that sill haunts him.

-He has a tooth gap (where he actually lost a tooth) and many scars and bandaids, because this boy is just always hurt (most of it because of the Ray-Way). I once read a headcanon, that all of Ray`s clumsiness wasn’t even acted, Vector is just like that. He still bumps into all kinds of furniture post-series.

-Also he ruined all his pants at one point because of his clumsiness and because the others (Nasch) don’t want to buy him new ones, he just patched them up himself, and yes he did poke himself with the needle multiple times.

-FRECKLES. No elaboration needed.

-Big father issues. Also no elaboration needed.

-This boy never ties his shoes, which also doesn’t help his clumsiness. Also he wears mismatched shoes, but they match enough for him and he just doesn’t think anyone notices. Everyone notices.

-He is one of the people with the most Trauma. If you ask him how he‘s doing he‘d say: „I take antidepressants.“ And he does! He got them perscribed, after an… incident. I wont go into detail, but I think you can guess what happened. And while most of the barians still don’t exactly like him, they don’t want him to die. He also refuses to go to proper therapy. Yuma is his therapy.

-He also has ADHD, which I think he always had, even in his past life. He got it diagnosed post series, when Yuma talked to him about his ADHD (another headcanon of mine) and Vector just heavily related to many things Yuma said and so he proposed that maybe he should get a diagnose. Which tuned out positive.

-Also he‘s a cat owner. I read so many fics, where he just adopts a cat. It’s mostly to spite Rio, when he came across a little kitten box on the side of the road one day. But he got so attached to it, it‘s his family now. It’s a little white female kitten, who is also deaf and her name is Pestilence, Pesty for short. He is also so good at hiding her. The barians only found out about her like 6 months after Vector got her. There was a massive discussion, but in the end Vector got to keep her. She is now his emotional support cat.

-He also reads a bit, but it only consists of the most cliche, sappy, stereotypical romance stories you can find, to make fun of them.

-His past life redesign is like the biggest redesign up until now, since I researched ancient Persian an Turkish royal robes, because even when he‘s the prince/king of Persia, I think his father would still bring some of his Turkish background into the family.

-And since I made him older again (and tanner, because he was more in the sun in Persia than in Japan) I gave him a little goatee

-Also his robes are red to resemble his father, and how he is slowly turning into him (plus the goatee), but he still has blue in his clothes to resemble and respect his mother. I refuse to believe that he stopped loving her after her death. I think he always continued to love her deep inside and actually still misses her post series. He just doesn’t show it.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is an interior designer for the ultra rich; he moves furniture around to lighten "engeries" and increase "flow". It's a hodgepodge of bastardized fung shui and geometry, because Hob is a conman. And thief.

His interior design persona and "firm" was a cover Hob was using to case some rich asshole's house. Hob wasn't even trying to sell the bit really, he moved a single chair, but after the job (this guy was obliviously so rich that he hasn't seemed to notice Hob's theft 🤷🏽‍♀️) Hob's mark recommended him to his other rich douche friends.

So high-end interior design is now Hob's side hustle. He's still a thief and conman, but now he's legally (sort of) conning marks. Hob is just as surprised as you.

He has just been hired to design the new bachelor pad for one Dream Endless - artist, socialite, philanthropist. If the name sounds familiar, it's because he just had an amazingly loud divorce play out in the press from partner no. 3 (there were two other marriages and one kidlet, for Mr. Endless). And it seems like the ex got all the friends and support in the divorce.

Hob was hired by some assistant, a Matthew, so he's yet to meet Mr. Endless, but if the various paparazzi photos are right, he should certainly be nice to look at.

Yeah, those paparazzi photos did not do him justice -- watching Dream swim in little tiny speedos is Hob's new religion. If Hob were a better man, he wouldn't be scheming to become Mr. Endless the 4th.

Mr Endless the 4th... and hopefully the last. I reckon Hob will want to stick around! I am absolutely tickled by this au, tbh. I think Hob needs to keep on scamming rich people and stealing their furniture as much as he wants.

Dream's requests for the design were basically "I want it all to be black" and also "leave me alone when I'm doing my art" - two things that Hob is a little bit disappointed about. He doesn't really care about interior design, but all black? Minimalism? Dream deserves better. And Hob definitely doesn't want to leave him alone! But if he can at least watch Dream, that's good enough for now.

He makes a few adjustments to what Dream requested. There's plenty of black, sure, but there's also stained glass and light streaming into the apartment. There's beautiful stone flooring in the kitchen (heated, of course). Hob gets the most amazing four poster bed for his new favourite client, all silk sheets and black-out curtains. He spends all day dreaming about making sweet love to Mr Endless in between those sheets.

And Dream seems to be getting used to having Hob around. Plus he begrudgingly approves of his design choices. Eventually he opens up about his miserable dating life, and Hob is always so sympathetic. He doesn't lay it on too thick (Dream is smart enough to spot a gold-digger!), he's just kind. Is Dream really making him into a better person?!

Well, maybe not. Hob is still a thief, and he's definitely still scamming his clients with the whole "vibrations" thing. He's also definitely perving on Mr Endess in the swimming pool. But when Dream does finally make a move and shyly kisses Hob while inspecting the latest updates to the interior design... Hob takes him to bed very gently. He lays Dream out on the silky sheets and fucks him so sweetly, so lovingly, telling him how worthy and beautiful he is. Things that Dream has never heard before.

Hob settles into the bed when Dream falls asleep on him afterwards - and rest assured, he intends to stay. Hopefully with a ring on his finger. But he's not getting ahead of himself, don't you worry.

[kestrelsansjesses]

[[idk I'm still tweaking this and working on it but I guess I"ll stick it up here before I put it on A03 anyway enjoy. Thank you all for the encouragement. <3 ]]

His knee was bent, and with that Daemon answered to Rhaenyra again. “I am meant to serve you, until death or the end of our story.” They were flames that were meant to burn together, but somewhere in the long weeks that followed first Visenya’s death and then Lucerys’, their fires had run low, two torches torn from a collective pyre that had all but extinguished. Finally reunited, their bonfire would again roar, and it would be more than a barrow for their collective dead. But first there would need to be reconciliation. 

There was a gap between them now that had not existed before. In the morning, Rhaenyra would begin the flight back to Dragonstone and Daemon would stay at Harrenhal with Caraxes as he readied the army raised in her name. That left the rest of the afternoon and the evening for things that should have been said long ago. 

The room given to Daemon as king (consort) was dismal, damp and filled with half-rotted furniture and fabrics that had seen better days so long ago that they predated even the former king Jaehaerys. “It was worse before,” Daemon offered to her horrified silence. 

“Did you think of me at all, while we were apart?” It was not the question Daemon was expecting- not yet. Whatever strange visions he had seen at Harrenhal, the incoherent prophecies that spilled from his familiar lips, they had led him to a different path, while Rhaenyra was still back at their arguments, at their violence and the way the same flames that bound them together also burnt them. There was no one who knew how to hurt more than the one you loved most. 

There was also little sign of Daemon in the room. His belongings were spare; it was like he was in there only to sleep, and refused to take any further space. The bed sheets were unmade though, and Rhaenyra could see that he slept on the same side of the bed as he did in Dragonstone. She wanted to smile at the thought; she had not left her own designated side, after all. But this was not a situation for smiling. Daemon still hadn’t given her an answer, and the seconds grew long. 

“My time here was strange. There is a witch… She showed me things.” Visions of the future and of the past. Some of the details came out of Daemon, but he held a great deal back and Rhaenyra knew he might never tell her. She tried not to begrudge him for it. “I dreamt of you. Of home.” There was something else that lurked beneath his words, but for once she did not dig. 

The space between them was charged. Their last few encounters, that charge had been negative. Now there was something beneath. Forgiveness, maybe. Love. Lust. No real apology came from Daemon, but in his oath of fealty, he said all that and more. He bent the knee, Rhaenyra reminded herself. From Daemon, that was a pledge eternal and a sign of loyalty, a subtle asking for forgiveness and a reminder of vows said together with each other’s blood on their lips. It was not a surprise when Daemon stepped forward and Rhaenyra felt herself do the same, so that they were as close as they had been in Harrenhal’s ruined open space, where all those men had bowed to her. It had not been appropriate to touch Daemon then, with so many eyes on them. If he had done so, he would have undermined her. A woman who would be Queen could not be soft. She could not be a woman. She had to be a sword. Now though, no one else watched. Not even Daemon’s witch. 

Acts of love and intimacy differed from person to person. When Rhaenyra leaned her forehead against Daemon’s, it felt like home. It had ever been the way he showed his love; a small thing, but one that made him vulnerable. How many times had she seen him do the same to Caraxes, hiding slightly back so that he would not know she witnessed it? It always made her smile, as it did now. 

Their fingers intertwined and found each other without the need to look. There were ways they simply made sense, even as they burned each other. No one but another Targaryen could understand this, the greed to devour the other person, even if it hurt to do so. 

“I have been left to mourn too many without you. Luke, Visenya, and now Rhaenys.” And all those men Rhaenyra didn’t know, the ones who threw their lives away for the dragon queen. 

“No longer. I’ll take this army and march it to King’s Landing, and everyone will know the price they’ve paid for their deaths.” They mourned in very different ways. Daemon liked to be alone, but Rhaenyra needed him here with her. She would not belabor the point any longer though; he could not come back to Dragonstone with her just yet, and they both knew it. 

Finally they broke apart, Daemon’s words no longer whispered in her ear but said out loud. Rhaenyra sat at the edge of the bed while he stood, still restless. He was invigorated with his new purpose, but Rhaenyra simply felt exhausted. Sorrow could only propel a person for so long, and she had yet to bring up the new dragonseeds or anything else… No. She would enjoy being with him again, whatever form it took. 

Eventually, Daemon sat next to her. He was not a man accustomed to such tenderness, but when he cupped her chin and turned it to her, she finally softened. Those same hands were capable of so much violence, as she knew well. “I had a dream. I saw we had a daughter.” Another one. The loss of Visenya still felt too raw. 

“And?” 

He leaned forward again, to whisper in her ear. “We shall have to make her, when the war is won.” 

[dei2dei]

Look at all the stuff in that mansion. It's full, in that carefully-organized-by-a-designer way, and it's fantastic--and it's also utterly, horribly terrifying and makes me sad on behalf of MK1 Johnny Cage, what little I can see. Because as much money has been splashed around, as glorious and gorgeous as that Cage’s Mansion stage is… that's a showpiece, not a home.

Johnny has Sento, a true Japanese katana with a history--and it's famous enough, presumably, he'd know its name. It's on display in a really nice setup with all its elements neatly aligned and included so you can see every bit of it.  

He has a very fancy glass chandelier, and what looks like a bust of Nefertiti. Open windows and he keeps the temp at 72F. Lots of white furniture, the random vases full of sticks (aromatherapy diffusers?), a variety of bar carts. Abstract art and sculpture, and what may be a bra abandoned by the one chair and ottoman by the fireplace. One chair and ottoman. Not two, where you'd expect to cuddle up with family if you had one, or a partner. Just one.

This place can seat dozens. There are at least four discrete seating areas (maybe five?) on the bottom floor, plus the infinity pool, and an outdoor porch/patio. Then there's the second floor and all its seating that we can glimpse. It’s made for filling with people, and not in a lived-in dinner parties and kids running around kind of way.  This is a place you fill with people for parties. It's a place you expect to need dozens of chairs and bottles and bottles of liquor for your get-together. But there's very little Johnny on display. 

It's all about external appearances- the bust of Nefertiti is a well-known piece of art, and historically she was considered an icon of feminine beauty. He's got one of the world's most beautiful women to look at, a fancy Japanese katana, and yet all of it smacks to me of a man who is desperate to find pleasure, to chase the high in acquisitions and throwing big parties and having lots of people, to drown and forget the emptiness inside.

We don't see pictures of people here. No photos of family, of a girlfriend, or even of himself (no posters or award photos on the wall). Johnny is a man on his own, and anyone who comes to his place is an ephemeral guest, leaving very little of themselves behind. What there is of him is hidden away from public view, where perhaps only a few guests would get to see--and if we're stripping down to bras in the main space and then heading to skinny dipping in the pool, it'll be a wonder if they make it to a bedroom. There's no dining room here, or kitchen (that we see)--all those private areas are hidden. All public-facing here, all carefully cultivated and maintained for appearances.

I think this new Johnny, the little bit we've seen, is hungry for something. He wants something and he doesn't know what it is. Acting lets him chase that; maybe he'll find what he's missing in a role, in a mindset, in a co-star. Maybe he's tried to buy things and see if one of them will fill the hole in him, but nothing takes. Maybe if he surrounds himself with enough people, he'll meet The One (or two, if it's a poly situation). But right now... he's flying solo. This isn’t a place you raise a kid in, curl up with your significant other on a couch in front of the fire and laugh or watch TV (is there even one?).

It's an ostentatious display of wealth and a desire to be a party animal, to be the one people come to hang out with, the social butterfly that has alcohol and plenty of space. I think Tony Stark would absolutely be comfortable in a place like this (in fact, that's what my first thought was - MK/MCU mashup when?), but what we're missing is the equivalent to Tony's lab and bedroom. There's no passion here on display, nothing that makes this an individual, unique home that says "Johnny Cage" on it. He's presenting a face to the world, and hiding the rest away where he has to be a real person who eats and sleeps. There’s a scene in the MKX comics where Sonya is gearing up for an op in their kitchen, and the incongruity is great, Johnny stumbling out in fuzzy slippers and bathrobe and her checking her gun with the fruit bowl on the counter. That wouldn’t happen here; that’s too human, too vulnerable, for this Johnny.

Until - I hope - he meets The One, and realizes that he can stop chasing after external happiness because he’s got somebody who makes all those paintings and awards pale in comparison. Someone who's worth putting another chair next to the fireplace for, maybe making that pristine mansion a little messy for. Someone who's going to shake him down to his well-heeled shoes and upend his world. And if MK1 isn't going to give him someone, well. That's what fanfic is for.

[atarathegreat]

Help For A Price. Eren Jeager

This was hell. Absolute hell. You had only just moved to the area, and the neighbors seemed nice enough... in the beginning. Across the road was the Powell's, the wife had brought you a couple of lamps to welcome you to the area. A strange gift, you thought, but a nice gesture nonetheless. To the left of them was the Watts', a sweet family with three daughters, they threw a potluck to welcome you, gave you a beautiful chance to meet everyone.

Everyone else simply tried to offer help when they could, though never went out of their way to help. You didn't mind, not really being the type to want the attention from others.

You spent the first week getting settled in, fixing the furniture how you wanted it, stocking the kitchen, making sure your bills were on auto pay. You even baked some cookies for the neighbors, taking them around at the same time, thanking them and telling them to ask if they ever needed anything.

Except that, after the potluck, no one would even wave at you. The Powell's never answered if you knocked, the Watts' often dragged their kids in when you tried waving. It was upsetting, but what really could you do? They were entitled to do as they wished, even if it hurt your feelings. There was only so much you could do. Each option consisting of you staying up at night to overthink everything you did. Had you said something wrong at the potluck? Maybe the cookie recipe had been messed up and you accidently made them all sick? What if you accidently offended them just by... being?

You tried going about your day. Everything was bright and happy and perfect, the coffee smelled amazing, and you could hear the Watts' girls in the street playing. You made a mental note to by signs to remind drivers to slow down.

"Wait, Kristy! Wait for me!" It was Nancy screaming, probably begging for her turn on the scooter or pogo stick. There was an element of childishness to it, but the girl was only twelve, Kristy being fourteen, and the eldest, Betty, was sixteen. Three lovely girls with great personalities and even better looks. From their mother, you think, but you never dwell on it.

Kristy is fast, in track from what you heard at the potluck, and you know she's hurrying away so that Nancy can't have whatever it is she has.

A small chuckle bounces softly from your lips and to the kitchen around you, quickly shut down when you hear a furious scrubbing from out front. You moved fast, almost too fast, and just barely missed rolling your ankle. Any other day you would be grateful for the weird locks on the window, but right now you need to throw it open. Stinging pain shoots through your fingertips as you slam the window open, shoving your head out.

"Mr. Watts?"

The girls father is scrubbing at the side of your home, sleeves rolled up and sweating in the bright sunlight. Yet the second he hears you and sees you staring at him, he bolts. Bucket and scrubber left behind as he scoops his girls up and races inside.

How strange? Your house wasn't dirty and there weren't vines growing up the side. It made more sense when you got outside. There had been rumors about gangs or mobs running the areas in your new city, but you had hoped, in vain, that they were just rumors. With the intricate sun design and the wings instead of sun rays flashing at you in bright blue paint staring at you, you could no longer deny the facts. You lived in gang territory, and for whatever reason, your neighbors were hiding it from you.

Day after day you could hear Mr. Watts scrubbing at the slate grey siding of your house, making you lucky that you had at least nabbed a single photo of the symbol. The families only further distanced themselves since you caught on, the girls wouldn't even go outside to play if you were home. Each day, during whatever free time you were able to find for yourself, you were busy searching up gang logos, local gang tattoos, even businesses with wide reach to the city's casinos or big businesses. There was only one that seemed to keep popping up: Titan Corp. A colossal business with nearly thousands of smaller business branches. It seemed like the best place to start. But how did you even get in contact with the leader of a mob?

"Hello, Titan Corp. How can we help you today?" The accountant sounded bored over the phone, a little uninterested in her job.

You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, "I was wondering if, uhm... if the don was available?"

That sentence seemed to gather her emotions, "Are you trying to die?"

"No, no. I just... I'm having a problem, and I could use a counsel with him?" You sounded so dumb.

This is underground business we're talking about! You were just going to ask for a meeting? Yes, sir, I was wondering if it was your organization putting a hit on me? head ass.

"Tomorrow at noon."

She hung up without letting you confirm, so you figured if you showed up and died it would be your own fault.

Eren was getting fed up with Zeke following him around, bitching about some stupid event that Eren couldn't give two fucks about. There was a certain line in the sand that Eren didn't want to tread and risking his pacts with other organizations because of his RBF like attitude wasn't where he wanted to tiptoe.

"As the leader here, you have to go, Eren. Don't you understand that? Grisha left the company to you because he knew it would do best in your hands." Zeke was nearly fed up, as well, his younger brother never heeded his warnings, "There are some events you can't sit out on. Especially the ones thrown by you!"

"I know that." Eren growled as he sat behind his desk. Of course he knew that. Zeke always complained about him not wanting to be at the parties. The elder leaders would always ask him when he was going to get married, when he would have an heir. All for them to be able to solidify some semblance of a pact through children's friendships. It was all a business ploy to keep things under control. "There's no point in making an appearance, none of them recognize me as the leader. Our pact is paper thin." Eren glared up at Zeke, who was busy checking something on his phone, "What?"

"An appointment?"

Right as Zeke spoke, an accountant opened the door, her blonde bun done tightly in place, "A civilian, sir. Requested counsel."

A civilian requesting counsel wasn't normal, so Eren sat straighter and waved for the person to come in. "You must have some sort of brain rot to be coming in here willingly." Zeke eyed you as you sat across from Eren's desk. It was strange, you were strange. Willingly coming in, ignoring Zeke, not saying a word as you pulled your phone out and slid it to Eren. He knew the symbol, shared a border with them and a trade route. "Yeah?" He looked up at you.

You explained everything. From moving across the ocean and not even having a job yet to the neighbors acting strange and finding the Watts cleaning the symbol off your siding. Zeke didn't seem to really care that much, but Eren was livid.

"The Sons of Icarus have marked you. Probably for being an outsider. There's nothing we can do." Zeke waved you off. But Eren had other thoughts. He knew the location, just on the edge of his territory. He wouldn't stand for intimidation tactics in his city. "They live in my city; they have my protection from that alone."

"And the debt?"

You caught him a little off guard with that, but it all felt too easy to you. There should've been more of a discussion, right? Deliberation? Maybe intimidation from them?

Eren had problems, a lot of them. Perhaps you thinking there would be a debt for his protection could benefit him here. Multiple birds with one stone, as he saw it.

"I'm throwing a party for local leaders. An event to showcase ourselves, essentially. You'll accompany me." Eren nodded. There was steam coming from Zeke's ears, "What the hell are you thinking?! That will jeopardize our trade with Sons of Icarus!"

"They're trying to operate in my territory. I have every right to answer to their disrespect. And what better way than to have the target they're after on my elbow, hm?" Eren smirked, "Not only that, but it will get some of the old crones off my back about an heir if they believe I have started dating. I see all of this as a win, brother."

Zeke didn't like it, but it was the most subtle way to enforce borders and power. After all, they couldn't just let the Sons move in on the territory. That would paint them as weak and that would ruin business.

Now it was out of hand. The way Eren wouldn't take his eyes off you, the outfit his little brother had picked out for you, it was all too much and more than unnecessary for making a subtle scene. Many of the Sons of Icarus were peppered in the building, a few glaring at the way you smiled next to Eren. You were the target they wanted, and now out of nowhere you were cozy with a trade partner. They couldn't exactly target you now, for risk of starting a small war among the orgs. And Eren could do little more than flaunt you around to show you were under his protection.

"Are you enjoying the event?" Eren whispered in your ear, smirking as he handed you a glass of champagne. The way you proudly wore the clothes he picked for you was enough to make him keep his eyes on you. It was the confidence, the smile, the openness you displayed while also hiding everything about you. It was like you studied the basic mafia tropes and molded it into a personality. Eren wasn't sure how to feel about the way that it was working perfectly for you. "It's very fancy, a little overwhelming, but not too terrible." He loved the way your smile never wavered.

"Good. You'll be doing this a lot; I hope you know." Eren nodded, "You'll need to, so that they know you're close to me."

You really didn't, but it was a nice way to keep you close to him.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

pencil shavings and shared smiles {pt.2}

Fem! Teacher Reader x Teacher! Eddie

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AN: I’m honestly so grateful to find people who enjoy my writing :) This started as a bit of fun aside from my current WIP that I’m DETERMINED to not immediately trash, so I wanted to practice some writing on the side, and hey, it’s been a while since I’ve done fanfiction (like, over 6 years…. I think my last fanfic was at age 16! I'm now 23.) so I figured why not? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this next bit (I’ll be honest, I was struggling with it, but the next chapters will be better, I swear!) I don’t have an exact plan for how many parts this will be, but I’m excited to see where it’s headed! 

WARNINGS AND CONTENT:  Minors DNI!!!, Noncanon, Hawkins AU, Normal Hawkins, Rumors about Eddie, Eventual Smut, Very fluffy, Outcasts and Bullying, Mentions of Loneliness, Flirting, Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, older! Eddie, short-haired Eddie, 1995/1996 Hawkins, F! Reader has a dark past, angst.

Summary: You settle into Hawkins, looking for a way to spruce up your place, and bump into a familiar face. You maybe even meet some new friends. Things are looking up. 

The next few days following your encounter with Eddie, you throw yourself into trying to get settled in and getting to know the town. You had been there for a few days before coming to the school but still had boxes piled high and needed some items. 

You focused on moving all the boxes into their designated spaces. But then, you realized you didn’t have much when it came down to it. You had work clothes, plates and bowls, cutlery, basic toiletries, cleaning supplies, and three makeup items. 

In your rush to leave the city, you left so much behind you hadn’t realized. As a result, your apartment looks abandoned in its barren state, and the hideous peeling pink floral wallpaper from the 70s makes your skin crawl. 

That’s what led you to this moment. A shopping spree throughout Hawkins. You’re determined to make the “blink, and you miss it” town feel cozy and like home. It is home now, after all. Though you may need a blanket to cover the ugly cracked green leather couch that came with the place. 

You’re piling up blankets, knick-knacks, and even plants to busy the place. By the time you get to the antique store, you’re sure you’ve burned a hole in your savings. You look around, admiring old furniture with history you wish you knew. You see a large wooden bookshelf, probably older than you, and bite your lip, picturing the perfect reading nook in your large window, a chair with too many pillows, and a table to set your favorite cup of coffee on. You did just buy some new mugs, after all. 

In your daydreaming, you barely notice the presence creeping toward you. 

“As lovely as that little vintage piece is, I heard it’s haunted.” 

You jump a bit, startled by the sudden speaking. When you turn, you feel that familiar creeping of heat across your skin, your stomach twists with nerves while your heart thumps a loud, steady beat. Eddie. He’s wearing a super distressed band shirt with the sleeves cut off, his slightly muscular inked biceps on display. Your thighs tighten at the display, and you mentally scold yourself. 

Now is not the time! Get a hold of yourself.

His brown eyes twinkle with mischief as he tilts his head at you, sticking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. You are instantly reminded of a puppy and feel your insides practically melt. Your heart is thumping embarrassingly loud. You hope to god the cute metalhead in front of you doesn’t somehow have super senses. 

“You redecorating?” 

You shrug, a shy smile gracing your lips. “You could say that, I guess.”

He nods and looks back at the bookcase with intrigue. His expression is thoughtful yet almost solemn as he speaks softly, his words barely reaching you. “Seriously though, that bookcase is bad luck. Belonged to a notorious killer. Henry Creel. Killed his whole family when he was like 9.” 

You feel a chill go up your spine, the sense of fear deep in your belly. But, of course, you knew the old trope of sleepy towns never really being sleepy. Still, the last thing you would’ve guessed to happen in Hawkins was premeditated murder. You peek over at Eddie, who looks at you; his eyes are almost sorrowful as he rubs your shoulder comfortingly. You feel an electric current shoot through you at his touch, and goosebumps shoot up your neck. A flutter in your stomach reminds you that you are far too emotional about this man, despite barely knowing him. 

“Sorry,” He rasps. “I sometimes ramble and forget what I’m saying. I didn’t mean to spook you. It was ages ago. He’s in jail now.” He pulls away his warm touch, and you almost find yourself leaning back for more. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine. Everyone has skeletons in the closet, don’t they?” You remark jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. 

Eddie’s eyes don’t sparkle as they usually do, and he looks a bit more guarded as he smiles softly. “Yeah.” 

You feel a tug at your heart and remember the encounter between the grouchy bookstore owner and Eddie. It’s clear he has a past, but you won’t bring it up. After all, you’re the last person who should be digging through someone’s history. 

“Hey, so a few friends and I are headed to a bar called The Hideout; tonight to bid adieu to summer. I was just wondering…if you’d like to join?” Eddie says shyly, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks flush. “Of course, I understand if not; I just figured since you’re new here, it may help you get more acclimated and maybe even meet some people-” 

You cut off his rambling with a hand, your lips fighting the urge to smile so vast your jaw may break. “Eddie, I’d love to. What time?” 

He grins, his signature dimples appearing and making your stomach flutter. “Great. Around 7 pm tonight. First drink on me.” 

You feel your cheeks heat once again as you nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Can’t wait.” 

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

Later on in the evening, you are stressed and pacing. You remember dancing and singing to calm anxiety as a young teen and get the bright idea to turn on the radio to your favorite rock station. 

Now, you're dancing around your living room as You Oughta Know by Alanis Morrisette plays on your radio. You’re dressed in a black slip dress, the satin fabric accentuating your figure. Maybe you’re dressed a little too nice for a bar. Who cares? Dr. Martens on your feet create a more casual look but also possibly causes a noise complaint from your neighbors as you stomp and sing, applying makeup. 

“AND I’M HERE! TO REMIND YOU! OF THE MESS YOU LEFT WHEN YOU WENT AWAY!” 

You scream into your hairbrush, jumping around. 

The singing calms your nerves a bit, and by the end of the song, you’re panting and thinking maybe you should try to hit the gym more. 

You glance at the clock and realize the time is flashing a red and angry 7:30 pm. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” You scramble, tripping over your feet, quickly putting on earrings and a choker, trying to rush out the door. 

Fucking Alanis Morissette. 

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

You arrive at the bar, hoping to pass off as fashionably late. You look around before spotting Eddie, his back to you in a well-loved leather jacket. He’s at a booth with some friends, a dark stout in his hand. 

You tremble slightly as you walk over, your body thrumming with nervousness, and tap him on the shoulder. He turns, lighting up the minute he sees you. “Hey! You made it! Come on and sit down.” 

You feel embarrassment sink into your skin, hands nervously fiddling as you sit beside him. He introduces the rest of the table, practically making your head spin. There’s Nancy, a petite and beautiful brunette who works as a Chief Editor for the local paper. Steve, a handsome man with an impressive head of hair, works as a coach at Hawkins Middle and High Schools. Robin a talkative and nervous blonde who works as a band teacher at Hawkins High. According to Eddie, this wasn’t everyone in their circle, just the ones he could fit in a booth. You laugh, nerves wracking your stomach as you hope to make a good impression. 

A few minutes in, you’re laughing and practically snorting at a story Steve is telling about Eddie accidentally flashing everyone in a Romeo and Juliet drama production, where he insisted to the drama teacher that they swap the actors and actresses. Eddie had been playing a side character, a plain maiden, when he tripped over his dress and - “Absolutely ate shit! He landed with his head between his legs, and everyone could see his Garfield boxers!” 

You can’t stop laughing at the image of a smaller and younger Eddie, his loud personality causing so much chaos on the stage. You were glad he had gone to buy your drink, seeing as you had laughed so hard you were sure tears had fallen from your eyes. You wiped your eyes and sighed, taking a breath in. 

Eddie returned at that exact moment with your drink, settling it down while playfully glaring at Steve. “Harrington, you better not be talking shit.” 

Steve flicks a paper straw wrapper at Eddie and scoffs. “Can it, Munson. I could kick your ass any day.” 

Eddie immediately leaps into action and pulls Steve into a headlock, tousling his hair while laughing. Steve yells, trying to fight off the taller man and protect his hair. Robin laughs and rolls her eyes while Nancy softly smiles, shaking her head. 

“Knock it off, you two. You’re letting on that you’re both children way too early. I need new friends,” Robin whines, covering her face in embarrassment. 

You feel sheepish, smiling. You’re not used to the attention. Not this much, anyway. But you’re having fun. Eddie’s friends are vibrant, loud, and the most genuine people you’ve ever met. 

Eddie lets Steve go, Steve grumbling about his hair and sitting back next to Robin, who smirks at him while she messes his hair up even more. Eddie then takes his spot next to you, sliding in, and due to the small booth, your thighs touch. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping across your insides from the alcohol and Eddie’s clothed leg pressing against yours, which is bare. You ignore the heat pooling between your thighs at the contact and the ever-so-sinful thoughts about his ringed and masculine hands. 

Eddie leans over to you, his blinding grin causing your stomach to join in on the anatomy shuffle currently happening in your body, fluttering to the point that you think you may have swallowed a bird. 

“Sorry if we’re a bit much. But, now you’ll have a few familiar faces, right?” 

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. Thanks, Eddie.” 

He nods, and you almost swear you see his eyes dart toward your lips before he turns back towards the group, all arguing about what the next movie night should be. You feel your heart skip a beat. You can’t help but be grateful for this introduction and even the awkwardness it brought. You now felt a little less of a stranger in Hawkins. A sense of relief rushes through you. Maybe, things won’t have to be so lonely. 

Eddie interrupts your thoughts once more when he leans over towards you. You almost feel drunk on the scent of tobacco, vanilla, rum, and something spicy like cloves and cinnamon. Your thighs tighten, and you curse your brain for instantly thinking dirty thoughts. You’re in no state to have a physical or romantic relationship. Your throat tightens as you push down the ideas and look at Eddie. 

“Hey, so we're goin' to hang out at the Palace Arcade. It’s usually super packed, but tonight they’re having a party there, so no one under 21. You wanna join?” His eyes sparkle with mischief and something you may be misreading as hope. 

You bite your lip, thinking that maybe you’re too deep and should head to the comfort and quiet of home. You haven’t been to an arcade in years. Much less a party. Sour memories threaten to come up, but you push them down and set your resolve. You are just a woman in her mid-twenties trying to have fun. You deserve that, at least. Even if it’s really a lie. 

You smile at Eddie, nodding. “Sure, I’ll tag along. I haven’t been to an arcade in years.” 

Eddie grins, his dimples flashing. “Great. You can meet the band.” 

You perk up, looking at Eddie quizzically. “Band?”

He nods but puts his finger to his lips and winks, signifying it’s a secret. You furrow your brows and feel your stomach flutter as the ever prominent question wracks your brain again. 

Who the hell is this man?

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

taglist: @bebe07011 @corrodedcoffincumslut @kurdtbean @nerdflash

[popatochisssp]

GAH!!! I’ve had this question on my mind for so long, but do the boys have any particular tastes when it comes to interior design? Minimal, eclectic, etc… whatever boys you want to choose! Thank you!!!

This was interesting, I had to go on a bit of adventure through interior décor styles because I’m not too familiar with all the terms, but I definitely had fun~

Forgive any misuse of interior design words below, I am not an expert! XD

(Featuring many images stolen from Google)

Sans (Undertale): Sort of a revival post-modernist, not quite as loud as the original post-modern look in terms of colors, but still a mix-and-match of shapes and materials, spacious areas, not afraid of décor or accenting a space with unique pieces that don’t perfectly coordinate with the others. Comfort and space over rigid adherence to an aesthetic.

Papyrus (Undertale): Memphis style designs really capture his imagination, lots of shapes and bold, bright colors, circles and checkerboards and zig-zags. It’s fun, he likes fun things! Abstractly-shaped furniture and weird objets d’art—could use some more stuff with cool flame-patterns, or maybe some spikes here and there, but he can experiment to get the right balance in there!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Into modern styles, mostly, he does like the minimalist look but absolutely goes in for strategic splashes of color to brighten things up. Sleek shapes and clean lines are great, but absolutely must be offset by some rich lively colors for an open, welcome feel, can’t let it feel too sterile.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Favors sort of a regence look, tends toward curving lines and intricate elegance in the little details. Chair arms that swirl, fleurs in the carving of a cabinet, decorative patterns and motifs to tie everything together as a cohesive whole. He finds the charming elegance comfortable and easy to settle into.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Definitely more of an artisan/arts and crafts style kind of guy, cares less about the Look of things than he does the craftsmanship of it—he wants things to be well-made and able to stand up to consistent use, so most of what he favors are sturdy pieces and designs without ostentation or elaborate details. It may not be the prettiest, but it is homey and comfortable and ready to be actually lived in.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Empire style, he is all about the ostentation and elaborate details, silk and velvet, ebony and gold, it has to be bold and artful and dramatic (just like he is). If something’s a little too plain and simple, he’ll pass on it or find a way to dress it up prettier.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Contemporary design is more his thing, sleek lines and sharp angles, with a strong aesthetic preference for more industrial materials (glass, metal, marble, etc). Tends to avoid most color, sticking with black and white, and just a few decorative objects here and there to draw the eye. He likes the clean look over a more comfortable, lived-in one.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Big fan of art nouveau, swirling lines and curving forms. Stained glass lamps, art, and windows are big hit with him, as well as wrought iron railings or table frames and the like. He likes colors and things that feel like they flow, mostly, and any intricate detail-work that catches the eye.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Cottage style is more his speed, a little rustic and a lot cozy, with a special emphasis on plush furniture. He’s all about the comfort and the homey feel, nothing pristine that an accident or a bit of wear-and-tear will ruin quickly.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): More of an English country sort of guy, big on patterns and florals, but also into a bit of delicacy and charm—some more ornate accent chairs here, decorative curtains there, unique antiques and plants everywhere. Definitely cozy and comfortable but done in a very thoughtful and deliberate way.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Clutterbitch—wait no, I mean maximalist. He likes having a lot of stuff and putting it on display, and bright colors (especially turquoise!) make him happy to look at, so he’s drawn to that kind of thing when customizing a space. Lots of knickknacks and prints related to his hobbies, maybe a novelty end table or two, shaped like a record or a cloud or something. A bit chaotic but he probably knows where everything in it is, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He goes for a bit of a modern farmhouse look, soft neutrals with warmer rustic touches. Likely to spruce it up a little further with some bright yellows and greens, but mostly in the accents—flowers, artwork, et cetera. Also likely to decorate with lots of candles and mason jars and anything he comes back with from the home goods store, because he is very passionate about the home goods store.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Tends toward Tuscan style, warm tones, wood and tile and wrought iron, sturdy and well-crafted furniture. Not opposed to some intricate designs here and there, but not that intricate, just enough to look a little nice. Maybe a bit nicer than the absolute basics, but he’s not trying to impress anybody, he just wants cozy and comfortable, and maybe he’s earned the right to a tiny bit of fance here and there, y’know?

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Something of a traditionalist, with a strong appreciation for clean, elegant, and cohesive styles. The classics never go out of fashion—dark wood, damask patterns, ornate detailing, maybe some fine red drapery and a chandelier or two, but nothing too ostentatious. Less is more, but no need to go full minimalist to show your class, after all.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Definitely about the shabby chic, clean and simplistic styles but with a touch of wear or softness to keep it inviting. Not a sterile space that can’t be lived in, but still a bit neat and thoughtfully arranged!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): More a fan of the urban look, exposed brick and beams but some softening elements incorporated too, like abstractly shaped furniture and décor, and lots of lighting. More minimalist than cluttered and probably not a huge fan of rugs, but he definitely wants a good balance between hard and rough, and soft and wavy aesthetics.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He can’t actually see it, but tends to favor Mediterranean styles. He likes a lot of sunlight, open floor plans, and wide doorways, and he’s a little less picky about his furniture but anything with ornate designs and detailing that he can physically feel to appreciate is a bonus. Function over form, though, comfort and utility is always foremost in his consideration.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Fond of mission style, slatted wooden furniture, simple and clean designs and only a couple accent colors that work well with them—autumnals are a favorite. Some nature-inspired touches like plants, artwork, and other accents to bring a little of the outdoors in, but not so much as to be cluttered.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): Mid-century modern, for the most part, uniquely shaped items to stand as conversation pieces, but still primarily designed for utility. A little off-beat and retro, but still a homey and comfortable place to chill in.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Big into art deco, metal and glass, geometric patterns and angular designs with bold, rich colors. He finds it to have a very fun and classy feel and likes things that make a statement—so he’s likely to incorporate a lot of centerpieces and décor wherever he can to draw the eye.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Full-on industrial, brick and metal and hardwood, ideally with open and lofted spaces. It’s kind of what he’s gotten used to and gained an appreciation for along the way, so it may not be the most innately homey-feeling place, but he’s comfortable in it. Likely to accent the space with art—wall or sculpture—rather than rugs or blankets.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a minimalist. He doesn’t actually have a physical body most of the time, so his taste in decorating a space tends to prioritize aesthetic over what it would be like to actually live in it. Still, he is fond of aesthetics so he’s sure to pick out at least a few interesting and attractive centerpieces—light fixtures, table décor, an accent pillow, something—to make it a little prettier.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): Sort of an eclectic/boho thing going on, lots of color and design and pretty much anything fun that catches his eye-socket. He’s very into crystals and wall hangings and art (or plants!) that can be strung up to dangle from the ceiling, so any space he’s involved in decorating is bound to look a little messy, but it’s comfortable and fun so it works out in the end!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Give him that Hollywood glam, glossy high-shine surfaces—glass, gold, mirrors—mixed with soft velvets and satins. Mostly black and white but with a prominent accent color or two to really make the eleganza pop, he’s decorating to impress and show off his taste in design.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): Ends up falling into a bit of a steampunk style in terms of décor, lots of metal and lighting, plenty of stuffed shelves, and clockwork junk and tools lying around. He certainly has nothing against brass and leather either so y’know, if that’s what you wanna call it, there it is.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Country house design is more his speed, very fond of gingham and natural light and an overall homey feel. It’s not what he’s used to, per se, but that’s kind of…better. He likes light and open spaces, big tables for activities and soft furniture for sitting, but nothing so clean and new that it doesn’t feel like it’s meant to be used.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): International/modernist is mostly what he goes for, emphasis on steel and glass and concrete, and sharp minimalist lines. If he’s going to splurge on any patterns or color, it’ll only be in a few select pieces, nothing too outrageous.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He prefers a bit of a rustic look to things, with a high preference for natural materials, like stone and wood. Lofts are cool, as are sturdy shelving and exposed beams, but he’s especially into a good view, so if there’s high windows or just a lot of them, he’ll be happy.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Tends toward a dark romance style, deep rich (but of course, dark) colors, soft lighting, and graceful, sometimes ornate lines. Not one to overclutter with décor and accents, mostly simplistic, but a few items here and there—quilts and dried flowers and overstuffed pillows.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Whimsigoth, a fondness for the ornate and intricate and elegant, but a tendency towards eclectic amounts of décor—wall hangings, candles, bones, and books all artfully arranged. Very into patterned furniture with texture, from the pattern being either pressed or stitched into the fabric. A little messy at first glance but he’s actually very deliberate with his arrangements for the most balanced look.