#my fingers get irritated by drawing on a phone for so long

[northduhcodeuh]

New York and Tenne and sippi

New York one is more recent so it’s a bit more detailed. 👍

[c0eu4]

OP81 | Valentine's Day evening

Summary: McLaren had the wonderful idea of revealing the new car on Valentine's Day evening..

Warning: a lot of teasing, blowjob but not that much described.

A/N: I'm not going to say that I'm back because it would be a lie. I know it's a bit random after not posting for more than one month. Take care of yourself 🫶🏻

MASTERLIST request are close

She climbs on his lap, straddling him. He lifted her dress up, rubbing his hands against her hips. She rubs herself against the prominent bulge on his pants, his fingers digging in her hips through her dress. As they were about to go further, Oscar's phone rang. He ignores it, turning it in silent mode. But his phone vibrates again.

He sighed, picking up the phone. She mutters an incomprehensible swear and Oscar gently pats her thigh, as if to remind her to be polite.

''Lando what do you want?'' His voice doesn't let anything show, so she moves her hips a little to make him react. He bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes, trying not to moan into the phone. She doesn't hear what the British is saying but it seems like he's annoying Oscar.

''Yeah yeah we'll be there in 10.'' He said, annoyed. ''Yes Lando!'' He hung up like that, Lando visibly irritated him. She tries to move her hips again, but Oscar puts his hand on her hips, stopping her.

''We have to go.'' He took her off of him, pulling down her dress. ''But I thought we had time ?'' She follows Oscar like a poor puppy who nobody wants to play with. He put on his coat and handed hers to her. ''Lando wants us to be here earlier.'' She puts on her coat. ''And you're listening to him?'' She takes her purse, checking that there is everything she needs inside.

''Boss order.'' He opens the door to her, following her outside and locks the door behind him. The cold of winter makes him shiver. He doesn't understand how she manages to be in a dress in the middle of February.

He runs towards her, putting his hand on her lower back. He opens for her the door of the car and closes it behind her. He sits next to her, behind the wheel and starts the engine. He started to drive, with both of his hands on the steering wheel because of the people everywhere in the city.

They finally arrive at the highway, allowing him to place his hand on her thigh. He caresses her thigh tenderly, his fingers drawing random patterns.

Eventually, they arrive at their destination, already surrounded by journalists around the car. Oscar comes out first, his hand leaving her thigh against his will. Journalists are already taking photos of him but he doesn't take the time to pose, preferring to go and open his beloved's door. He holds out his hand to her, she grabs it and easily gets out of the car. He closes the door behind her, his hand in hers.

She's not really used to McLaren events and all this makes her uncomfortable. He's used to it now. But it still makes him uncomfortable too.

Oscar dragged her towards the red carpet. They can't avoid it. Even if they would love. Eventually, they can breathe a little easier after the red carpet, the journalists cannot follow them.

But the people in the private room don't ease their tension completely. They look for their seat, find it quickly and place their stuff in front of their name label.

Hopefully for Oscar, he's next to Lando. Y/n, her, she's next to someone unknown. It promises a wonderful night.

''Oscaaar, my dear friend!'' Lando knows how to be unnoticed. ''I thought you'll never come.'' They sit down, waiting for the event to start.

What a long night for y/n and Oscar. The person next to y/n is so boring. She keeps talking, without letting time for her to answer. Oscar sees that she's starting to be annoyed and tries to help her by teasing her.

He rubs her thigh, going higher than normal. His fingertips wander throughout her inner thigh, sending shivers down her spine.

''Are you cold? Because if you are, Did you know that if two people are naked against each other, it's very hot?'' Y/n don't take the time to listen to her, trying to focus on not moaning.

She bites hardly her lower lips when Oscar talks to her ear. ''Wanna go to the bathroom, mh?'' Y/n stands up abruptly, heading towards the bathroom through the crowd. Oscar follows her closely, managing to grab her hand.

She locked them in a bathroom, Oscar pressing her against the wall in front of the door. He nibbles her neck, making her moan.

''You're so neddy.. my poor pretty girl..'' He bit down her collarbone, leaving a few red marks. Her hands tug at his suit and his hair, like she wants to be even more connected to him. The friction of his bulge in his pants against the crook of her legs drives her crazy, but she restrains herself from moaning too loudly.

He slams his lips against hers, their teeth collide. They laugh softly before Oscar kisses her again. His hands caress her body in every corner, making her feel good, ''Oscah, you're gonna kill me.'' She whispered to him, her voice as soft as music.

He sucked the skin of her neck, not worrying about the fact that it leaves reddish marks there. She lets it happen, tilting her head to the side to give him more space.

Suddenly, she grabs his hips and makes him turn around, pinning him against the wall. She tries to grin herself against him but she's too small to feel his now hard length against her needy pussy. She hastily undoes his tie and opens the first buttons of his shirt to bite his neck as if she hadn't eaten for several months.

He moaned loudly as she kissed that spot under his ear that he loves so much, his hands gripping hardly her hips, almost leaving bruises. She grabs his cock and kneads it through his pants, making him roll his eyes back, his mouth wide open in a 'o'.

''Y-Y/n! s-stop!'' He moaned in a high pitched voice, ''I'm gonna c-cum in my pants.'' He said, almost crying from holding back his climax.

She quickly gets on her knees, undoing his belt hastily and pulling down his pant and boxer at his middle thighs. She doesn't wait even more to take him in her mouth and in less than two minutes, his eyes roll back once more, his hot and thick seed filling her mouth.

She quickly cleans him with her tongue and lets him get dressed. He kissed her one last time, almost tasting himself on her lips.

They face the mirror, and that's when they realize they shouldn't have.

Y/n's makeup is ruined by the blowjob she just gave. Her hair is a mess, red marks all over her neck and her lipstick all over her mouth. As for Oscar, it's not any better. Her shirt is all wrinkled, lipstick marks all over his face and neck.

''I'm gonna kill you.'' The young man said as he started to panic, already thinking about all the scandal there is going to be. However, Y/n laughs at the situation.

''I have makeup in my bag.'' She looks at her man as she reaches her hand up and tries to arrange his hair.

''But your bag is at the table, isn't it?'' She nodded slowly and started to think of a solution. ''You have your phone?'' He takes it out of his pocket. ''Call Lando then.''

Oscar shakes his head as a no. ''No way he sees us like that.'' She giggles at his reaction. ''Oh c'mon babe. You prefer all the photographers to take pictures of us like that?'' The man sighed and eventually called Lando, who joined them with the bag of Y/n without asking questions. He knocks on the bathroom door and Oscar opens it for him and locks it right away.

''You save me from that girl, she can't stop talking I swear.. What you both were doi-'' He doesn't even finish his sentence as he burst in laugh, seeing Oscar looking at the floor and playing nervously with his hand. Y/n, her, grab the bag from Lando's hand, rummage throughout it and take out some makeup.

''Osc, come here.'' She ignores Lando's child attitude as he has a hard time to calm down. ''You both are that needy?'' He asked between laughs. Oscar approached the young lady and she started to apply a yellow base on all the red marks on his neck.

''wow, she literally ate your neck, mate.'' The British boy said as he looked at his teammate's neck. ''Shut up.'' Answered Oscar, his face red from embarrassment.

Y/n keep covering Oscar's neck, until all the red marks aren't visible anymore. She does the same on her neck while her boyfriend fixes his clothes and his tie. She also fixed her make up and her lips until both of them were like before.

''I can't see nothing.'' Said Lando as he observed their neck attentively. ''You're a pro of makeup Y/n.'' Joked Lando. ''I just have the habit with him.'' She teased him as his cheeks got back to red.

''C'mon Oscah, I know you're not that shy.'' Lando gently hit his shoulder as he opened the door for them to get out.

The three of them go back to their table, where they refound that one lady who's already annoying Y/n again...

[princessbrunette]

mean brother’s bsf ! rafe who says he has to go to the bathroom while he’s over at your house playing video games w ur brother but instead walks to ur room and starts fucking u :((

𓍢ִ໋🪷˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🦢

you can always hear the group of them — rowdy and loud, yelling at the tv whilst they play the game, or watch some kind of sport that you yourself had no interest in. you had no idea why your brother refused to ever close his door, especially when he had friends round— they were so damn loud.

you hear rafes voice in the hallway and it makes your heart rate spike, your brothers friend calling something into the room as he leaves it, the boys exploding into laughter. you wondered if he’d stop by today, like he did every time — or if he’d pass you by and act like you don’t exist, something he has also demonstrated he is capable of doing when your brothers around.

it had happened only earlier, coming home from your pilates class in your cute little get up which usually you knew rafe would be all over— the boy stood in the kitchen, chatting to your brother when you arrived home.

“hi!” you chirp politely, happy to see him there, knowing what it meant for you. rafe barely glanced— offering you a “hey.” before continuing on his conversation. you couldn’t help but let your face fall. you knew he couldn’t give you much attention infront of your big brother, not wanting to draw suspicion— but just a hey was rude, impolite even.

you hear your door creak open and you don’t turn to look, playing nonchalant as you lay on your stomach on your bed, flipping through a book. he’s careful to close the door again, taking in the sight of you laying there, more importantly the sight of your ass cheeks spilling from your pyjama shorts.

“did you miss me?” he drawls, taking a step closer and you spare a glance over your shoulder, playing like you didn’t.

“oh, hey.” you repeat his greeting from earlier boredly. it was petty, sure— but unfortunately, you were crazy about rafe. you wanted him to know you were a little peeved.

“that all i get, hey?” he sounds amused, dumb and part-lipped as he steps a little closer, fingers tickling your ankle which makes your leg jerk out, nearly kicking him.

“well that’s all i got earlier.” you flip a page, pretending to be totally disinterested in the conversation. you hear him still, breathing as he tries to recollect the moment.

“i dont — i-i don’t understand. what’s this about?” he asks, already irritated with the way you aren’t turning around to look at him. you sigh, sitting up and spinning around to face him. he didn’t get to be mad, best to nip it in the bud.

“i said hi to you and you acted like you didn’t even know me.” you pout immaturely, running your fingers along the bed to avoid his eyes. his eyes widen, hands spreading at his side in incredulity.

“your brother was there. fuck you expect, me to stick my tongue down your throat and slide a finger in your ass whilst he’s just standing there? i — i don’t —”

“no! just… you didn’t even look at me.” you sigh and he drops his hands, skulking over to stand right over you at the edge of the bed. he places his large hands on your cheeks, lifting your sulky gaze to his.

“‘cus if i did, id probably get all riled up… you don’t want that, right? infront of big bro?” he softens, but there’s something conniving about his tone.

“no.” you sigh and he nods in approval.

“right. i just had to play it cool. yeah?” he clarified slowly, like you’re a little dumb.

you blink up at him, and he gives in, bending down to press his lips to yours, the familiar taste of his tongue integrating into your mouth as you hum, visibly relaxing into the kiss.

“i did miss you.” you whisper, and he prods at your shoulder to encourage you to lie back.

“and i told everyone i had to take a phone call outside, so we haven’t got long… you wanna take these shorts off for me or am i gonna have to rip ‘em off like last time n’have you cryin’ at me again?”

five minutes in, and it’s increasingly harder to stay quiet. he’s mounted you, an obscene and degrading sight for anyone that would accidentally stumble upon it. your legs were up by his shoulders, cock nestled deep inside you as presses his lips together, stifling the little breathy groans from the back of his throat.

“m—my bed, its creaking!” you mewl, cunt tightening when he slides a large hand up the back of your thigh to the crevice of your knee, keeping it raised.

“those suckers aren’t listening. stop— stop thinkin’ bout that, yeah? look at me. focus on me.”

𓍢ִ໋🪷˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🦢

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2

summary: miles is not exactly a productive work partner

wc: ~800

A/N: not much plot movement here, but a tiny bit of exposition sort of. Miles will calm down in the following chapters...maybe 🥴

prev. next

"Oh Miles? He's in some of my AP classes. Honor student," Your friend's voice filtered through your phone speakers while on the FaceTime call. She popped a potato chip in her mouth as she sat in bed and sniffled, at home with a nasty cold.

"I've heard his name before. I think his dad died, that true?"

"Yeah, a couple years ago. Say he used to be really sweet, and now he don't talk no more."

"That's sad," you remark. "Maybe that's why I'm only seeing him now."

"You actually saw him in class?!?"

Your friend's face was the picture of disbelief, eyes wide as saucers as if this was a rare event.

"Yeah, he's my partner for the week cuz you decided to go and get yo ass sick!" you explained, dramatically jabbing a finger at your phone screen.

"It's not my fault that kid from AP Chem sneezed on me, damn!"

"He's really smart, but his attitude fucking sucks. He draws good, though," you think out loud.

“It’s just a week, sis, give it four more days, you’ll be fine.”

“You’d better hope so, for your sake.”

-

The following afternoon saw you asking around, trying to piece together a picture of this kid that everyone simultaneously knew and didn’t know. By the time lunchtime ended and Ms. Jones’ calculus class rolled around, you had heard the following:

‘Almost flunked out of school…on purpose’.

‘Did graffiti on the school walls once.’

‘Freakishly quiet’.

‘Secretly joined a gang’.

That last bit made your stomach turn a little as you approached your new temporary seat. Sure enough, Miles was already slouched at his desk, twirling that same pen between his fingers like a drumstick. You didn’t bother to say ‘hi’ this time. He didn’t bother to look up, either.

Miles didn’t say a word during the lecture portion of class, not even to answer questions. Would explain why you’d hardly noticed him until this week.

As the heavy-set math teacher scanned the classroom, she frequently craned her neck and made brief eye contact with Miles, but never cold-called him.

Her skin was a chestnut shade, and she kept her dark hair pinned back in a tight, slick bun. The way she pressed her lips together as she moved on suggested that they’d been through this before, and she'd be sorely disappointed.

When her lecture ended, Miles suddenly stood to his full height.

You weren’t able to tell by the way he sat, but the boy was quite lanky. Even with his awkwardly-broad shoulders slumped, he likely was a half a head taller than you. Ms. Jones stopped her slow pacing around the classroom and sighed.

“Miles, sweetie, what did I say yesterday?”

Miles looked up at the ceiling and sighed in exasperation before plopping back down into his chair. He raised his hand as if it pained him to do so.

“Yes, Mr. Morales?”

“May I please use the restroom?”

A few snickers could be heard erupting around the classroom, and the woman rolled her eyes. An innocent smile was plastered over Miles’ face, revealing two deep dimples in his cheeks. If the smile had actually reached his eyes, you would’ve thought he was cute.

“Go ahead,” Jones relented.

The boy dropped the smile and noisily pushed his chair aside; As he shot back up from his seat and strolled past your desk towards the door, Jones narrowed her eyes at him.

“Hold it. Sir, where are your glasses?”

Miles stopped in his tracks, groaning loudly.

“Oh my god, I don’t need glasses to go potty, Ms. Jones. I can aim, I promise.”

“Make sure you put them on as soon as you get back, your mother told me to remind you. Go,” Jones said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Uh-huh, thank you, ma’am!” The boy was already in the hallway, letting the door slam behind him.

Today's partner work was just a packet of long equations to simplify, so you were only mildly irritated that Miles never seemed to return from his impromptu bathroom trip until the last fifteen minutes of class.

You looked up as he sauntered over to his desk, hands in his pockets.

“Where were you? Class is almost over,” you demanded.

Miles ignored you and sat down, picking up his pen to work at a long string of equations at lightning speed.

Suddenly, you reached over and snapped your fingers in front of him. The boy looked up with his lips curled into a grimace.

"What's good witchu? You got through the work, didn't you?" Miles hissed in a low whisper to avoid catching Ms. Jones' attention.

You frowned deeply. "And what if I didn't? I'd be struggling while you were off running around the damn school-"

"I needed time to myself," he interrupted. "To think."

" 'Think' about what?"

"Personal shit," Miles resumed his problem-solving. "Any more questions, officer?"

The school bell rang, pulling from you a sigh of relief that you wouldn't have to see him again for another 24 hours.

[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝑅𝐸𝒢𝒰𝐿𝒜𝑅 𝐸𝒩𝒞𝒪𝒰𝒩𝒯𝐸𝑅𝒮

info ⭑ bakugo katsuki x reader ﾉ 1.6k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff 

the first time bakugo sees you, his new neighbor, is from his balcony. the squeak that accompanies your door sliding open catches his attention and your distant voice holds it. you’re on the phone, too preoccupied with your conversation to notice him sitting a few feet away. he watches you from afar, takes note of how you playfully roll your eyes and the way you throw your hand out in disbelief. you’re animated and energized, a shining light against the dark canvas that is the night sky.

bakugo isn’t sure how much time passes before he decides to head back inside. he comes to the realization that it’s strange to watch someone you haven’t even met so intently. so, he stands and picks up his plate of half-eaten noodles, readying to call it a night. whether it’s the scrape of his chair or the feel of his eyes on you, bakugo isn’t sure, but something makes you turn to face his direction. instead of the scowl or scoff he expects of someone who has just found out they were being stared at, you smile at him. you even wave, too.

his lips part in surprise at your kindness, your warmth. bakugo can’t say he knows or has encountered many people who offer a smile while they’re taking a call. deku maybe, but that’s beside the point. before he forgets and makes an ass of himself, he slowly raises his arm, two fingers sticking out to return your wave.

you smile wider.

the image sticks to his eyelids as he lays in bed and waits for sleep to overtake him.

the next time he sees you, it’s on the balcony again. this time you’re able to introduce yourself.

“sorry,” you apologize after giving him your name. you’re sitting in a chair you dragged out from your unit. the singular piece of furniture looks out of place outside. katsuki figures you haven’t had the time to decorate the space appropriately. “i would have done this that first night but my mom was talking my ear off. moving and all.”

bakugo distinctly recalls what it was like when he moved into his first apartment; nothing he did went unchecked by mitsuki. she was practically breathing down his neck throughout the entire process. if he wasn’t grateful for the help, the memories would have sent an unpleasant chill down his spine.

“i get it,” he nods.

talking to you is different than looking from afar, the blonde thinks. even though the two of you have never spoken before this moment, you regard him so casually—like he’s a friend you’ve known for years. it’s refreshing yet strange, being seen as a neighbor before a hero, though he doesn’t mind the change of scenery.

the rest of your conversation borders on mundane—you ask when bakugo moved into the building, about his hobbies, and if he has any coffee shop recommendations near the neighborhood. they’re questions he usually wouldn’t bother answering but something about you compels him to reply. maybe it’s the way it looks like you’re hanging on his every word. or maybe it’s because, despite the fact that you’re the one asking the questions, you’re still a present part of the conversation. it doesn’t feel as though it’s one-sided, like an interview he gets nothing out of. your giggles at his muttered sarcasm and the comments you add—little details about how your apartment is coming together and what you usually order from the café—draws bakugo into your bubble and keeps him there.

talking to you isn’t a chore, in fact, katsuki actually enjoys it. the sound of your voice isn’t irritating like nails against a chalkboard—it’s pleasant, addicting, like the gentle hum of his favorite song. your stare doesn’t bother him because, for some reason unbeknownst to him, it feels like you see past his outer shell, past the image the world has created for him.

you don’t know him now, but bakugo doesn’t mind it being a possibility. a little part of him longs for it.

that longing for a connection isn’t far out of reach. your balconies have become an assembly area of sorts. given his line of work, katsuki can only spend evenings and seldom weekends out under the moon or sun, but you seem to have caught on to the loose pattern that is his schedule. whenever he’s there, so are you.

sometimes you’re working on your laptop, fingers furiously tapping away at the keyboard until you hear the slightly squeaky gliding of bakugo’s door. the contents of your screen are easily forgotten in favor of focusing on your blonde neighbor instead. talking to him means you’ll lose sleep over finishing your report later than intended, but bakugo is much more interesting than the spreadsheet of numbers you’ve been staring at for the past hour.

other times, you’re taking down laundry you hung on the line earlier when the same noise catches your attention. you can’t help but stop what you’re doing and inquire about his day—the good, the bad, the boring, the exciting. (an odd habit arises from it; you ask him to rate his day on a scale of one to ten whenever he joins you outside.) by the time you remember what you were doing before katsuki’s arrival, the sheets you had set out to dry are wrinkled and creased in your arms.

every moment, no matter how short and seemingly insignificant, floods bakugo in a sea of inexplicable joy.

today is no different.

like every night, bakugo kicks off his boots before entering his apartment. after a quick shower and a change of clothes, his feet instinctively carry him to the living room where the door leading to his balcony, leading to you, is. a cool breeze pushes into the unit as he drags the sliding door open and steps out. goosebumps raise on his arms—not because of the evening air, but because he hasn’t even sat down yet and your eyes are already on him.

“hey there, superhero,” you greet him, and he can hear the smile in your voice. there’s a click as the door closes and a grunt as katsuki tosses himself into the lone chair on his balcony. yours has two now, situated on either side of a small table. you’re sitting in the one facing him, a cup of instant noodles cradled in your hands.

“hey.” he returns your hello. it’s audibly less enthusiastic, but he’s glad to see you—even if that sight is you manipulating a pair of chopsticks to best fit the bunch of noodles hanging from them in your mouth.

your wrist stops rotating once you’ve found the prefect positioning. before you take the bite, you ask bakugo, “rate the day?”

all things considered, bakugo had a favorable day. nothing had gone wrong, everyone at the agency was on top of their game, he even had a notable villain takedown. despite it all, the day lacked a sense of excitement. nothing got his blood pumping like has had hoped it would. but now that he’s here in your presence, everything feels right. “…eight.”

“wow!” you cover your mouth upon realizing that you still have food in it. you sheepishly swallow the mouthful before clearing your throat. bakugo’s chin rests in his palm as he grins at your outburst. it’s infectious, causes the corners of your lips to curl into a small smile. “that’s a jump from the rest of the week.”

it is. the days before this one had been mediocre at best. but nights spent with you always give his days an extra point on the rating scale. that, bakugo thinks, isn’t something you need to know. not now, at least.

his eyes fall down to the styrofoam cup in your hands. every time he’s met with you for the past week, the same budget-friendly meal has appeared. “that all you eat?” he questions.

you snort at his observation. he’s got a good eye, you’ve come to learn, remembers details about you that even you find yourself forgetting. you set the cheap dish down on your table and smile. “other than knowing how to operate a rice cooker, i’m even worse than a novice in the kitchen.”

you’re a strange one, smiling while admitting a weakness, the blonde thinks. “you seem oddly happy about that.”

“eh,” you shrug, “it kind of sucks burning everything i touch. but, i happen to know someone who’s planning on helping me fix that.”

you’re still smiling, but this one is different than the others katsuki has had the pleasure of seeing. it isn’t like those delighted ones you wear when you recount the best parts of your day or the admirable ones you sport when you listen to his. there’s something hidden behind this one that he can’t quite put his finger on. knowingness? flirtation?

if the latter was the case, bakugo would have a problem—one he isn’t entitled to, but, nevertheless, a problem. he may not be entitled to it, but the green-eyed monster isn’t something he can so easily conceal, even if he has no business feeling jealous. he crosses his arms at the thought of someone else holding your interest. “and who is that?”

“oh, come on genius.” your heart thumps against your ribcage, hard and heavy. it’s been a few weeks since you moved in to the apartment beside bakugo’s but your first, hushed interaction has stuck with you. the seedling of attraction in your chest when you first met his eye has long since bloomed into an embarrassingly large, vibrant flower. “you think i forgot about that yakisoba you were eating that first night out here? i’m talking about you.”

there’s a fluttering in katsuki’s chest, like his heart started floating while simultaneously skipping a beat. he discreetly pats his sternum to calm the frantic organ sheltered behind it but the action is useless when you’re staring at him so intently, a hypnotizing glint of hope sparkling in your eyes.

“so, superhero, teach me how to cook?"

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: The reblogs and my comments await your wrath.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your turn to present comes and you stand up at the board, your budget projected as the bulb nearly blinds you. You point to the numbers and the accompanying graphs, going over each as best as you can. Your life might be an utter and complete mess but you know numbers. Your job is simple as simple gets and you can go over this ad nauseam.

Still, your focus is splintered as you find yourself stalling here and there. Each time you meet Mr Hansen's sparkling blue eyes, you nearly swallow your own tongue. You can't help but think of what you did in his office. Of what Pete would say when found out. And he will because you've never been a good liar and this isn't a secret you can keep. You just don't know how to say it.

He won't care that you were in a bind, that you were disgusted by yourself, that you didn't want to do it. You still did it. You betrayed your marriage. Even if it is a bit rocky, you made a vow. Despite the friction, you love Pete. You wouldn't have stuck around this long otherwise. It's just a rocky patch. Or it was, until this.

Your eyes linger on Hansen as he leans back in his chair and lets his gaze drift towards his lap. You gulp and look to the board, pointing out the projection as you finish up. You wallow in a momentary silence before you retreat and reclaim your seat at the conference table. You were absolutely certain to be as far from him as possible, though that was easy as all the executives cluster together.

You keep your attention at the front of the room. These things are always dull. You're not high up enough to care about more than your own piece in the puzzle. You don't make the big decisions, you just show what's there. 

You sip from your cold coffee. You feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Not now. You ignore it and tap your fingers on the table.

You glance around and once more find Hansen’s attention on you. He should be more concerned with the marketing presentation going on. You hide any tinge of emotion; irritation, confusion, humiliation, a peer up at the front.

The meeting ends just as you catch yourself nodding off. You shuffle out with the rest of the bodies and find your desk, nearly keeling over as you sit. You got what, an hour's sleep. You don't know if you can make it through.

Your phone goes off again. Great, what is it now? You really can't handle anything else today. Your morning has already drained you of everything you have left.

Shit, it's the school. You get up and answer your phone, marching between desks to find a quiet place. You dip down towards an empty meeting room and shut yourself in. The secretary tells you Malik got sick in gym class. Today? You sigh and promise you'll be there as soon as you can.

You put your hand to your forehead and yawn as you hang up. If you have any more caffeine, you're going to explode. You just need to get through it. You always do. Not for you, for the kids. That's what it's about.

You turn and find the door open, a figure against the frame. You could like and say you're surprised but you know Mr. Hansen isn't the type to let you sink in shame. He wants to rub it in.

"You know, I didn't think witches were real but you got magic hands, toots--"

"Sir," you fight to keep your voice even, "I just got a call from my kids' school--"

"Ew, let's not with the kids," he flicks his fingers dismissively, "I'm talking about us."

"Us?" You frown, "sir, please, I have to--"

"That husband of yours, he's lucky. Is that from practice or are you just that desperate to get your hands on some prime meat?"

You give him a look, the kind you give when you're trying not to yell. As a point, you don't raise your voice. He gives a shiver as if shaking off a chill.

"I'm teasing. I'm just... let's turn this thing around, honey. You got your budget, I got... off. And now we can get along. So, let me be a nice guy and say, go, get your kid, be a good mommy, and be back bright and early tomorrow."

You stutter. You don't quite believe him. It feels like a test. A trap. He smirks and lets his hand wander down his stomach. He grips himself through his pants.

"Unless, you want more--"

"I really have to go," you squeeze your phone, "my son--"

"Alright, alright, ugh, boring," he sneers, "I don't wanna hear about the kids."

"Um, okay," you near him, "thank you, Mr. Hansen."

"Yeah yeah," he backs out of the doorway, "don't stress it." He steps aside as you go into the hallway, "unclench a little."

As you turn, you stumble, a sudden clap against your ass throwing you off balance. You steady yourself but don't look back as he retracts his hand. Your eyes are wide, your steps stiff and stunted as you tell yourself to just keep going.

Shit, this is a problem.

Your job is stressful enough. The last thing you ever wanted was to be Hansen’s next target. It’s not something you ever worried about. You’re too old, too flabby, and too worn out. When he realises that, he’ll be back to the likes of Kendra. You don’t know who you should pity more; yourself or her.

You don't have capacity right now. One thing at a time. Get Malik home, then you can figure out how exactly your life is going to implode.

🗄️

You get Malik on the couch, bundled up watching his favourite cartoons, as you sit and stare at your phone. You know that even if you called, Pete wouldn't pick up. He's too busy for you. Still, your anxiety eats away at you and makes you impatient. You can't even enjoy the time away from the office.

You make some soup once your son's stomach settles but yours is in worse shape. You don't have an appetite, you're restless and exhausted. You're in pieces.

You know you can't go back and change things. Hell, you couldn't have done anything different. You have a mortgage, insurance, and children to look after. You can't throw it all away on one man's ego.

Still, you did something wrong. Something unforgivable. If you think Pete hates you now, he's going to despise you. And you might just lose everything anyway.

You sit and bend over, holding your head. God, you're stupid and weak and awful. You chose this, a family, a man who doesn't care, and a job that gives you nothing but stress. You could've had a better life and never inflicted your mistake on anyone else.

"Mommy," Malik taps your shoulder, startling so you sit up too fast, nearly falling out of the chair, "mommy, the stove."

You look over at the pot boils over, hissing and bubbling. Great, now you've burnt the chicken noodle. You get up and quickly flip off the burner and move the pot to the next one.

"How about some vegetable soup, huh?" You offer, "sorry, Mal."

"Are you okay, mommy?" He pouts as he stands in his dinosaur pajamas.

"Yeah, yeah, mom's just tired," you answer, "go sit down. I'll clean this up. Then it should be time to go pick up Simone."

He mumbles and leaves you. You look at the burnt soup, curdled and filmy and black around the edges. Usually, you just want Pete home but tonight, you don't know what you're going to do when he gets in. You can be sure it'll be a sleepless night.

🗄️

You spend the evening avoiding your phone. It's easy. You sit and help Simone with her homework as Malik colours at the other side of the table. After dinner you get them washed up and in their pajamas in time for bed.

You can’t help but try to suck up every second. You don’t want to lose this. It can be hard, Pete’s long hours, your sore hips, the children’s antics. It can be utterly defeating but you don’t want to lose it all. Maybe you should’ve tried sooner to fix things, maybe if you did, Pete might believe you didn’t want to do what you did.

Once the kids are asleep, you're left to yourself but not really. You clean the kitchen and get lunches packed for the next day. You switch the laundry before you head up to bed but leave the light on as you lay down. 

It’s a mirror of the night before, except you’re not the one with your tail between your legs. Pete gets home as late as ever. You want to be mad that he's only there on weekends to see the kids. Yet, you don't see much of him then either.

He comes upstairs, pushing back his hair as he enters, blanching as he sees you awake. His face falls and he runs his fingers around his stubbly lips. You don't say anything as he loosens his tie and sighs.

"Please, I don't wanna argue tonight," he says as he sheds his blazer, "it's been a long day."

"Alright," you agree, fighting not to squirm as your stomach flips. "But… I wanna talk about something."

"Look, we're almost there. The hard part's almost over," he explains as he unbuttons his shirt, "we're about to hit oil with this thing."

"I know, but… there's something we need to talk about–"

He closes his eyes and hangs his head back as he peels off his shirt. He's in good shape still. You suppose making your own hours gives you a lot of time for the gym.

"Can I take a shower first?" He huffs.

"Sure," you murmur. He's trying to wait you out, hoping you fall asleep before he's done. "Take a shower."

His brows rise and fall and he turns away as he digs in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and plugs it in, leaving it face down on the dresser. He unclasps the gold chain around his wrist and puts it in the jewelry tray with his watch. You watch his hands.

"Where's your ring?" You ask as you focus on his fingers.

"Oh, uh, fuck," he sniffs, "must've left it in my gym bag again."

"Mmm," you him and don't comment further. 

You look down at your own band, twisting it on your finger as your inside rot with guilt. You have to face this. You have to be honest. As much as it hurts you. As much as it'll hurt you.

He moves around the room. He misses the hamper again, this time his underwear fall on the floor. You want to cry as more than just the weight of your confession crushes you. It’s all of it. The years of distance between you, the memory of good days far behind, what you’ll never have again.

The bathroom door shuts and you look up again. You get up, needing to walk off the excess energy. You pace in circles and wring your hands. You want to rehearse what you should say but you got nothing. 

You hear the subtle buzz and pause. You go back to the bed and take your phone off the night table. Nothing. Not even a notification for that dumb matching game you played once while waiting at the doctor's office.

You set it back down and go back to your aimless circling. You hear it again and again. It's annoying. Tweaking your already addled nerves. 

You look around and see Pete's phone, the edges limned in the glow of the overturned screen. You cross the room and flip it over to turn the volume down. You stop as the newest message pops across the top.

'Hey babe, can't wait for Saturday. Bikini or no suit at all?' 

You read it once, twice, several times before your shock fully sets in. What? Your heart drops as you put his phone back as you found it and back away. 

You sit on the bed and stare at the bathroom door. Things can always get worse, that's your bitter mantra. You swallow as your eyes brim with tears and your throat locks up. You listen to the showerhead buzz.

You were prepared to be the bad guy. To lay yourself bare and plead mercy. You psyched yourself up to face the music but you're unprepared for this. 

You get up and turn off the lamp. You get into bed and face away from the bathroom, just like most nights. You pull the blanket to your shoulders and close your eyes. You measure your breaths to keep from crying. Once you start, you won't be able to stop.

When Pete finishes, you're still awake. Sleep? That's a joke. You just lay there and listen to him move around. When he comes to bed, he doesn't try to talk to you or wake you up.

You open your eyes and see the glow of his phone outlining your silhouette against the wall. You gulp, careful not to give yourself away. He groans and he types away on his phone. Right beside you… like you don't exist. You're just an afterthought for him. Just like your vows. Just like the kids.

As low as you thought you were that morning, you’ve sunk even further. Would he even care if he knew? You’re so unlovable, he probably wouldn’t even believe another man would let you touch them.

[daintcas]

can you write something where you go into mean!rafes tent when you’re camping with friends late at night, claiming you heard a noise but he doesn’t believe you and he discovers you’re true intentions was just to get in his pants🙏

oh my god this is so creative 😭 switched it up just a lil but i think it still fits ur idea !! apologies it took me so long to finally get around to it!

the leaves crunch under your feet as you approach the insanely massive and luxurious tent just a few feet from your own.

you knew it was risky since everyone else was already asleep in their equally as expensive sleeping arrangements. it must have been the long night of partying around a bonfire because the only sound filling your ears were the crickets lingering at the nearby creek.

with nobody to interrupt your poorly thought out and drunken plan - after a few too many hard seltzers - you slowly unzipped what you were pretty sure was the zipper of rafe's tent. in all honesty, you didn't know him. he was just one among many guys a mutual friend invited, but you were coherent enough to recognize the suggestive glances he spared you.

you bit your lip while carefully stepping inside, attempting to minimize the ruffle of the uncomfortable material. it's pitch black in the tent - which is tall enough for you to stand at your full height. that is until the light of a phone screen exposes you standing in the unwelcome space.

"the fuck are you doing?" the voice is low and mean, clearly irritated at the invasion.

blinking your eyes open and looking straight into the only source of light, you pause for a moment before remembering the excuse you prepared earlier. "i, um— there was a noise. i thought it was coming from here?"

a scoff is what you get in return and the click of a lantern replaces the accusing spotlight from the device. that's when you get a good look at him, clad in grey sweats and a dark hoodie, socks bunched at his ankles. "a noise?"

blinking your heavy eyelids and looking up at him through your lashes, you can't help but feel adrenaline at the sarcasm in his tone. the drinks weren't working in your favor, that's for sure.

"mhm," you all but bob your head "in— in here. a noise." the amusement spreading across his face in the form of a smirk seals the deal, suddenly making you feel so small under his tall stature steadily approaching.

"riiight.." he draws out, raking in your form just like he had been before, but this time really taking it slow. from your fluffy socks up to the tiny victoria secret boxers, up to the lace bra peeking out from under your baggy sweatshirt.

if a cold night in the woods didn't give you goosebumps, his gaze certainly did. you let him encroach on your space, eyes glued to his face and tilting your head back to keep contact.

"you lyin'?" he finally questions, though his expression shows he already knows the answer - and already knows how you intend on responding.

"no.." you reply in a weak effort to keep up your story and use your hands to symbolize a crash as you add, "it was like a.. like a bang!"

his smile is a bit softer before returning to the menacing way it was before and he nods along with a taunting hum. nodding his head to end the discussion you both knew ended before it started, he acknowledges you directly. "why don't you tell me why you're really in here? not very safe sneaking around at night, is it?"

with a defeated sigh, you shake your head, tucking some hair behind your ear and standing calmly in a way you normally wouldn't if sober and well-rested.

a million thoughts run through his mind of exactly how this situation could play out as he tongues at his cheek and watches you closely. eventually deciding to think with the tent in his pants rather than the one sheltering the two of you, he leans right in your face and nudges your chin up to face him with the knuckle of his pointer finger.

"i'm sure your lil tent is cold, huh? why don't you uh— let me keep you warm, hm?" he offers while letting the scenarios run wild in his head. a pretty girl willingly bringing herself to him in the middle of the night, secluded, with nobody else in earshot.

it's like that's all you were waiting for because an eager yet still sweet and innocent smile finds your face. only able to squeak out a "'kay" before he's leading you gently by your upper arm to an air mattress - as of now still completely inflated.

[writingforcuteppl]

Tattoos

PAIRING: Kenny McCormick x Reader

SUMMARY: One day Kenny arrived with both of his forearms full of tattoos, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander about how it would look while fucking you.

GENRE: Smut

WARNINGS: Swearing, suggestive, stigmatophilia, humping. AGED UP CHARACTERS

WORD COUNT: 1.4k words

“Kenny, have you seen my phone?” you entered the living room after you heard the front door bang. Kenny was back, and after searching for your phone all day long, you knew Kenny must have seen it before leaving your house.

Kenny had your phone in his hand, but your eyes wandered all over his forearms. He had tattoos. New tattoos. He used to have only one on his left arm, a snake, but now he had a whole bunch of new tattoos. You could see some of them were some of his favorite characters and references from some of the shows he had seen.

“Like what you see, princess?” he smirked. He knew you were such a sucker for tattoos, and maybe that was one of the reasons he went and got more. Plus, he also wanted to have more for some time now.

“Huh?” for the first time since he arrived, you looked him in the eyes.

“I took your phone by mistake. Sorry for that” he got closer to you, handing over your phone, and you were able to take a look at the back of his hand. He also has tattoos on it. A mouth with its tongue out and a big eye over it was covering the back of his right hand, and you could see some letters on each of his fingers.

“Kenny, what the fuck?” you took your phone from his hand and tossed it to the couch. You took a better look at his hand. You could see the skin was still irritated. The mouth was covering all the back of his hand, and the eye was situated on the same level as his wrist. It was creepy but so cool. Then you took a look at the letters on his fingers. The letter “P” was engraved on his pinky finger. Slowly you saw the other three letters.

“PRIN?” you question him. Kenny brought up the other hand, closing both hands into a fist and putting them together. You were able to read the whole word now. Kenny was only looking at your face. He felt so happy and relieved when he saw your smile.

“Princess…” you whispered.

“Do you like it?” your smile grew by the second. You nodded.

“I love it.”

Kenny sat down on the couch, palming his legs so you could sit on his lap. You made your way to him, putting both of your legs next to him.

“Cool, right? Now I look like I’m going to jail” You laughed at the comment.

“So you still remember, huh?”

When the both of you were little, your mother said only people in jail cover their whole body with tattoos after you let Kenny draw a little penguin on your arm with a Sharpie. Ever since Kenny has made fun of the comment.

“That’s, like, the dumbest thing my mom could’ve ever said.” Since you were little, that comment has bugged your mind. You think that tattoos express people’s feelings and emotions, and, of course, tattoos always have their meanings. Or sometimes, it can be something they really like or enjoy, and it varies from person to person.

“I want one too.”

“Then go get it, princess. I’m not stopping you” Kenny held your face. You were frowning. “You shouldn’t let her comments bug you anymore. You are a full adult now, princess.” you chuckled.

“Maybe one day I will…” Kenny gave you a peck on the lips.

“Did it hurt?” you asked while looking at his forearms. You knew he could handle pain really well, but you were still worried about it. More than one tattoo a day definitely came with pain.

“Just a little bit. The ones on the fingers hurt like hell” You took both of his hands, approaching them to you. You kissed his knuckles, being as careful as possible not to touch by any means where the tattoos were. Kenny was mesmerized by how sweet and cautious you always were. He was so fortunate to have you. Being friends since you were little, he slowly fell in love with you. And if he was honest, he was so lucky to have you.

You stared at the snake tattoo he had. It was the first tattoo he got, and flashes of that very first night came back to you. You remembered the way he fucked you over the bathroom sink, making you look over the mirror, seeing how his hand was around your neck, the snake appearing to be moving with the movement of the muscles of his forearm.

“What are you think about?” Kenny whispered.

“Just, you know,” you started to say, but your mind couldn’t quite make a sentence. “Stuff”

“Interesting. You know, I was thinking about when I fucked you in the bathroom. Remember how I made you look in the mirror so you could see how well you were taking my cock?” you closed your eyes and hummed in agreement. Kenny moved both of his hands to your hips, making you move further until your cunt was above his bulge. “So, what were you thinking about, princess?”

“The same thing, Kenny.” His right hand went to the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his.

“Knew it. It got you all worked up, didn’t it?” you nodded, and when you least expected it, his lips were on your neck. “Then go ahead, princess.” It always amazed you how Kenny was able to read you. Kenny made you grind on his clothed cock and made you whimper. Kenny’s lips slowly approached your ear. “Get yourself off, princess,” he whispered.

You slowly started to grind back and forth on his bulge, finally feeling the pleasure you were craving. Maybe it was the fact of the new tattoos or perhaps the fact that you have been horny all day, but the absence of Kenny affected you.

Even if the two of you have been together for years now, you two can never seem to get enough of each other. Kenny looked at your face, the way your eyes were shut, how your mouth was partly open, how your breath was slowly starting to pick up. He felt the way your hands were clenching on his shirt.

“Kenny,” you whimpered. Kenny’s left hand made its way to your core. He felt the wet patch on your panties. Kenny stopped your movements. At this point, he was fully hard, and the fabric of his underwear was starting to bother him. Kenny managed to move down his underwear making his cock spring free. You grabbed it and smeared the leaking pre-cum all over it, and you heard him hiss.

“Look, princess, you’re so wet that I bet I could easily slide right into you without any problem.” Kenny moved to the side of your panties. “I wanna feel your pretty pussy cream my cock” he said. You felt shivers run down your spine.

You grabbed Kenny’s shoulders to give yourself some support. His cock was resting on his abdomen. You started to slide your pussy across his length. You heard Kenny groan the moment he felt your juices spread on him. The pace wasn’t as slow as before. Kenny saw you were struggling to keep up a pace, so he grabbed your hips and started to move you at a pace both of you could get a proper release.

“Fuck, baby” You loved how vocal he was. Moans and whimpers were filling your living room. It always helped you hear how good he was feeling. Your orgasm was closer than you thought as you felt your lower stomach tighten with the familiar feeling. Kenny was able to tell that. One of your hands clenched around his shoulder.

“I- Kenny, my god, I’m close,” so was he.

“Me too, go on, show me how good I’m making you feel.” you let out a strangled moan and cum. But Kenny didn’t stop moving your hips until he also was finished. Kenny whimpered when he felt his release coming out. Strings of cum painted his lower stomach, still moving to you help you ride out your orgasm.

“Shit, look the mess you made, princess” You took a look at his abdomen, and somehow the sight of it made your stomach flip, and you groaned. You swear under your breath, and Kenny smirked. He obviously knew you weren’t over just yet.

“How about now I make you cum around my cock?”

n a v i g a t i o n

Kenny’s Birthday Week Celebration Masterlist

[mabelstone]

Divorcé

matt stone x reader

summary: part two of Professor Stone.

word count: 1435

note: god he looks so yummy here.

the start of this isnt great but bear with me.

gonna start adding some spice to this next chapter, i just dont want to chuck it in so predictably... theres a little tease here though so i hope you enjoy xx

if you haven't read part one, here it is <3

Part Two.

Professor Stone said goodbye to the class as routine, drawing out a long, irritated sigh as his phone buzzed violently on his desk. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, putting the phone to his ear, pinching the upper bridge of his nose in annoyance. He answered with a blunt, “yeah?”

You tried to eavesdrop but couldn’t hear over the rest of the students leaving the theatre. He was throwing his hands around, clearly in a very heated argument with whoever was on the other line. He leaned one arm onto his desk, propping himself up, the other still holding the phone to his ear. He made eye contact with you, holding his gaze a bit too long. “Look, I’m with a student right now,” he quickly pulled the phone away as you could faintly hear a woman on the other line yelling obscenities you couldn’t quite make out. “I’ll call you later,” he interrupted, hanging up and dropping his phone on his desk, shaking his head at you. “Women.”

“Trouble in paradise?” You chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

He scoffed, “please, it was hardly ever paradise.” He beckoned you over with two fingers, and you obliged, dragging your chair with you. “Sorry about that.” He mumbled, shifting his things over so you had space next to him at his desk. “My wife- ex-wife, likes to burst my eardrums at the most convenient times.”

You hummed in understanding, not sure what there was to say. You wanted to prod, but thought it was best not to. Guess this explains why he’d been such an asshole recently. You looked over at his left hand, a prominent round indent on his now naked ring finger. He ran his hand through his short hair, sighing. “Anyway, what exactly was it you were struggling w-“

“Shit!” You jumped as you accidentally knocked his cup of whiteboard markers and paper clips over with your elbow. “I’m sorry, I’ll grab those.” He just shook his head, watching you scramble to the floor to fix your damage. “In my defence, who keeps paperclips in a cup on the edge of their desk?”

He watched as you got on your hands and knees, your black probably-too-short-for-uni dress riding up ever so slightly, giving your professor the perfect view of your thighs and the bottom of your ass. You felt it hiking up, reaching a hand around to pull the thin material down. “Sorry, sir,” you blushed, moving your bum away from him and continuing to pick up the paper clips.

“This your way of trying to get a good grade?” He humoured, his eyes never once straying from you.

You blushed harder, playing it off with a sarcastic, “you’re telling me it’s been this easy all along?” He smirked, something in his eyes changing. You felt hot, flustered, knowing your newly single, probably sexually frustrated professor just saw a whole lot more of you than he bargained for.

“Um, anyway,” you diverted, climbing back into your seat, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Pretty much none of it makes sense, especially numerical integration.”

He nodded, surprisingly not making a snide comment about your lack of intelligence for once. He began to explain, taking your book from you and drawing a graph. You tried to focus, but the way his eyes lingered on you while he spoke did something to you. You were sitting so close that your forearms would brush occasionally, his skin warm, contrasting how cold you felt in the air-conditioned theatre. Eventually, you completely zoned out, watching the way the muscles in his arm flexed as he wrote and moved your book around, the way his slender fingers flipped the pages, his hands veiny and massive in comparison to yours.

“Is this making sense?” He snapped you out of your thoughts, his hand mere inches from yours as he looked up at you.

“Uh- yeah, yeah.” You nodded in faux understanding, readjusting yourself to sit slightly closer to him, your knee brushing his thigh as you moved in toward the paper in front of you. “I’m just not too sure where this value here came from.”

It’s like a switch in your brain tripped suddenly. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t been laid in months, or maybe just the fact that you were so close to a male, but you suddenly realised just how attractive he was. He too pulled his chair in closer and pointed at the numbers in front of you, and this time, you understood.

“Oh! So, d is what we’re multiplying by?”

“Exactly, well done!” He shot you the most genuinely smile of his you’d seen yet, feeling your stomach drop when he lightly brushed your shoulder. “Alright, let’s move on to the next topic then.”

He began explaining the next topic as he did, this time your eyes trained on his face. His strong bone structure, his bushy eyebrows and beautiful green eyes, his face now shaven since you saw him the night before. His lips looked soft and wet, his tongue darting out occasionally as he scribbled in your book.

You found yourself completely zoned out again, imagining his large, warm hand resting on your thigh, his other hand brushing your hair behind your ear. You imagined the way he would switch his demeanour once you closed the small gap between your lips, finally shutting him up about the stupid calculus problems. You imagined how his hand would find its way to the back of your head, fingers pulling your hair with just the right amount of force. You imagined him pulling your hair harder, moving your head to the side to expose your neck where he would leave hot, open mouthed kisses, his warm tongue gliding over the freshly assaulted skin. You’d purr something so pretty, making him groan and roughly grip your hips, standing you up before running his hands up the back of your dress, his lips travelling from your collarbones to your chest. Fuck, he’d breathe, your eyes screwed tightly shut, just enjoying the way he made you feel.

You wondered how his lips felt, how he tasted, if he lingered after a kiss. If he was slow or aggressive, if he used just the right amount of tongue, or if he would bite your lip with need.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as his phone buzzed on the table yet again, probably his ex calling another time. He flipped his phone up, only to flip it back over and let out a frustrated groan, resting his head in his hands.

You didn’t know what to say. Well, what could you say? Was it inappropriate to touch him? You were just fanaticising about him shoving his tongue down your throat. You opted for gently placing your hand on his arm, lightly rubbing the area. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with this,” was all you could muster up in your softest voice, offering him a sad smile when he looked up.

“It’s fine, really,” he chuckled, yet there was no humour in his tone. “Just don’t get married. Fool around while you’re young and attractive and make sure you pick the right one someday. Or you’ll end up an old calculus professor who wants to smash his phone into a billion pieces every time it rings.”

You laughed out of pity. “You could still do that, you know.”

“What? Smash my phone into a billion pieces?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, speaking without thinking. “I meant fool around.” You readjusted in your seat, him turning his full body around to face you, eyes dark. “You know you’re good looking, plus, you’re not that old… I think.”

He laughed, looking down at your thighs and shaking his head before meeting your eyeline. “You really want that good grade, don’t you?”

“I’m just being honest,” you smiled sweetly, your voice delicate as you looked down at your dress, fiddling with the hemming.

He cleared his throat, closing your book and gathering his things. “It’s getting pretty late; we should probably head off.”

You breathed out a barely audible yeah, before putting your things away. Neither of you spoke, and the tension thickening around you. Before you had the chance to say something dumb, Professor Stone chipped in.

“Would you like to swing by tomorrow?” He asked, returning your chair for you. “We’ve still got a lot to do if you wanna improve that grade.”

You chuckled, nodding in response as you walked toward the door. “Thanks.”

He simply gave you a smile and said nothing.

“Good night, sir.”

[deceptive-daydreams]

Rock Bottom - A Rhiannon Story - E.M

Girl Dad!Eddie x Step Mom!Reader

4K Words

An additional story to this blurb. Eddie is feeling run down and invalidates himself as a dad but you’re there to mend him back together.

Warnings - angst, sad thoughts, insecurity, a smidge of smut but nothing major

A/N - This is not proofread, I was just in my feels and kept writing.

Masterlist

Eddie is having a particularly hard time on a Friday night, he had urged you to go out on a girls night with Robin because you deserve it so now he’s trying to entertain his mini me throughout the evening until bedtime.  Movies have been watched, finger paintings are littered across the kitchen counter, toys are scattered around the cozy living room, and an abandoned plate of dinosaur chicken nuggets sit atop the coffee table—all indications of how hard he’s been trying to keep her occupied.  They even played outside until it got dark, Eddie teaching her how to ride a bike and encouraging her as her wobbly legs peddled down the driveway.  A few cuts and scrapes didn’t stop her, only because every time she fell her dad would pretend he wasn’t paying attention, the broken fence down the street suddenly interested him.  He knew babying her every time she got hurt would only make her wail, letting out the loudest cries imaginable.  This way she would keep getting up and trying again.

Exhausted was an understatement for how Eddie felt.  He felt obliterated by the simple act of being a parent today.  Guilt plagued his mind as he thought of all the ways he could be a better parent, he just couldn’t see himself measuring up to the higher class citizens of Hawkins who could provide their kids with the newest toys and the most eccentric birthday parties.  He couldn’t afford the trampoline Rhin saw at the store that she squealed over, shouting about being able to do gymnastics like the girls she’s seen on TV.  Couldn’t even afford the name brand stuff at the grocery store, always purchasing the least expensive option.  The auto shop he worked at, Sal's, paid decently and was enough to cover the mortgage on the tiny house the two of you picked out eight months ago along with your contribution from your job as a sales associate at the JC Penny at the mall.  He’d also pick up shifts at The Hideout when he could for some extra cash.  It wasn’t a lavish lifestyle and he hated himself for not being able to give you and Rhin everything you deserved.

Every time you and Eddie started a savings jar, sat neatly on the dresser of your shared bedroom, you’d have to empty it out for some kind of emergency like the time a leak in the roof turned into a waterfall one summer night when it rained especially hard.  The hole in the ceiling of your hallway made you both sigh in frustration but you had to have it patched up and ended up with a hefty bill, paid by none other than your savings jar.  

Nausea threatened Eddie as he went through the bills laid out on the kitchen counter before him.  Everything was adding up—lights, gas, water, mortgage, phone, the loan he took out to pay for some tools he needed at work.  Though he wanted to puke his guts out from utter irritation at the situation, he was forced to give himself a reality check as he felt a tug at his jeans, his daughter looking up at him with huge brown eyes.  Not just huge brown eyes, huge brown eyes just seconds from crying.  Before he can bend down and ask what’s wrong, she’s howling with cries.

“Daddy, I-I ripped my drawing!!”  He doesn’t hesitate when he picks her up and holds her to his chest, wanting to cry as well but for other reasons beyond her comprehension.  Bouncing her up and down to soothe her, he cradles her head and paces around the kitchen.  Summer was about halfway through and the bugs were screaming outside, a symphony of chirps through the screen windows letting some much needed air into the house.  “S’ okay Rhin, you wanna make a new one?”  He asks hopefully, knowing it’s a long shot.  Her snotty little face rubs into his T-shirt as she shakes her head, sobs escaping her tiny body.  “Okay, okay, shhh.  I can tape it back together, huh?  We’ll tape it together, good as new.”  Eddie only prays that she calms down soon because his emotions are riding high too and he can’t bear the guilt of crying in front of his daughter.  “T-t-tape it together?” She mumbles against his chest, voice wobbling, her hands clenching his shirt tightly.  Her dad nods, still bouncing her up and down.  “Yeah, c’mon.  Daddy will fix it.”  He won’t admit it but a single tear trails down his cheek as he sniffles and goes to sit down in front of the coffee table, setting Rhin gently on the couch while he kneels on the floor.  He’s able to repair the drawing, leaving his daughter smiling however his heart still breaks for the future.  A future where his daughter sees him as a deadbeat, where he carries on the Munson legacy of shitty dads.  I will always be ten steps behind.

—

Robin pulls into the driveway as you hum along to the radio in the passenger seat, gravel crunching beneath the tires and the smell of bonfire lingering in the air.  The local seniors must be doing their yearly tradition before they embark on their final year in high school.  The car jerks abruptly as Robin breaks, a quirk of hers—break checking.  

“Okay, this is your stop!” She chirps, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.  

For girl’s night the two of you went to the movies, something you didn’t get around to a lot anymore since taking on the role of a mom.  The movie was okay but nothing to write home about.  After, you and Robin ended up on the curb outside talking on and on about anything and everything since it wasn’t something you got to do all the time.  Just catching up.  

“Bye, Robin!  We’ll pick up where we left off next time.  Promise.” You refer to when you cut the conversation off earlier, insisting that it was getting too late and that you wanted to get home.  She begrudgingly agreed but also understood that you had a family now and that always came first.  With a few more goodbyes, she was off, tires screeching as she backed out of the driveway and drove off.  

It was around 10:30PM now which wasn’t that late and you were grateful that Robin had sympathy toward your situation, never making you feel bad about not staying out as late as you used to.  The porch lights illuminated the way to the door as you got your keys out of your purse.  You opened the screen door and twisted the key into the lock of the white wooden door with chips in its paint job. 

The house was silent, making you think that Eddie had probably fallen asleep in Rhin’s bed with her again.  The TV displayed a blue screen, the VHS tape it played before being finished ready to be rewinded.  The lights were off save for a lamp in the corner of the living room offering a dim glow.  Setting your keys on the table next to the door, you kicked off your shoes and left your purse on the hook on the wall.  

Making your way to Rhin’s room, you carefully nudge the door with your finger to peer in only to find Rhin sound asleep, no Eddie.  Smiling softly at her peaceful slumber, you turn and enter your room across from hers.  It’s completely dark except for some moonlight streaming in, cascading across the queen sized bed.  Your husband is nowhere to be found and if you remember correctly, the bathroom light wasn’t on either so where could he be?  

Confused, you step back out into the hallway and head for the living room again.  The kitchen is adjacent to that, the open floor plan creating a giant room.  You hadn’t checked the kitchen however he’s not standing there either and all the lights are off.  Your feet slide across the carpet, walking to the kitchen and stepping onto the linoleum.  The house settles beneath your feet.  Flicking the light on, you suddenly catch a glimpse of curls just under the counter on the other end of the island.  You excitedly make your way over, thinking you’d just won an improved game of hide and seek.  You were so wrong.

What you find instead as you round the corner is a distraught Eddie sitting on the floor against the counter, eyes wet, lashes parting with droplets, nose red, and his knees pulled to his chest as his hands rest on top of them.  His fingers shake while he tries to soothe himself by tapping them against his knees.  Cheeks adorned in fresh tears and shaky breaths leaving his lips, his eyes show panic as he spots you.  Your heart drops at the scene in front of you, your husband absolutely broken, alone in the dark before you got there.  There was no telling how long he’d actually been there suffering in silence.  Wiping away the tears frantically with the collar of his shirt, he attempts to ward off any emotions that had washed over him, brushing them aside as he always did for the sake of those he loved.

Sliding down next to him, you tuck your knees underneath yourself as you clasp your hands in your lap, determining what to do next.  You’d seen Eddie cry before but not enough to know exactly what to do the next time it happened.  Instinct takes over and you tuck one of his curls behind his ear, ever so slightly grazing his cheek with your touch.  His gaze avoids you like a sickness, he doesn’t like to show vulnerability in times when he questions himself as a parent.  Otherwise he thinks you’ll come to realize it too, that he’s good for nothing, trailer park trash that only made it out because of you.  You leaving was one of his biggest fears, something that ate at his brain.  

Your soul aches as his lip quivers, his teeth sinking into the plushness, nearly drawing blood.  A nervous habit he had that left him with chapped lips more often than not.  He’s still dressed in his clothes from earlier, a white band t-shirt and black jeans.  The overhead light is now becoming too overwhelming and you sense that there’s a reason he left it off.  So you hop up to flick the lights off before returning to your original position in front of him.  There’s not a lot to illuminate the two of you on the kitchen floor but there’s enough from the dim lamp in the living room and the moonlight from the windows.  

“Eddie?”  You ask quiet as a mouse.  Again he grabs the front of his shirt and smears his flowing tears on it, silently begging for them to stop.  “Eddie, what happened?  Talk to me.”  Your hand grazes the top of his, rings cold to the touch before you feel the warmth of his skin as you settle your hand there.  Shaking his head, his curls bounce and he inhales shakily.  

A whisper into the darkness, barely there reaches your ears.  “Nothing.”  A lie.  An outright lie, he knows.  But it’s the only answer he can come up with, only wishing that you wouldn’t further the conversation while simultaneously knowing better and knowing that you wouldn’t give up.  He can’t stand the look on your face, the pity you offer him.

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you upset.”  You enlighten him, thumb brushing against his knuckles.  He lightly knocks the back of his head against the counter behind him, a small thump echoing in the quiet of the kitchen.  Looking at the ceiling, inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth.  

“I’m a shitty dad.”  He’s aired out the dirty laundry, given you a peek into his mind.  The way the words roll off his tongue stab you in the heart, a bloody mess left behind with a multitude of questions.  How could you say that?  Who made you think this?  Who do I need to confront?  You don’t really believe that do you?  It all circles your brain.  A breath is caught in your throat, you nearly choking from the horrible statement he just made.  

You just wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, his breath tickling your neck.  His shirt is held tightly in your hands and you find a couple of tears leaking onto the material of the back of his shirt.  His body shaking, you start to feel the front of your shirt grow wet, his hands holding your forearms desperately.

You stop yourself from falling further into a lake of tears, hand coming to rest at his jaw as he sobs into you.  “Why would you say that?”  You whisper, nose against his cheek pressing into his wet face.  There is nothing more heart wrenching than seeing him fall apart in your arms.  The way he trembles and looks so small, you’d give anything to end any pain he was going through right now.  

Pulling away slightly, his bloodshot eyes and glassy face look at you.  You shift to sit in between his legs, your knees under you as you face him, hands clasped behind his neck while his eyes are sad pools of syrup.  He speaks up, voice cracking.  “I-I can’t—I can’t give Rh-Rhin everything she w-wants.  C-can’t give my b-baby what all t-the other kids have.  C-can’t even p-pay the bills on t-time.  C-couldn’t give you a-a proper house.  O-one that doesn’t b-break all the fuckin’ t-time.”  His voice shakes as rivers continue flowing down his face.  He’s holding your thumbs in both his hands, something he does to calm down, squeezing lightly when he gets more stressed.  “N-not even a-a proper wedding.  H-had to give you a secondhand ring.  Nothing—nothing I do is good enough.”  The way he talks so lowly of himself has you almost breaking the composure you built up for him but you hold on a little bit longer.  He continues talking, he can’t stop now and as heartbreaking as it is, it’s good for him to get everything out before you swoop in and give him some clarity.  “Every fuckin’ person i-in this shitty town ha-hates us and it’s all my fault.  All my fucking fault.”  He squeezes slightly harder but not enough to hurt.  You have him release one thumb and bring your fingers up to his hair, stroking his scalp comfortingly while he still bashes himself into the ground.  “My d-daughter can’t have a normal life cause guess what?  Her dads such a-a fuck up, screwed e-everything up before she was even born!”  His wavering tone makes you want to wrap him up in a warm blanket and never see the outside world again.  “Rhin should-should have everything the other kids have!  I-I should be able to afford that-that damn trampoline!”  His features flash with rage before melting back into sorrow.  You swear he’s almost about to throw up with how riled up he’s getting.

That’s when you feel you need to intervene or else things will get nastier and he will drown in his own sea of insults and self hatred.  “Shhhh, c’mere.  Shhh.  Enough.  Enough.”  You tell him softly, pulling his head into your chest and stroking his jaw with your thumb.  “No more of that.”  His sobs are muffled into your chest, hands grabbing at the front of your shirt for dear life, his breathing is uneven and every now and then he hiccups from crying so hard.  The man you love so deeply in your soul is crumbling in your arms.  Crumbling from the pressures of the world, the cards he’s been dealt, and his own poisonous thoughts.  

“Look at me.”  You tell him, firm but sympathetic, encouraging his face to pull away from you and angling his jaw with your hand.  Reluctantly, he listens, irises glassy, the usual dark chocolate warmth they bring temporarily turned to vulnerable self loathing black holes.  “You are the best dad she could've ever hoped for.  The best husband I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.  Stop.  Being.  Mean.  To.  Yourself.”  You punctuate with a small tap to his nose, a stray tear threatening to drip from it.  Your words resonate with him but he still feels responsible for everything not perfect in your lives.  You can see it in the way his eyes shift from you to his lap, contemplating.  Grabbing both his cheeks in your hands, the light stubble tickling your fingertips, you press a kiss to his forehead.  “Let’s get some air.  C’mon, let’s go baby.”  He can’t protest as you’re already standing, pulling him up by his arm, your touch lingering there as if to say I’ve got you, I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere, no matter how scared you are.

Guiding him out to the front porch, you leave the front door open with the screen door being a barrier to the inside just in case Rhin wakes up.  Immediately he pulls out a cigarette as he sadly slumps down onto the porch step, staring out into the night.  His hands tug at his curls, one hand wiping his nose as he sniffles.  His breathing is still recovering from the sobs that racked his body just moments ago.  You claim the spot next to him, wood creaking beneath you.  He inhales as much as he can from his cigarette before he shakily breathes it out.  You intertwine your fingers with his free hand, rings pressing against you as he weakly grabs your hand back.  

“You don’t see what we see.”  You speak up, gazing at him like he is the only star in the night sky.  Head shaking in denial, he drops his head, sighing as if he was going to chime in.  “Don’t you dare go and beat yourself up again, you’ve had enough.”  Your head rests on his shoulder, nuzzling into him lovingly.  “Do you know how many men would go out of their way to build their daughter a brand new princess bookshelf?  Or draw flowers on the sidewalk with her sidewalk chalk?  Or even play hopscotch with her in front of all the neighbors that have nothing better to do than be mad that your daughter is happy?”  At this he frowns, the type of frown where you’re trying to keep from crying, where your lip wobbles and you can’t control the sting of tears.  “And personally, I don’t see any other men creating the most beautiful, most romantic proposal.  With the ring from the antique store that I’d been looking at every time we stopped in.  No, it’s not from some big designer and it’s not a huge rock like a lot of these show offs lead us to believe we need.”  You offer him a little smile, looking up into his eyes.  The smallest twitch of his lip leads you to believe you’re luring him from the dark corners of his mind covered in cobwebs that clouded his thinking.  

A little scoff escapes him.  “I paid like fifty dollars.  What a big shot.”  He says sarcastically, still putting himself down, but at least you’ve talked him down a level.  “And I’m still going to get you one that you deserve one day.  When I figure all this shit out.”  There’s a lump in his throat as he talks. 

“Baby.”  You breathe, tilting his cheek toward you.  “I don’t want another ring.  I want this one.  I don’t care about money, the most valuable things in my life are the people.  You are my everything.  Rhin is my everything.  My family.”  Your eyes are welling up again, this time in admiration for your family.  “And Wayne.  The three of you are all I’ll ever need.”

A chuckle escapes him, leaving you a bit puzzled but you wait it out to see his next words.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to find you in this shitty world.  But I’m glad I did it.  Whatever it was.”  He nears the end of his cigarette and puts it out, holding onto it cause he knows it’s important to you not to litter the yard, or anywhere for that matter with cigarette butts.   

“I can tell you what it was.”  You scoot a little closer to him, if even possible.  A delicate kiss is placed on his pillowy lips.  “You’re a hundred times the man any of these assholes are.”  Another kiss.  “You’re kind.  Even when you get angry, you step away so you can think rationally.  Most of the other dads just scream at their families and pretend like it never happens until they lash out again.  You’ve never lashed out at me or Rhin.”  A peck to the apple of his cheek.  “You’re handsome.  Obviously.”  His cheeks tint pink, you can see it even in the porch lighting.  “You always nudge me to the inside of the sidewalk when we’re walking.  You give Rhin your last few quarters to play that game at the grocery store, just to make her smile.”  Another peck to his other cheek.  “You’re so selfless and compassionate.  You would give up the clothes on your back just to see your little girl happy.”  This time you press your lips to his for a little longer than before.  “Being Eddie, is what you did.”  You finish.  

The way he looks at you, face inches apart from yours, his lashes casting a shadow over his own cheeks with the most enamored gaze in his eyes, it nearly has you in a puddle at his feet.  “I love you, I don’t have any other words to explain what you’re making me feel right now.  I just love you.”  His voice is a little hoarse from all the turmoil he went through.  “And I’m going to keep loving you til the end of time.”  His fingers brush against your arm, giving you goosebumps.  “You have my word on that, sweets.”  You can’t help the way you go bashful on him at his promises.  “Don’t close up on me now, we’re married.”  He has a small grin painted on his face.  

All you can do is pull him in by the back of his neck for a kiss full of all of the emotion you have for him.  “Feel better?”  You mumble against him.  He hums into your mouth as the kiss deepens.  

“Much better.”  He’s greedily grabbing at your thighs, pulling you into his lap to straddle him.  For the next ten minutes or so you just drink each other in, passionately moving your mouths in sync with each other.  Eventually you find yourselves laying back on the porch, his arm around you and you pulled into his side as you stare at the roof.  He asks about your girl's night, you give him every detail, then you ask about his day.  What kind of endeavors Rhin put him through.  Suddenly he shifts the conversation.  

“I want another baby with you.”  You’re shocked at his admission before he speaks quickly again.  “I-I mean in the future.  When we’re financially okay…if that’s something you’d want.”  His nerves are everywhere, you can tell by the way he drums his fingers on your arm.  

You sit up quickly, hovering over him with an expressionless face.  “I want a baby with you too.”  You find yourself speaking without having to think.  A wide smile appears on your face and you’re back to kissing him, over and over and over.  “I’d let you get me pregnant right now if we could.”  You say truthfully

He laughs at your honesty, arms snaking around your waist.  “Oh yeah?  I wanna get you nice and pregnant so bad.”  He bites his lip, as you grind your hips against his.  “But y’know…we could always practice.”  He offers, rolling himself up into you, the friction gives you the slightest bit of relief.  

“I would love to.”  You breathe desperately just above his lips, the two of you scrambling off the porch floor to hurry inside and quietly get to your room.  That night he makes the sweetest love to you, offering every piece of him as you did earlier while comforting him in his worst moments.  He spends what feels like hours in between your legs, licking, teasing, sucking.  His hands caressed your body like you were some kind of artwork.  He worshiped you in ways another man never could or ever has, ever.  

~end~

Masterlist

[ziptiesnfries]

Captured

Roux & Ambrose masterpost

CWs: kidnapping, knives, creepy/affectionate whumper, drugging w/ needles, referenced past torture

It’s almost eight weeks before Roux is allowed out on a job again. It wasn’t supposed to be that long—they were just supposed to take enough time off for their finger to heal—but the team has been a little … over-protective. Sometimes it seems like they were more rattled by Roux’s torture than Roux was. Normally, it wouldn’t bother Roux that much; they know their team cares about them, and it’s nice to be cared about. But after what happened with Ambrose, Roux isn’t in the mood to be coddled. They just want to get back to work.

The job is to pass off a flash drive to a client. The location is a busy coffeehouse in broad daylight—very low-risk. Roux is a little irritated that Lyon is starting them off with something so easy, but they don’t complain about it. Soon he’ll be assigning them real missions again. For now, they’ll at least prove to him that they can handle this.

It goes off without a hitch. Roux meets the client, a dark-haired woman in a pantsuit, and slides the flash drive across the table. Aside from some bickering about their age—Are you old enough to be doing this?; Hey, listen, do you want the drive or not?—the client is respectful, checking the contents of the drive on her laptop before dismissing them. It takes five minutes. Easy.

They shoot off a text to Lyon on their way out: Done. I’ll be back in 20. Then they pocket their phone and head back to their car. Maybe after this, Lyon will give them a job that actually takes longer to do than it takes to get there …

As they cross the parking lot, a figure comes out of nowhere, wrapping an arm around them. Roux jumps, beginning to pull away—but they freeze as a cold blade slides under their shirt, pressing against their skin. “There you are,” purrs a low voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Roux’s blood runs cold as they recognize him: Ambrose. How the hell did he …?

Panic squeezes their chest, but they stay very still, eyes darting around. The parking lot is in the back of the coffee house. None of the windows face out this way, and there’s no one else out here. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Before they can gather their wits, Ambrose continues, “Do you have a phone on you, sweetheart?”

Roux can hear the blood rushing in their ears, and their own voice sounds far away when they respond, “No.”

The knife presses into their skin, threatening to draw blood, as Ambrose chuckles. “You little liar. Take it out and drop it.”

Feeling numb, they do as they’re told. The crack of their phone against the pavement makes them wince. Lyon should be able to track my phone, they think to themself, a ghost of hope. But they just told him they’d be back in twenty minutes. By the time Lyon realizes anything’s wrong, they could be anywhere. It would’ve been better to keep their phone on them, but with the knife pressed against their stomach, they’re not going to risk grabbing it.

“Good.” Ambrose’s breath brushes their ear, and they swallow down the bile crawling up their throat. “Now come with me.”

Briskly, with the blade still pressed against them, he walks them to the edge of the parking lot. Out of the corner of their eye, they see him fiddling with a key fob, and the trunk of a sleek black car pops open as the two of them approach. “Get in,” says Ambrose.

Their heart leaps into their throat, and they decide, in that moment, that they would rather die than get in Ambrose’s trunk. They grab his wrist and wrench the knife away as they twist away from him. He shoves them, and their back hits the tail light.

When they met him before, they were either sitting or kneeling, so they didn’t exactly have a concept of just how tall he is. He looms over them, his body pinning theirs in place, and suddenly the knife is against their neck. They swallow as he meets their eyes. “I’d really hate to hurt you, sweetheart,” he says, and he looks like he means it, even as he presses the knife into the soft, vulnerable skin of their throat. “But I will if I have to.”

“What do you want?” They wince at the feebleness of their own voice. Some distant part of their brain scolds them for not handling this better. They’ve been in more dangerous situations than this without panicking. But with Ambrose pressed up against them, staring at them like that …

“You,” he whispers. A violent chill runs down their spine, and they stare at him. He tilts his head and smiles, his gaze filled with affection. “I just want you.”

They hear a little pop, and they don’t have time to react before something sharp jabs into their shoulder. A moment later, Ambrose holds up an empty syringe and pulls the knife away from their throat. “There,” he says. “Now you’ll be a little more compliant, hm?”

Panic spikes through them, and they curse themself for letting Ambrose distract them like that. They shove him away, but they don’t get very far before he grabs the collar of their shirt, hauling them back to the car. “Let go of—mmph!”

His hand clamps down over their mouth. They desperately hope that someone heard them yelling, but it still doesn’t seem like there’s anyone else around. “Shh,” he murmurs, shoving them towards the trunk. “Just relax, you’ll be asleep soon.”

Their breath comes in short gasps through their nose as he manhandles them into the trunk, keeping his hand over their mouth until the last possible second. The moment he lets go, they scream as loud as they can—even though they’re already inside the trunk, even though their limbs are growing weak and their eyelids heavy—they scream. This time, Ambrose doesn’t even try to shut them up. He just nudges their limbs out of the way and slams the trunk shut.

They pound against the ceiling, their throat turning raw as the engine roars to life. They only stop to gasp for air. They’ve never been claustrophobic, so maybe it’s the drugs or the adrenaline coursing through them, but suddenly they feel like they can’t breathe. Spots dance in their vision, and they gulp in a lungful of air, feeling panicked and stupid and dizzy.

Slowly but surely, their struggles grow weaker. They’re clinging to consciousness by a thread, trying to pay attention to where the car might be going, but all they can feel is rocking, bumping motions as the car speeds along. Their hands fall limply to their chest, and their ragged breathing slows as everything finally fades away.

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 19 - Sensory Saturday (Disassociation, losing a sense (in a way), “I wish I could get you back.”)

continuation of Day 18 , (OC Sam)

TW/CW: Supernatural dissociation, psychological torture, emotional whump, mind control, possession, friendship dynamics, Word count: 544

For the entire rest of the day Whumper puppeteered Sam's body through the entire town and outskirts. Purposely being a rude asshole to every person they encountered.

Sam had become more and more hopeless, trapped inside their own body-their own mind. They barely reacted anymore, only wincing at the sharp, cruel words their tongue spit.

Whumper sat Sam's body down on the grass, leaning against a tree. "So my dear little Sam, what do you think? Should we text your friends, do you think they've already recovered?"

Sam didn't think back an answer, just sat in the back of their own mind, head resting on their knees.

The no-reaction left Whumper irritated and they clawed at Sam's mind, deeming Sam's heavy jerk and pained scream as satisfactory. "I don't enjoy being ignored, Sam. Answer me!"

Sam screamed in pain, it felt horrible. It hurt so much and felt so ungraspable. "Okay, okay, I will, just please don't do that again.", they pleaded, trying to deescalate the situation. "Please don't text them. You're only going to hurt them more."

"Oh no, I would never do that." Whumper grinned as they hit up the group chat and called all 4 Friends at once.

Whumpee saw 2 of them picking up then they completely blacked out. They could not see, not hear, not feel. It was torture!

---

When Sam finally got access to their senses again their body was standing in front of their community-house again. The voice on the phone just told them to "go fuck themselves". It was Friend1's voice. And they could feel their heart shattering. Whumper explained to them that they had their fun and were gonna let Sam go now. But not without a last parting gift...

Breaking someone's mind wasn't an easy thing to do. It was tricky and a long process but they knew how to get it done. They clawed and scratched and tore at Sam's mind until nothing but grayed shreds was left. It was depressing even for them. They pushed the body forward with magic untill it stumbled into the house and crashed onto the carpet. Loudly, drawing attention. Then Whumper left Sam's destroyed mind and exhausted body. For good.

"...Just leave them. Maybe they're even drunk!" "...They did to Friend&4? I'm not forgetting that!" "Their words were really hurtful but..." "My wrist definitely needed a doctor."

Sam didn't hear it correctly, the discussion of their Friends. They didn't even recognize the voices. Or feel the itchy carpet on their skin. Their eyes were glaced over, staring straight ahead into nothingness.

--

Eventually their Friends did pick up that something was wrong and put their anger beside. They sat Sam's limp body down on the couch and tried to get a reaction out of their apathetic, numbed mind. As Friend4 snapped their fingers in front of Sam's eyes blood started to tickle out of their nose. They shared concerned looks but had no idea how to handle the situation.

---

Friend2 was the last one that night still sitting by Sam's mind. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I had the feeling something was off, but everyone was so mad and the words were so fucked up."

Silence.

"I'm really sorry. “I wish I could get you back.”

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

[loadednachosao3]

I wrote the first bit of what will hopefully turn into a full-fledged tailor au story and I want you guys to see it

let me know what you think!!

“Naaaachiiiiiitoooooo!”

Nacho bites back a sigh and longs for the days when Lalo would call him “Señor Varga.” He holds the phone a little bit away from his ear; Lalo gets loud when he’s excited.

“I thought I told you I’m with family this weekend,” Nacho says. “And not to call unless it’s an emerg—”

“It is an emergency!” comes Lalo’s whiny voice on the other end of the line. “They moved the date of the gala up, and I need you to make me something new!”

Nacho pinches the bridge of his nose while his father and aunt glance over at him through the doorway. “What’s wrong with what I’ve been working on?”

“Get. This,” Lalo says in the most serious tone possible for him. “Fring’s gonna be there — personally!”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“He’s been rubbing elbows with Eladio for the past year and some change,” Lalo says, gossipy as usual. “If I can really impress the cabrón, he might throw some money our way, some connections. You know, bigger magazines and brand deals and — I bet he can get me on the cover of Vogue!”

Nacho bites his lip and lowers his voice, trying to hide the irritation in his tone. His little cousins shriek and bolt past his knees, firing cap guns at each other.

“And what’s wrong with what I’m making you already?”

“I mean, it’s fine, it’s good, but—” Lalo sighs. “Fring’s tastes are… You know how they are, right? Simpler. You know… Crispado, liso. I’m just worried the outfit we’ve got going on now is…”

“Demasiado colorido,” Nacho mutters.

Just like you, he thinks.

He hears Lalo snap his fingers. “Yeah! You get it. We need to go back to the drawing board on this one. Can you talk to Jane?”

Nacho really does sigh this time. “When’s the gala?”

“In two weeks! That’s why we need to move!”

“Two—?!” Nacho sees his family’s heads swivel toward him, so he lowers his voice to a harsh whisper. “Lalo, that’s insane. I have other clients, and you know how long it takes to—”

“Can’t you just, I dunno, push everything else back? Work on mine? This is a real emergency, Ignacio!”

The nerve of him. Nacho can’t believe he’s asking for something that’s borderline impossible.

“Just wear what I’m already—”

“I’ll pay you triple! No — quadruple!”

Nacho pauses. Four times his usual rate is nearly ten grand. He knew Lalo was well off, but… How can he be so desperate to impress someone he doesn’t even like?

“Eyyy, there’s my Nachito,” Lalo purrs, and Nacho can hear the Cheshire Cat’s grin spread over his face. “How’s that sound? Good?”

Nacho puts a hand on his hip and breathes out slowly, head tilted back, wondering what his life would be like if he could get some peace for one single weekend.

“...I’ll have to talk to Jane,” he finally says. “If, if she can get a design done by Monday, then—”

“Eres el mejor! I knew I could count on you!” Lalo says.

“Okay, but if she ca—”

“I’ll text you my ideas! Me has ayudado mucho, Ignacio. Gracias!”

Click.

Nacho sighs, longer, louder, more exasperated than before.

His father calls from the next room, “Is everything okay, mijo?”

“Yeah,” he calls back. “Yeah. Just great.”

[sugarrspice]

Let's go with number 4. I'm curious to see what you'll do with it :) -Trick

I am wagging my finger at you, Trickster dearest. Since I Saw Vienna by Wilbur Soot is your draw and it's a heartbreaking song. Let's see what we can do with it!

--

When Jackie's phone rings, he knows without even looking who it is. The caller ID is unfamiliar, but the timing isn't.

Balancing the bowl of meat and spices in one hand, he reaches across blindly with his only clean hand to accept it and balance it between his shoulder and ear. The phone is warm against his neck, and when Chase's voice echoes out of the speakerphone, tinny as only the shitty roadside payphones are, it feels almost like Chase is standing over his shoulder, arms looped loosely around him and chin resting on his shoulder.

His chest hurts.

"-was wondering if you had a late shift tonight, but then I remembered you'd literally eat your own arm off before you'd accept a weekend shift-"

He can't help the snort that bubbles up, and he wonders if hundreds of miles away- thousands, now, it's surely been long enough- Chase is smiling, too, in that self-satisfied way he always did whenever he made Jackie laugh at a stupid joke.

"How about you? Find work over there?"

He can hear the fabric rustle as Chase, presumably, shrugs. He always did this over the phone, forgot that the other party couldn't see him. It drove Henrik batty.

"For a few weeks, yeah. That's why I hadn't called. Working as a transcriptionist for this medical office; guess all that listening to Hen did eventually rub off. Wish I'd seen less pictures of someone's foot rotting off 'cause of something or the other going septic, though."

"Dude, gross," Jackie laughs. "You chose that job, you're gonna see some gross stuff. Doesn't mean I want to hear it."

Chase laughs, the sound strangely strained. Jackie's gut lurches, like he missed a step. "Right, sorry. Mister security guy is used to dealing with drunken black-outs, not people's limbs falling off?"

Another shuffling sound. Jackie swallows around the bitterness of the moment, wishes he could reach through the receiver of the phone, curl his hand around Chase's cheek. He wants to smooth away that tension, wants to--

He takes a deep breath in, and out. Gentles his tone, mashing the ground meat in the bowl with renewed force. "Or petty theft. You wouldn't believe how many old lady purses I've had to snatch back. Or the balls on some people."

Chase scoffs, a little, at that, and the tension in Jackie's chest eases with the moment. "No, I can take a guess. People get ballsy on the subway when they think you're asleep. I've had to kick so many people in the knees to get 'em away from my duffle bag."

"Are you being safe? You're not hurt, or anything, right?" Jackie can't help it; he blurts it out before he can second-guess himself, white-knuckling the phone in his hand.

Chase sighs, tinny through the phone, and Jackie has to swallow a lump in his throat as he hears Chase gentle his own voice in turn. "I'm fine, Jacks. I told you, don't worry yourself gray over me; I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Jackie bites out. He's trying to keep his tone even, in turn, but he can feel the telltale prick of thorns in his chest again, the heat rising to the back of his neck and his eyes. "But it's- not that easy to just stop worrying, Chase. You ran off without a fucking word to any of us, call us maybe once every other month, won't tell us where you are--"

"Oh, we're talking about this now," he hears Chase mutter, away from the receiver, and scowls, setting the bowl down with more force than he really means to.

"We gotta talk about it at some point, Chase, and apparently we're lucky to talk to you at all."

He doesn't have to be in front of Chase this time, to know the way his expression is going to first shutter, and then blossom with irritation. Irritation, and then anger. There's a hissing sound, like Chase is sucking in air through his teeth, and he has to grit his own teeth together to keep from echoing the tic. He's not even sure, by now, who got it from where. If Chase had taken that piece with him, or if it'd been his from the start, if Jackie was white-knuckling on to the last bits he got to keep.

"I told you. I just needed to--"

"Henrik hasn't heard from you since last July. It's March now, Chase," Jackie says, voice going deathly soft. "Marvin refuses to talk about you. I've had to convince Jameson to not start looking for you, that you're fine on your own, and just need time. That it'd be breaching your privacy."

"What little of it I have left," Chase mutters, and Jackie shuts his eyes against the swell of emotion cresting.

"I thought you liked it here," he says, clinging on by the fingernails to his last bits of composure. "You said it felt safe."

"That's why I had to go," Chase snaps back, and Jackie frowns at the bowl of overly-mixed ground meat, picking at the name stamped into the interior of the bowl. "That's why I had to- forget it, just forget it."

"No, hang on, Chase--"

There's that familiar sinking feeling in his gut, again, except he's missed the whole damn flight of stairs. He doesn't- he doesn't fucking understand. He can hear the pain, raw as daylight, scored into Chase's every word, but now he's pulling away, slipping through his fingers again--

"Forget it. I- I have to go. I'm out of change. I'll call you soon."

Chase inhales, brittle and uncertain, and hesitates for a moment longer. Jackie gets the sense, terrible and certain, that if he lets Chase go now, they won't ever hear from him again. He shuts his eyes.

"We'll wait as long as you need," he says, instead, to the cool darkness behind his eyelids. The spices are gritty against his fingertips. "You know that, right? We'll always wait for you."

Chase doesn't reply. Jackie opens his eyes, half-expecting to see his lock-screen, to be met with the dial-tone. The call instead ticks on, in front of him, 10:37 emblazoned in that curlicue font Marvin somehow managed to keep his systems stuck in.

"It's not a burden," he says, quieter. Chase sucks in another breath, and then lets it out. Neither of them comment on if it's shakier than the last.

"I'll be seeing you, Jacks," he says, softly. Not quite a promise, not quite a farewell. Jackie white-knuckles onto it like it's the last thing he'll hear.

"I'll hold you to that," Jackie murmurs, and before he can second-guess himself, says softly, "we love you. I love you."

Chase huffs out a soft not-quite-laugh, and the dial-tone greets him. Jackie only shuts his eyes, holding close the whisper he'd heard over the static.

I love you too.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Blue's Rose - Chapter 23 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Boys Will Fall

Blue Cavanaugh & Kulap 'Kool' Somboon

Buzz. Buzz.

Blue reached out his hand and grabbed his cell-phone, he had five new texts, he quickly checked them seeing three had come in while he was in the water.

[Leaving work early. See you at three p.m.]

[Leaving now.]

[Where are you?]

[Blue?]

[You better be there and be okay when I get there.]

Blue whistled between his teeth.

Kool was so sweet and gentle until he was not.

He chuckled.

"Feisty little thing," he mumbled, texting back his reply.

[Safe and sound or at least until you arrive.]

Blue laughed and threw his phone down so he could pick up his shirt.

Buzz. Buzz.

In the process of trying to pull his t-shirt on so he could get up and head to his room, Blue stopped, one arm in and one arm out of the sleeve to check the message.

[Where are you?]

Blue rolled his eyes.

'So impatient.'

Blue couldn't help but notice that Kool tried to run him like he ran his business.

A big part of Blue found it kind of sexy.

For all of Kool's sweetness he was demanding, domineering and a bit controlling.

He definitely liked to boss Blue around. Blue had yet to find a reason not to allow him to.

Whether out and about or in bed, there had never ever been a reason to deny him.

[On the beach in front of the hotel. Getting ready to head back up.]

Throwing the phone down he stuffed his other arm through his shirt and was about to stand when yet another text came through.

[Stay.]

Blue plopped back down on the towel, staring at his cell-phone, so bossy.

[Woof. Woof.]

Blue plopped the cell-phone back down and refused to answer anymore texts that came buzzing through.

Let him figure out where he was the little shit.

Blue would be the first to admit that a dominant Kool is a sexy beast but damn, he had a way with ordering Blue around that made him want to assert his own brand of authority over Kool that would have him quaking.

Blue's cock hardened at the mere thought.

Sitting back, his legs stretched out, his palms resting flat on the towel, Blue started humming, as he waited for Kool to find him, it didn't take long.

Dressed in his black suit and pink tie, his only concession to being on a beach the fact that he removed his loafers, Kool casually stalked barefoot towards Blue, his sunglasses blocking his eyes from Blue, leaving Blue unable to gauge his mood.

But going by his measured precise steps Blue had the feeling Kool was a little irritated with him.

What had he done now?

But all he said was.

"I think you're a little over dressed."

Kool twisted his lips as he glanced ruefully down at himself.

His only reply.

"Make room," as he turned around and squeezed himself on to the towel beside Blue, Blue scooting barely fast enough to avoid ending up with a lap full of Kool.

Not that he would have been complaining.

He glanced down.

"Why so grumpy?" he asked, denying his natural instinct to reach out and run his fingers along Kool's chin to get him to turn and look at him.

But they were in public and natural instincts were the enemy.

So, he kept his hands to himself and willed with his voice for Kool to know his intentions regardless of action.

Kool looked at him then looked away and answered in a soft voice.

Because he had turned away from Blue and was using his old school Kool voice, the sweet gentle teenager of years ago, Blue was unable to quite make out what he said.

He leant in closer.

"What?"

Kool did look his way then.

"Why did it take so long for you to answer my text?" he grumbled louder then looked at Blue with an even grumpier look.

"And what does woof, woof mean?"

Blue had to register his question and then the second one he threw at him testily.

A moment later Blue threw his head back and laughed loud and deep, drawing eyes to them but he was too amused to care.

"You were worried about me," he finally contained himself enough to say, looking down at Kool with typical Blue charm.

Kool scowled back.

"I fail to see how my being worried for your safety ranks as 'laugh out loud' funny?"

Blue did place his hand on his shoulder then, feeling guilty and wanting to reassure him though he didn't really have a good explanation for laughing.

He only had the truth.

"Would you be pissed if I told you it's because you look so damn cute when you're worried about me?" he asked, before finishing.

"Pretty much since I got here you have been pestering me to let you give me a driver to take me around. Your protectiveness just..."

Blue shrugged feeling kind of embarrassed.

"Feels good," he finished somewhat inanely.

"Made me want to laugh. Not at you," he clarified bumping Kool's shoulder with his own.

"With you."

"I was not laughing," Kool replied looking out at the water.

Blue sighed.

"I'm sorry," he finally responded.

"Sorry for swimming when you texted so I couldn't reply. Sorry for laughing because you make me happy. Sorry for..."

"Okay. Okay," Kool cut in.

"I get it. You apologized. I accept. We will move on."

Blue shook his head at him.

"So damn bossy," he exclaimed.

"Woof. Woof," he added for good measure.

Kool whipped his glasses off and looked at Blue.

"There," he said, pointing his finger at Blue.

"First you texted this and now you say it. What is the meaning?"

"You really can't hear yourself, can you?" Blue chuckled down at Kool, wanting to kiss the frown right off his face but he didn't, barely.

"What?" Kool asked, clearly confused.

"You keep ordering me around like a damn dog so I keep barking back," Blue told him, his smile widening as Kool's expression went from scowling, to surprised, to completely embarrassed.

"I do not," he immediately refuted.

Blue leaned down so they were a little closer and his words whisper soft.

"Babe. You order me around like the dog whisperer. You don't notice because just like the dogs with the dog whisperer they obey their master. Like I'm," Blue paused suggestively, bit his lower lip, his eye roaming the length of Kool's body.

"Following mine."

Kool's face flushed a deep red then but his nose crinkled and his lips curled up into a self-satisfied smirk.

"Don't get too cocky," Blue warned.

"Like any dog. I bite," Blue leant in near Kool's shoulder and chomped his teeth together with a snap, showing off his bite.

Kool laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Down boy," he said, lifting his hand up and ruffling Blue's hair warmed by the hot sun.

The two laughed until the laughter died down and the intimacy of their positions became noticed.

Kool quickly took his hand down and put his shades back on.

Blue didn't move.

He simply watched Kool, wishing they could be freer but knowing they couldn't.

Determined to shake off the depressing thoughts of all the cant's they faced, Blue stood up.

"Come on," he ordered this time.

"I'm hungry. Feed me."

"Woof. Woof," came Kulap's soft reply making both young men chuckle as they made their way to the hotel, both knowing they were each other's unequivocally.

Neither had the upper hand or controlled the other, equal lovers, not free to love each other openly but free to love each other fully. 

[limitlessscion]

It was warm and he felt whole, the agonizing ache that had haunted his chest for years retreated into absence. How he had ever resisted the quieting of it he did not know, but now that it was gone...this was everything to him. Suguru was everything to him. He had wanted so badly for so long, and to be wanted back so clearly and fiercely left him wanting to stay in this moment forever.

But there was still a world outside of them, and Satoru had so carelessly let it back in. The immediate presence of danger and the threat of violence snapped him to razor sharp focus, the honed killing edge of him being unable to stay sheathed. Returned to full clarity, he held himself back from retaliating against the attack aimed his way as threads of Curse Manipulation sprang forth instead. ( a virtual hand, controlled remotely, sharing some of its damage back to the caster— the data he could see was quickly gathered, processed, put aside. it was not a threat. ) Someone else entered the picture, and Satoru could feel his irritation rising. There was an unpleasant haze of Cursed Energy here, the kind of unfiltered anxiety that haunts schools and hospitals to breed curses, all mixed with strong residuals like the familiar threads of Suguru's and many other unknowns, all currently smothered under the thick halo of his own power, shooting up flares, as the woman puts it.

As Suguru continued to ignore his question and turn his words to calming the attention gathering upon them, two young children came into focus in his sixth sight, burning with their own marks of sorcery on an uncannily similar wavelength— twins? They seemed to be about Megumi's age. What had Suguru meant by a family? The man who'd attacked, the woman who so tactfully addressed the man and fearlessly shot a judging look Satoru's way, these children ( too old to actually be suguru's own ) ...just who were they and what were their relationships to his old friend?

It was perhaps a miracle that Satoru hasn't opened his mouth already and demanded more insistently some answers, but he was keenly aware of the way Suguru stepped between him and the the children and the gentle way he disarmed hostilities and the heat of embarrassment at the tips of his ears. Suguru cared about these people on a deeply personal level. Of course he did. Suguru had always cared so fiercely and drawn others into the aura of his character. While Satoru had drifted away from the rare friends he'd made, Suguru had formed a new family.

A family Satoru wasn't a part of, and clearly wasn't welcome to barge into.

"Suguru—" Satoru started to reach out, as if to pull his old friend back and undo this mistake of inviting the world into the peace of just them. Though there was no longer the tension of danger in the air, the trust placed on Suguru having dispelled the chaos from earlier, the snap of a phone camera caught Satoru's attention for a moment, noting the flash of cursed energy that accompanied it; potentially a threat to a Sorcerer less powerful than he, though it seemed to be innocently put aside for now. This could still turn ugly, he was reminded. Outstretched fingers curled then pulled back empty at the dismissive wave.

"...right, I'll get going then," he cleared his throat, suddenly acutely aware of how he looked standing in the midst of those who were supposed to be enemies, the marks of teeth upon his lips and down his neck and the loose strands of black hair that clung to his sleeves of his rumpled his shirt, a strand left by his ear holding on with static. He wasn't one to be self-conscious of such things, but it sure was drawing attention. "I never changed my phone address— we'll talk soon, right?"

There was a desperate note at the end of his words, eyes meeting Suguru's for confirmation. They'd made demands today and created something new, but it was still fragile, the shape of it yet unknown and waiting to be formed. It could still so easily die if regrets were introduced and one simply did not decide to nurture its existence. He would be left helpless, waiting for the moment Suguru decided to initiate this time— if at all. He clung to those reciprocated feelings Suguru had so enthusiastically poured into him. He couldn't have any doubts about that.

So finally, with a soft smile and a lingering gaze flicked appreciatively over the sorry state he'd left his old friend in, Satoru turned and left.

In the split second before his announcement, he takes a moment to inspect the damages inflicted — some redness, a light scratch, dark hair connecting them at every point. Satoru looked serene, the sharp edge to his smile dulled under content hums. A calloused thumb found the corner of his lips to brush over lightly, lingering on the tender bite mark over his bottom one after Suguru had finally allowed himself to spit out the acid that had burned his throat for the longest time. And his eyes gleam, marveling upon the sight of his dearest one hovering dazed, freshly having swallowed the poison. Satoru looks so pliant in that moment, that it provokes a dangerous thought to push him over — just to be the one who catches his fall.

❝ You're so cute ~ ❞ But the soft chuckle has barely fallen from his lips when the energy surrounding them shifts, groaning like the bones of a Titan stretching after lying dormant for eons. ❝ — wait, don't-- ❞

Shoulders bounce with the uncharacteristically crass dismantle and he is immediately alerted to the hostility lingering in the air around them. Satoru's question goes by unanswered as violet eyes fix onto the oncoming attack; within a blink, a curse wiggles helplessly in Heart-Catch's grip, having blocked the imaginary hand from grasping for the intruder. Suguru is not sure which one of them he is protecting here, but he knows he would love to end this meeting before it begins. He turns to the shirtless man leaning casually against the nearest pillar, one foot against the marble and his arms crossed over squished hearts. A placating smile meets the quirk to Larue's brow; Suguru raises his palm as if to ask for a ceasefire.

❝ Thank you, Larue, but there is no need for that. Please, excuse the disturbance — ❞

❛ Geto-sama. ❜ A woman's voice cuts in from behind the two. Manami stands in front of the parted doors, one hand grasping her clipboard, the other resting on the waistband of her long dress as she leans her weight on one leg. The tone is far from reprimanding; but one look at either of his accomplice's faces suffices to let Suguru know that the messy hair and the puffy lips did not slip past unnoticed. ❛ His residuals are shooting up flares. ❜ Manami cants her head with a mindful tone, her bright eyes moving past the group leader and onto the unwanted visitor, instead.

In the distance, the congregating faithful have raised their heads before the commotion. Suguru moves between patting down his robes ( as though that's not even more incriminating ) and stealing a glimpse of them in the distance. Of course, some of them are curious — most wear that disgustingly fearful expression, helpless before things byeond their comphrehension. His brow quirks; a few seconds later, the bell will ring to herd them back inside for early morning audiences. Deliberately early, that was. Suguru's insomnia would no longer let him enjoy the simple delight of nuzzling into the duvet well until the sun was overhead — why should the monkeys?

Belatedly, dark tufts framing his vision remind him of the mess that's become of his hair -- he would prefer not to think about what he looks like. He scratches idly at his wrist, but there's no hair tie coming to his salvation ( it must have fallen off in the eye of the storm ) And just as his eyes return to the entrance, he catches glimpse of two other heads peaking behind Manami's towering form — the twins. Briefly his mind entertains the thought of summoning the earth-shattering eel curse to swallow them both in its crater. That fate sounds oddly pleasant in comparison to whatever this is playing out to be. Still, Suguru holds his composure and speaks with unwavering jubilance, taking a step further towards his secretary, wedging himself between the old and new.

❝ It's alright. Gojo-san here was only dropping by to give me something. ❞ It doesn't take words to tell what sentiment that statement evoked from the curse users present. It's all there in Manami's enigmatic smirk and the quirk to Larue's brow. Nanako curiously pops her head out behind the latter, strawberry blonde glimmering under dim morning light. Her eyes find Gojo Satoru shortly before her phone camera does. And Suguru steps in the way of that too, though he is almost certain he heard the click of the camera. He waves dismissively. ❝ But he is a very busy man, so he will be on his way shortly. ❞