#water line leak fix

[corleyplumbing]

Main Water Line Services in Greenville and Upstate South Carolina

The main water line runs underground and connects to your well or municipal water supply, which provides you with the pressurized water you need to perform your daily tasks around the house, such as cooking and cleaning. If there is ever an issue with this vital part of your home, it’s best to contact a professional.

Our team of expert plumbers offer main water line repair and installation services for homes in areas of South Carolina such as Greenville, Anderson, Boiling Springs, Spartanburg, Easley, and Simpsonville. Our professionals have been in the industry for nearly 40 years and are available to support you. Call our staff by phone at (864) 661-2811 to receive support with a damaged main water line.

[beinggayisreallyexpensive]

I'm literally watching my apartment fall apart around me lmao

[imwritesometimes]

roof leaking. ugly water spot on ceiling of bedroom. despair. agony. panic. millions of phone calls to different contractors. finally. a single kindly older man. very professional. fully licensed. his company can come this week. his company can accept half payment now and half later. no problem. can we actually come earlier? like today? I am 🥹🥹

[hydrachea]

Andjwjsb hey what r ur thoughts on the new 4.6 trailer if you’ve seen it ? 👀 👀 👀👀

I watched the stream, and I'm cautiously very optimistic about Arlecchino now! She didn't get to do much in the Fontaine main quest and it was very disappointing, but what the trailer showed of her story quest looks super interesting. God knows I've been waiting for canon to finally spell out "By the way, the House of the Hearth isn't exactly a happy normal orphanage and Father uses the children much more than she loves them out of the goodness of her heart" for forever now. Finally, I'm about to see why Tartaglia and Scara's lines about her are like that! It's been long overdue!

Cyno's second story quest I'm not as hyped about, but I'm still very interested in. He's got a lot of lore he's sitting on and it finally looks like we're peeking into it. Plus the return of the Sumeru gang! Maybe Kaveh will even have a rerun, a whole year after his release... No, let's not be too optimistic.

[ryleehomeservices]

The Best Plumbers in Milltown, NJ: Rylee Home Services

When it comes to plumbing services in Milltown, NJ, one name stands out from the rest—Rylee Home Services. Known for their expertise, dedication, and impeccable customer service, Rylee Home Services is the go-to choice for residents in need of reliable plumbing solutions. In this article, we’ll explore why Rylee Home Services ranks as the top plumbing company in Milltown, the range of services they offer, and how to get in touch with them for all your plumbing needs.

Why Choose Rylee Home Services?

Rylee Home Services has been a trusted name in the plumbing industry for years. Their highly trained plumbers provide efficient, high-quality service while ensuring that every job is completed on time and within

budget. What sets them apart is their commitment to excellence, customer satisfaction, and transparency, making them one of the best plumbers in Milltown, NJ. Here’s why Rylee Home Services should be your first choice for all plumbing-related needs.

A Family-Owned Business with Strong Values

One of the reasons Rylee Home Services has maintained its stellar reputation over the years is because of their roots as a family-owned business. Founded on principles of integrity, trust, and hard work, Rylee Home Services puts customer satisfaction at the forefront of everything they do. Whether it's a minor repair or a complex installation, they treat every job with the same level of professionalism and care, ensuring that their customers are left fully satisfied.

Comprehensive Plumbing Services

Rylee Home Services is a full-service plumbing company that offers a wide range of plumbing solutions for both residential and commercial clients. Whether you're dealing with a leaky faucet, clogged drain, or require a complete system overhaul, Rylee Home Services has you covered. Here’s an overview of the plumbing services they offer:

1. Emergency Plumbing Services

Plumbing emergencies can happen at any time, and they often strike at the most inconvenient moments. Rylee Home Services offers 24/7 emergency plumbing services in Milltown, NJ, ensuring that you have access to quick and reliable assistance when you need it the most. From burst pipes to sewage backups, they are equipped to handle any emergency situation efficiently.

2. Drain Cleaning and Clog Removal

Clogged drains are a common issue in many homes, but Rylee Home Services provides expert drain cleaning services to ensure your pipes are running smoothly. Using advanced equipment and techniques, their plumbers can quickly locate and eliminate blockages, preventing further damage to your plumbing system.

3. Leak Detection and Repair

Water leaks, whether visible or hidden, can cause significant damage to your property if left unchecked. The skilled plumbers at Rylee Home Services utilize state-of-the-art leak detection technology to find the source of leaks and repair them before they become costly issues.

4. Water Heater Installation and Repair

If your water heater is malfunctioning or in need of replacement, Rylee Home Services can help. They specialize in both traditional and tankless water heater installation and repair, ensuring you always have a reliable source of hot water. Their technicians can assess your home’s water heating needs and recommend the most efficient solution.

5. Sewer Line Repair and Replacement

Damaged sewer lines can lead to severe issues such as flooding, contamination, and property damage. Rylee Home Services offers comprehensive sewer line inspections, repairs, and replacements, using the latest techniques to minimize disruption to your property.

6. Fixture Installation and Repair

Whether you’re remodeling your bathroom or kitchen or simply need to upgrade outdated fixtures, Rylee Home Services can install or repair faucets, toilets, showers, and more. Their team ensures that all installations are performed to the highest standards, guaranteeing long-lasting performance.

7. Pipe Repair and Replacement

Old, corroded pipes can lead to frequent leaks and water quality issues. Rylee Home Services provides professional pipe repair and replacement services to keep your plumbing system in optimal condition. They offer a range of piping materials and options to fit your home’s needs and budget.

Exceptional Customer Service

One of the hallmarks of Rylee Home Services is their exceptional customer service. From the moment you call them, you can expect friendly, professional assistance. They believe in clear communication, keeping their customers informed throughout the process. Whether it’s providing an upfront estimate or explaining the best solutions for your plumbing issues, Rylee Home Services ensures that you always know what to expect.

Licensed and Insured Plumbers

All of the plumbers at Rylee Home Services are fully licensed, insured, and trained to handle a wide variety of plumbing tasks. This gives you peace of mind knowing that your home’s plumbing is in good hands. They stay updated on the latest industry standards and safety practices, ensuring that every job is completed efficiently and safely.

Rylee Home Services: Serving Milltown and Beyond

Rylee Home Services is based in Milltown, NJ, but their service area extends to surrounding towns, making them a reliable choice for homeowners across the region. No matter where you are located in Middlesex County, Rylee Home Services is ready to meet your plumbing needs.

Address: Rylee Home Services 132 Van Liew Ave, Milltown, NJ 08850 Phone: (848) 202-9883 Website: CallRylee.com Social Media:

Facebook

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LinkedIn

Affordable Pricing and Transparent Estimates

Rylee Home Services believes in providing high-quality plumbing services at affordable prices. They understand that plumbing repairs and installations can be an unexpected expense, which is why they offer upfront, transparent estimates. There are no hidden fees or surprise charges—what you see is what you get. This honesty has earned them the trust of Milltown residents and made them a top choice in the local plumbing industry.

Testimonials from Satisfied Customers

Don’t just take our word for it—Rylee Home Services has a long list of satisfied customers who have left glowing reviews about their services. Here are just a few:

“We had a major plumbing issue in the middle of the night, and Rylee Home Services came to our rescue. They were prompt, professional, and fixed the problem quickly. I highly recommend them for any plumbing needs!” – John D., Milltown, NJ

“Rylee Home Services installed our new water heater, and we couldn’t be happier with the service. The team was knowledgeable, courteous, and got the job done efficiently. Their pricing was fair too!” – Sarah P., Milltown, NJ

“I’ve used Rylee Home Services for several plumbing issues, and they always exceed my expectations. They’re my go-to plumbers, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my home.” – Mike S., East Brunswick, NJ

Contact Rylee Home Services Today

If you’re in need of reliable plumbing services in Milltown, NJ, look no further than Rylee Home Services. With their extensive experience, friendly customer service, and affordable pricing, you’ll see why they’re considered the best plumbers in the area.

For more information or to schedule an appointment, visit their website at CallRylee.com, or give them a call at (732) 555-1234. Don’t forget to follow them on social media for the latest updates and promotions!

[plumbinglamarque]

Plumbing La Marque

Sewer drain cleaning is something that a lot of homeowners tend to forget about. If you would like to get a helping hand with this tough task, then Plumbing La Marque can do just that. We have long snakes that get into your drainpipes to cut up whatever clog or filth has gotten stuck in there. Is there a leaky toilet in your home that is driving you crazy? Perhaps the spillage has caused your water bill to inflate and you are ready to get it taken care of once and for all. If so, Plumbing La Marque has the answers to this. Let us know what’s going on and we’ll help you end your spillage in no time.

[emergencyplumbingil]

Emergency Plumbing experts work 24 hours a day, 365 days a year We have years of experience in all areas of plumbing expertise and are eager to provide excellent service at an affordable cost for the following:

Leak elimination; Clogged toilets; Sink and bath repair; Water Heater installation; Cracked pipe repair or replacement; Clogged sewer line repair; Sump pump, Sewer Ejector pump; Battery backup sump pump systems; Variety of other plumbing installation and repairs; It is extremely important to fix a plumbing issue as soon as it happens.

Do not waste time on waiting in line for a plumbing appointment! Emergency plumbing offers immediate service scheduling with a licensed plumbers at a reasonable price and wide range of services that will efficiently solve your problems.

Key Benefit of Plumbing Emergencies Service We are proud to say that our business is locally owned and operated, serving homes and families in NORTHSHORE, NORTHWEST SUBURBS OF CHICAGO. Our licensed plumbers can do everything from simple maintenance to complicated repairs and installations. We deliver fast, same day service while offering flat rate pricing and no estimate or travel charges. Your satisfaction is our top priority.

Contact us today to get a free estimate and book an appointment with one of our local experts. We will evaluate your problem, and provide excellent solutions depending on your individual needs and situation.

Phone 224-754-1984

[springtexasplumbers]

Spring TX Plumbers

If you live in Spring, TX and are looking for a certified plumber who can help you with any plumbing problems you may be faced with right where you are in the quickest time frame then Spring TX Plumbers is the company for you. From anything you encounter an issue with, whether it is late in the night or early on a Sunday, our talented and professional expert plumbers can deliver peace to your lives when any of these problems arise unexpectedly using only the highest and most advanced methods there are to rid them away. We will let you relax easily again during any of your home leaks and sewage pipe problems. Any time and any place in Spring, TX, we will be ready to offer you the most affordable and efficient toilet tank repair or water heater replacements there is for all of your home systems and pa. Give us a call today if you have any more questions, or if you would like to hear a free quote or schedule a service appointment with one of our expert techs.

[plumberspearlandtx]

Plumbers Pearland TX

One of the keys to getting quality plumbing services is hiring a provider that has a good reputation and one that is given high ratings by previous customers. Plumbers Pearland is one such servicer and goes one step further to satisfy its customers for their residential and commercial needs. Another great quality to look for is a licensed plumber. While this may be good for all services, it does more than give you peace of mind. First, it avoids chances of having the work repeated because it didn’t solve initial problems. Second, superior quality ensures that your dollars attain the highest value since your repairs last a long time.

[starkeysprincess]

rafe being the handyman for your apartment complex -> based on this post

warnings: icky + sleazy behavior, no real smut, 18+ mdni a/n: bit longer than I meant & i low key hate this but oh well

The keys on his belt loop jingled as he made his way to apartment 4B, chewing on tobacco and muttering something along the lines that today was supposed to be his day off. His fist made contact with the door, briefly knocking but there was no answer. 

His patience starts to wear thin, his boot thumping against the floor as he knocks harder. Just as he turns around, ready to walk away, he hears the sweet sound of your voice, “Hello?”. 

Rafe turns around, his eyes raking your body, you looked just about the sweetest thing he’s laid his eyes on. Your nipples poked through the oversized shirt you had on and your hair was in a messy bun. “Sorry I didn’t answer sooner, I just woke up” you sighed, trying to rub the sleep away from your eyes.

He smirked at your sweet and innocent demeanor, “S’not a problem, doll face. I was sent to fix an issue you’re having with the sink.”.

You didn’t say a word, your face burning from the nickname, “You gonna let me in?”.

“Oh, right, sorry” you ushered an apology, stepping aside to let him into the apartment. You close the door behind him, “Kitchen or bathroom?” he questions. You turn to face him and it wasn’t until now that he realized how small you were compared to him. His cock stiffened in his jeans at the sight of your big, doe eyes looked up at him, “Huh?”.

“The sink” his voice was gruff and you felt a shiver run up your spine as he stared down at you, “Oh, um, the bathroom”. He looked at you expectantly and you realized you had to show him where your bathroom was, muttering another apology under your breath. 

As you led him to the bathroom, his eyes were glued to the hem of your oversized shirt that stopped just a little below the cheeks of your ass. He could tell you were wearing nothing but a pair of panties under the oversized shirt. 

He steps into the bathroom, groaning to himself lightly at the intoxicating yet sweet smell of your body wash floods his nostrils. His toolbox clanks against the cool tile floor as he sets it down, “What’s the issue you’re havin’?” he murmured. 

You frown, “It keeps leaking, I had to remove everything from the cabinet. I can’t even use the sink without water getting everywhere”. Rafe’s eyes were glued to your soft lips, watching them move as you rambled and all he could think about is stuffing your mouth full with his cock, “You’re ramblin’, doll face”.

You squeak out an apology, your face burning from embarrassment, “Think you could show me the problem?” he gestured to the sink and you nodded, moving past him to open the cabinet under the sink. 

Rafe knew what the problem was based on what you described and from the maintenance ticket he received but that wasn’t stopping him from wanting to see you on your knees, bent over. You can feel his gaze on you but don’t think much of it as you bend over. 

“Where is the leaking comin’ from?” he grumbled as he stood behind you. “Here” you pointed, turning your head to look back at him to see he was squinting, pointing his flashlight towards the pipe, “Where?”. 

When you leaned forward more to show him where the leaking came from, your shirt rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your baby pink panties, “Do you see it?”, your saccharine-like voice rang through his ears, still facing away from him.

He licked his lips, eyes locked on the delicate panties around your hips, “Mhm, I see what I was lookin’ for, doll face”.

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[wandaslullaby]

Hooked, Line and Sinker || Wanda Maximoff

summary: wanda shows you what it's like to disobey and a certain faculty member makes an appearance.

18+ DNI!

WARNINGS: fingering, eating out, manipulation kink

part 3 of the bunny and wanda series

------------

With eyes at rest with the sudden shock of humanity, you hear the quenching rain. The percussion of the water varies according to the downpour that Wanda warned you about. It’s been three whole days since Wanda’s sinful confession but you couldn’t stay mad at her. She gave you a roof over your head, three meals a day and a nice cosy bed to lay. 

Resting on your thighs, you tilted your head and traced a droplet of rain down the window giggling as more rain droplets came to play. A slight hum echoed in the background, light taps began to grow louder which meant Wanda was near. 

“Bunny? Are you here?” Wanda yelled from what you think was the kitchen. 

“On the window sill.” You answered, still fixated on the rain. 

Wanda’s eyes grew with such love as she watched you innocently play with the water. She also noticed how short the skirt she dressed you just covered your bare ass. 

“You look so gorgeous, bunny.” Wanda cooed as she walked up to you. You hummed and slightly smiled when Wanda’s reflection appeared in the window. 

As much as you knew all this was wrong, the stickiness between your legs thought otherwise. Wanda hasn’t touched you since that incident in Mr Rogers Office and you were desperate to have Wanda’s fingers or her strap on inside you. 

“What are you thinking bout? Sad that you can’t play outside?” Wanda said, pinching your bare bum earning a little stare from you. 

“Feel sticky. Not sure why but it hurts.” 

Wanda’s eyes pierced down to your thighs, “Oh bunny. Why didn’t you tell me? You should always tell Mommy when you had an accident.”

“Was embarrassed, not usually like this.” You whispered, feeling slightly ashamed that you couldn’t control when you came. 

“That’s what Mommy is here for. She is going to look after you as you can’t do it yourself.” Wanda laughed. “What to show Mommy where the stickiness is with her fingers?”

You nodded, and wrapped your hand around Wanda’s finger and directed her up to your leaking cunt. Wanda gasped as she felt how wet you were, she wasn’t expecting you to be this coated. 

“Oh my sweet dumb baby.” Wanda cooed as she slowly rubbed your clit earning soft whimpers from your lips. “You are soaking.”

“Can you fix it?” You moaned out, gripping the side of the window sill as Wanda began to pick up the pace. 

“As long as you try to sleep on your own tonight? As much as I love having you in my bed, you need to learn to sleep on your own.” 

That’s another thing you couldn’t figure out. You were so used to sleeping alone but somehow something inside you made you want to sleep with Wanda. It was such a weird feeling but you felt empty without Wanda nearby. 

“I can try…” You whimpered as Wanda slipped a finger inside your cunt, pumping slowly as she stroked your cheek. 

The motion of Wanda finger inside you alarmed your brain, the euphoria you felt as Wanda explored the walls inside you hinting another finger as she dipped in and out caused a slight high pitch moan from your mouth. 

“Beautiful sounds, bunny. Can you use your words?” Wanda chuckled as she planted a kiss on your nose. “What do you need?”

“Your fingers.” You choked out. “I need your fingers.”

Wanda watched as your face burned with heat as she entered a second finger inside you. Wanda was impressed in how well you would take her without prep. She saw the shyness on your face as you looked away which only meant you wanted it a little fast.

“Do you want me to go faster?” Wanda asked, using her free hand to make you face her. “You have to look at Mommy when she is taking care of you, you don’t want Mommy to be sad, do you?”

A sudden twist of panic erupted into you as Wanda pulled her fingers out of you. She watched as you tried to pull her fingers closer but she slapped your cunt instead. The stinging pain of her slap caused a tear to form in your eyes as she denied you, but Wanda only smiled wider as she watched you try again but Wanda this time, shoved her fingers in your mouth. 

Pumping her fingers in her mouth, you knew that this was a form of punishment something Wanda mentioned but you didn’t think she would actually use them. She watched as you latched onto her fingers, sucking away your sweet cum eagerly as Wanda stroked your nose.

“You hungry little thing. Look at you, sucking on Mommy’s fingers.” Wanda laughed as she shoved them further down your throat indicating to her that you did have a gag reflex. “Make sure they are all sloppy for me so I give your cunt something to feast on.”

Wanda noticed the slight slowness in your movement and decided that it was time to take care of your throbbing cunt. She could smell the desperation and as much as Wanda loved watching you choke on your fingers she removed them from your mouth and went straight into your cunt, thrusting harder than before aimlessly reaching your spot. It didn’t take Wanda long at all to get your pussy clenching on her fingers. She knew exactly where you would become undone but the thought of you cumming on her fingers didn’t sit right with her, she wanted to taste you. 

“Bunny. As much as I want you to drown my fingers with your cum, how about I taste it instead?” 

You didn’t even formulate a word, you just screamed with desperation as Wanda was so close to having you released that you just blabbered. 

“Too dumb to say anything? You really are a stupid girl.” Wanda cooed as she kept pumping inside you and lowered you down so you were ready for her. 

Before her fingers were free from your clenching pussy, Wanda ripped your skirt apart and grinned at how glazed you were. She noticed that her phone was nearby and quickly took a picture. “Beautiful. This is going to go to all the colleagues at work to show them how lucky I am.”

You were not quite sure what Wanda was saying as you were too high on pleasure to notice that Wanda had taken a picture of you. As much as you were trying to be good, the kick of your legs caught Wanda’s attention. 

“Don’t you fucking kick your legs at me.” Wanda snapped. “Are you that desperate for my tongue, bunny?” 

You whimpered out, not even apologising. 

“Never.” Smack. “Ever”. Smack. “Kick your legs at me.” Wanda growled and pulled her fingers out of you watching as her fingers glazed with your cum. She heard a cry escape your lips as Wanda left you open, you were so desperate for anything that you were again denied from cumming. 

“You want to cum, bunny? Then I’ll fucking show you.” Wanda hissed as she bit down on your sensitive cunt, and gripped your thighs as she sucked on your clit. 

The reactor from Wanda tongue embedded inside you caused you to wrap your legs around her neck. Wanda wasn’t given up quite yet, she sucked harder on each fold and invaded her tongue inside you reaching the spot in less than two seconds. As Wanda nipped at your folds, you started to clench and as Wanda fiddled with your spot, you became undone. You felt days of denied cum flow down giving Wanda such a meal to eat as she still ate your out, savouring each drop. 

You were starting to feel another set of cum released as Wanda used her hands to rub your clit, muffling words as she sucked harder letting another load pour down on her. The high you felt started to feel less painful as your eyes began to flutter. You weren’t used to cumming this much and the sudden numbness of your legs fell down indicating to Wanda that you were out down. 

Wanda wasn’t done yet. As she began to clean you with her mouth and tongue, she gave your sensitive pussy a bite causing you to scream loud in pain. Wanda finally released herself from you, grinning at the sigh of the harsh redness on your clit, grinning a little at the sight of blood where she bit you.  

“Don’t you cry, you stupid whore. I just let you cum and this is how you say thank you? Crying because you couldn’t handle a little pain?” Wanda laughed, as she admired the hot tears form on your cheeks. 

“H-hurts.” You whimper, trying to see the after match of Wanda’s punishment. Wanda only chuckled as your arms extended out, she knew that denying you for three days would only make you crave her more. 

“You need a hug, bunny?” She cooed, changing her tune as she noticed you were slowly slipping. She watched you nod eagerly before she picked you up and straddled you in her arms. “Look at those puffy eyes, you were such a good bunny taking Mommy’s punishment.”

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, hiding your face in her chest. 

“I know you are. Mommy forgives you.” 

“You do?” You muffled her chest. 

“Of course. You are going to be such a good bunny for me.” Wanda hums as she watches you slip into a trance. Wanda watched as your eyes closed and planted a small kiss to your forehead before groaning at the vibration from her back pocket.

As Wanda retrieved the phone, she noticed several messages from her colleagues liking the image of your glazed cunt. 

Steve: That was quick. I didn’t get Bucky to obey for a month.

Wanda grinned at the message.

Wanda: What can I say? She’s a desperate one. 

Steve: I still want her grades to go up, Wads. 

Wanda: They will. We will be there bright and early on Tuesday. 

Before Wanda turned her phone off, she wanted to take a good look at her bunny all warm and comfy before the real torture started. 

“Oh bunny. You shouldn’t have made that comment about my tits.” Wanda whispered. “The fun has only begun.”

[dvchvnde]

excerpt; hitchhiker au | Simon Riley x Reader gore. graphic descriptions of decomposition. implied noncon.

“You’re not real,” she whimpers, words a rough scrape out of her raw, torn throat. “You can't be real.”

He doesn't answer tonight. Silent in his appraisal, his hatred; the bloodlust rolls off of him in waves, a suffocating deluge that tangles in her chest. Heart pulsing at the base of her throat, clogging her airways. She can't breathe. Can't move. Can only watch as the man cocks his head slowly to the side in a mutated parody of consideration. Confusion. Taking her in as he stands in her doorway, massive body filling the frame in an outline of black, making him more shadow than man. An apparition that haunts her at devil's hour. Always.

The moon's glow casts a line through the open window. A pale meridian between them. 

Childishly, she thinks of hiding under her blanket. Bad things can't touch you under the covers. Curling into a ball with her eyes squeezed shut, fingers plugging her ears. Wishing for her mother. Howling for her dad. Waiting until morning when the thing haunting her finally leaves.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. 

And she knows if she tries to hide, he'll just crawl into the bed next to her—

“Fix your bumper yet?” He asks, measured in his mockery. The weight of his words makes her stomach churn. Nausea a cold, familiar comfort that tethers itself to her ribcage. “Better get that fixed before someone comes askin’ questions, pet. Clean the blood off it, too. Caused quite the nasty spill.”

His directive makes her want to curl into a ball. “I–I didn't mean to, I didn't—”

“What'd you tell everyone? Hit a deer? Left ‘im in the bushes to die? And now he's got maggots crawlin’ all around ‘is ‘ead. Eatin’ his brains clean outta ‘is skull—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up—you’re not real! You're not real—”

The man—Simon Riley, her mind supplies bitterly, brokenly; tinged full of regret and sorrow and hatred—lashes out in an instant, moves like water, like shadows on the wall, the too bright flicker of a moving car, until he's in her face, looming over her. A massive, unclimbable wall. And she hates it. Hates when he's this close to her. Close enough to smell the stench of rotten blood that dries on his chest, the side of his head. A brown stain that sinks into the too-large frame of his chest. 

He smells of death. Sickening. Tainted with a noisome sweetness that glues in her nostrils, leaks down her throat. She can taste him there, right on her tongue. Him. Simon Riley. 

Missing, the newspapers say. But only she knows the truth. Stowed away in a facsimile of a grave by the swamps, left to rot. Here, in her bedroom. Waiting for her whenever she tries for a modicum of sleep. A veteran. A drifter. Homeless, they write, and he barked out an ugly laugh as he read over your shoulder, but said nothing else as you scrolled. Tense. Shivering in your seat, waiting for the day the police show up and arrest you. You did a terrible thing. A horrible thing. Pay for what you've done—

His hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around the delicate arch of her throat. The width spans the entirety of it until the bone china, the vulnerable slope, is clenched tight in his slick, slippery palm. Moss, she knows; it grows over his hands and feet now. The earth reclaiming the body she threw into the swamp—

“Not real?” He mocks, wrenching her closer by her throat. Pulse thudding like the wings of a hummingbird against his thumb. “Oh, pet. M’very real—”

He leans in, too, until his horrid face is lit by the sliver of pale blue moonlight. Scraps of tissue slough off of his head, skin purpling beneath the balaclava that peels off in patches. Animals, he'd told her idly, like talking about his body being eaten away by creatures was piecemeal. The jaundiced bone of his cheek pokes out from raspberry skin. It shifts when he speaks, and draws her eye to the devastation of his mouth. Jawbone visible; muscle blackened, clinging by a strip of thin tissue to his lower mandible. His teeth gleam in the light. Yellow and crooked. The rest of his face is covered under the blood soaked fabric of his mask. A small mercy, she thinks.

But the worst is his eyes. 

Once black, midnight grey, is now filmed over. Milky. And the other—

Something moves in the cherryred chasm. A long, thin black line slinks out of the gaping hole. Another. Another. From the rotten socket, a large spider emerges, crawling over the craggy pieces of his broken nose, making his decomposing body her home. 

She whimpers as the bile surges up, swallowing it down when the blue skin of his mouth peel back in a horrifying grin—

Something white falls from the corner of his eye, rolling down the slick, damp skin of his oily face in a mockery of a teardrop, the image glueing to the bone deep remorse that coils like a noose around her neck. Tighter, tighter. 

His tongue lulls out. Cold, slimy, when it flickers over the trembling ridge of her jaw. Fingers digging into her skin, stealing the warmth from her flesh. The air from her lungs. 

He'll have her like this, she knows. Always does when he gets in these moods—the kind that makes him touch her more, sink boney fingers beneath the hem of her pants, and cooing in her ear about how much he wants to eat her alive. Buzzing with some strange, electric energy. She can't run. Can't scream. 

Going to the police isn't an option when she buried a body under loose rocks and sticks. Hit and run. Vehicular manslaughter. Life over in a blink—

No. No—

She just has to wait, she thinks, her eyes slipping shut as his rancid breath curdled over the tears on her cheeks. Wait until his body rots all the way. 

Until he's nothing but bones—

Only then will this ghost finally leave her alone. 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

[a-leg-without-fear]

The Miranda to His Ferdinand

this is actually the response to this ask from the lovely @yarrystyleeza!!! i was so frickin inspired and ended up writing this :)

Ship: College!Matt Murdock x f!Reader

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: lots o' Shakespeare, kissing, suggestive material

Series: Request Fulfillment

Your dorm's mattress creaked as you and Matt settled on top. He sat to your left, braille script clutched in his hand, with his sunglasses tucked into his shirt collar and his hair ruffled after a long day. An easy smile settled over his full lips.

"What's the play, again?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked as a large hand swept over the front page of his script. Long fingers traced the raised bumps on the solid white pages.

"The Tempest," you replied with a sighed chuckle, "It's about a woman, Miranda, who's lived on an island her whole life, knowing only her father and their slave, Caliban. Ferdinand shipwrecks on their island, then he and Miranda fall in love. Typical Shakespeare stuff."

Matt laughed at your synopsis, shaking his head, "And you're auditioning for Miranda, I'm guessing?"

"Nope, Caliban," you snarked in return. Matt rolled his eyes as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Alright, Caliban. Which scene are we reading?"

"The last part of Act Three, Scene One," you said, flipping your script to the correct page, "Should be page ten in your booklet."

Crinkling pages filled the comfortable silence between you. It was quick work to find the correct page, considering the section you'd be reading from was labeled "MIRANDA AUDITION." The booklet lay open in your palms as you scanned briefly through the lines. You could almost feel the adoration formed by the prose, the pure affection woven into the words. Shakespeare truly was a genius.

"Okay, page ten," Matt announced, breaking your silent reverence of The Bard. You cleared your throat.

"Right. Ready?" you asked as you straightened your posture. Matt nodded, gesturing for you to start. A deep breath filled your lungs, chest expanding like a balloon, as you tamped down your nerves.

"Do you love me?" you read from the script. You glanced at Matt out of the corner of your eye. His lips ticked up in the corners as he read his part.

"Oh heaven, oh earth, bear witness to this sound," he began, fingers rapidly skimming over the pages, "And crown what I profess with kind event if I speak true. If hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief. I, beyond all limit of what else in the world, do love, prize and honor you."

You couldn't breathe. Not when Matt's sightless gaze was fixed right between your eyes. Not when this profession of love came from him so earnestly. Not when your years of pining after him had finally bubbled to the surface.

"I-I am a fool," you stuttered. You shook your head, clearing the distracting thoughts, then tried again, "I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of."

Matt placed his free hand on your knee. Your heart pounded against your ribs, anticipation leaking into your blood like ink in water.

"Wherefore weep you?" he read softly. His dark eyes traced the space around your head. Almost searching, scouring for your answer in the planes of your face.

"At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer what I desire to give, and much less take what I shall die to want. But this is trifling. And all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, and prompt me, plain and holy innocence. I am your wife, if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow you may deny me, but I'll be your servant. Whether you will or no."

A tense silence fell over the two of you like a sudden burst of snow. Your pulse coursed rapidly under your heated skin. The weight of the line you'd read felt world-encompassing. Would he understand that it wasn't just you reading words? That the meaning behind them is what you felt?

"My mistress, dearest, and I thus humble ever," Matt whispered, a faint glance of understanding passing behind his eyes. You swallowed a lump the size of a baseball.

"My husband then?"

The hand nearly burning a hole in your knee wrapped its fingers around your own.

"Ay, with a heart as willing as bondage ever of freedom. Here's my hand," Matt breathed, fingers tangling with yours. Your breath caught behind your lips. This is happening.

"And mine, with my heart in it," you said shakily.

That same silence. Charged like the static before a lightning strike. Nearly choking you with how intense the moment felt. The pad of Matt's thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand.

“Does Ferdinand get to kiss Miranda in this scene?” he asked, gaze landing on your lips. Your heart leapt like a horse over a hurdle. Swirls of anxiety and finally! chased each other through your mind.

“It-it’s not in the script, but I think ad-libbing is more than okay,” you said as your heartbeat roared in your ears. Matt’s signature, cocky smirk pulled at his lips.

His hand seemed to move in slow motion as it lifted from his braille script and cradled your jaw. Palm warm, almost searing, and calloused like you could barely believe. Yet you’d never felt anything softer. His thumb passed over your flushed cheek slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before it caught on your bottom lip.

“Is this okay?” Matt asked, voice barely above a whisper, as his thumb pulled gently on your lip. A shudder rolled over your spine like rumbling thunder.

“Yes,” you uttered with a quick nod.

Before you could blink, his lips were pressed against yours. Lightning struck your mind and rendered you breathless. Shocks coursed through your veins. Your heart nearly stopped beating.

He was kissing you.

Matthew Michael fucking Murdock was kissing you.

You quickly reached out and clung to him like he was your lifeline. You didn’t want this moment to end. This singularity that felt impossible, your whole life building to this one kiss. 

Warm fingers carded through your hair and tangled in the strands. Matt pulled you closer, your chests pressed together. He swiped his tongue along your lips to silently ask permission. You more than welcomed the intrusion as an involuntary moan kicked up your throat, opening your mouth to grant him entrance. A groan of his own matched yours in kind. He licked into you like you were the first drop of water after a month in the desert. Drinking from you, clinging to you, almost desperate.

Your head was spinning. You could barely breathe. Your hands shook where they clung to Matt’s t-shirt.

And just like that, it was over. Matt parted from you like separating two strong magnets. His forehead rested against yours, heaving breaths puffing along your cheeks. You screwed your eyes shut at the loss of his lips on yours.

“I could… I could do that forever,” Matt laughed breathlessly. You grinned as you opened your eyes. His sightless gaze was fixed on you. Pure adoration flowed from his joyful expression, how his eyes crinkled in the corners and how his dimples dug into his cheeks. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“Me too,” was your clever response. You inwardly groaned at your quick wit. Matt chuckled, placing a chaste kiss to your hairline.

“When’s your audition?” he asked, like how close he was didn’t render your mind completely useless. You took a moment to gather your deteriorating thoughts.

“Tonight. At eight,” you said. Matt hummed.

“And what time is it now?”

You glanced at the digital clock that sat on your nightstand. In bold, red letters, the clock displayed “4:48 pm.”

“Almost five,” you replied. Matt ran the tips of his nails over your scalp. Pulses of pleasure coursed through you, your head tipping back in his hands, as your eyes fluttered shut.

“I think that’s plenty of time to run the scene some more, don’t you think?” he suggested, voice a low rumble deep in his chest. All you could do was nod.

And if rehearsal ran long, who were you to object?

[crookedteethed]

MORESAL of praise | e.m.

Pairing: Up-and-coming Musician!Eddie Munson x Girlfriend Musician reader

Warning: 18+ Cursing, Smut (p in v), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Reader is intimidated by Eddie's size, Praise kink, Pet names, cockwarming, Eddie being a tool, barely proofread, reader and Eddie are both in their mid-twenties, From y/n perspective

Word count: 2.7k

Divider cred → @saradika-graphics

There's a squeak to my door that needs fixing, and a water leak somewhere that needs tending.

I asked my tenant to fix it, but he tells me: "This is what you get when you pay $300 a month."

The Luminary, home of musicians trying to live for cheap.

I sit my guitar case on the creaking floors, and kick off my ten-hut boots.

My apartment had been cold. A dull gray atmosphere manifested itself not only due to the cold weather outside but also the poor insulation through my apartment walls.

The door to my room was slightly cracked and I noticed between the lines of static silence were the faint sounds of acoustic strings.

I opened the door. In my room, there was one dim lamp light lit. It shined a yellow hue on my boyfriend, who sat on the edge of my bed. Eddie had been playing his black acoustic guitar--the one he wrote "This machine slays dragons" in white paint on, his notebook he often wrote in laid open next to him, a black ink pen between the margins of the notebook.

He doesn't look up at me when I tell him "Hi."

His concentration was on the nylon strings of his acoustic guitar as he mutters an "Oh, hey." back.

My boyfriend looked beautiful at the moment, inattentive, yet beautiful. The warm yellow tone reflected his pallor skin, strands of his thick curly hair tucked behind his ear, and a brown celluloid guitar pick between his teeth. Somewhat of a Vermeer painting.

I walk over to my dresser.

"Sorry, I'd broken in." Eddie says. "I needed to be somewhere quiet, my roommates wouldn't give me that." The roommates that had also doubled as Eddies bandmates.

"It's okay." I say, while shimming out of my black satin skirt. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come over tonight anyway."

My skirt falls to the floor, it pools around my ankles. Next to come off is my stockings, then my shirt, and lastly my bra.

I catch Eddies eyes lingering on my bareback as I fish for something I can sleep in. My hands pick a shirt that said "Margaritaville" and was four sizes too big.

When I turn back around to Eddie, he's back to strumming a random chord then he writes it down in his notebook.

In the small bathroom that connected to my bedroom, I don't look myself in the mirror when I take off my panties and throw them into the hamper.

Now getting into bed, I crawled over to where Eddie sat, sitting behind him on the weight of my knees.

Eddie had seemed to form some sort of a strumming pattern with his song, but he didn't seem to like the sound of it by the harsh glare he gave his guitar.

"It sounds pretty." I assure him.

He lets out a low mumble that sounds like a "Thank you."

"Thinking about playing it to the guys, play it at our audition at Beacon records, maybe?"

I hum as I slowly walked on my knees, my calloused hands gripping his bare shoulders. "Mmm-hmm," I say as he kept speaking, but I was too busy stroking his hair to fathom anything he was saying.

I lean in closer to his body, enveloping myself in his warmth.

My boyfriend: the thermal.

I bring my lips to his neck, and in one long hard suck, I kiss the flesh. His reaction is what catches me off guard.

"Babe." he turns to me, he stares at me with the same glare he gave his guitar. "I'm almost done." He continued. "Then we can do whatever you want."

The music continues.

My bottom lip start to poke out, and I probably would've started to cry if he was a bit more harsher.

I start to scoot to the head of the bed. "Take as long as you want. I'm going to bed." I tell him.

I get underneath my cold blankets, lay to my side and force myself to sleep (despite not being sleepy).

Suddenly, his strumming stops.

With one eye opened, I peak at him (out of curiosity). I squeeze both my eyes shut when I feel Eddie get up from the bed, his bones cracking in the mitts.

He leans his guitar on the wall, and places his closed notebook on the bedside table.

We accidentally make eye contact when he turns off the lamp light, I squeeze my eyes in a haste, but l feel the smirk on his lips illuminating in the darkness of my room.

Eddie then slips underneath the covers beside me, his clipped nails and rough hands graze the plush of my slender hips. I feel his smirked lips kiss the dip of my shoulder blade.

"I'm trying to sleep." I mumble.

"No you're not." He says, breathing on the nape of my neck.

I feel Eddie's muscular hands turn me over by the shoulders. When we're face to face I get a glimpse of his shadow covered face, alabaster skin darker then normal.

Eddie traces a finger over the line of my jaw and pulled my body tight to his chest. His body heat makes me feel less cold. Eddie brings a warmness to me that spreads from my temples, to my limps and it makes me melt like ice cream on a midsummer day's night.

"You're freezing." he states.

My lips part as his thump soothes the petal skin of my jawline.

"Lemme make you warm. Lemme make up for before, yeah?" He said in that voice I couldn't resist. It's a low, gravelly tone. A tone filled with assurance and leverage.

And though I wanted to roll over and play sleep, I simply couldn't. With sluggish eyes and a parted mouth (due to his thumb playing with my bottom lip) I found myself nodding to Eddie's words.

As Eddie crawls on top of me, I combed my fingers through his thick dark curls. Eddie's the one to close the gap between our mouths.

The kiss begins with the utmost tenderness. It was long enough that I could inhale his breath, feel the warmness of his skin, and tasted the last thing that lingered on his lips (the celluloid guitar pick).

But, with the hunger of a starving man, Eddie deepens the kiss. I responded to him with a low mewl between the gnawing and the suckling.

When I feel Eddie's hand snake to where our cores met, I stopped him.

He hovers over me with concerning eyes, and red-bitten lips.

"Did I do something wron--"

"I want to ride you." I breathlessly say, earning another smirk from him and glint in his eyes.

In a swift motion, Eddie and I switched places, with him now being on the bottom while I was on top. Eddie rests his back on the metallic bars of my headboard. In this position, the moonlight peaking from my curtains had shined on his face, leaving me in the shadows.

I start to adjust myself by bunching the hem of my shirt around my waist; Eddie adjusts himself by lifting his weight to pull down his boxers, and that's when I feel it.

I feel the warmth that radiates from his cock to my wet slit. His tip nearly meshing with my clit.

Eddie's cock had had a slight curved mushroom shape to it with a hefty girth to it as well, with three large straining veins running along the side of it.

His reddening tip spewed drops of clear pre-cum that leaked down from his dick and to my thighs.

I gawked at his cock, with slightly parted lips.

Oh, how I yearned for Eddie to be inside of me all day. During my yearning, Eddie was on top. It occurred to me then that I'd never ridden Eddie before. Eddie is always the one to do the penetrating.

My eyes met with his, a devious look in his deep, earthy brown eyes.

"Sorry." I mutter.

Eddie looks at me with a condescending grin as I lift myself up by my knees. I give a few tugs to his cock, before aligning his length to my entrance.

I feel the supple wetness of my cunt drip down my thighs and onto the puddle of Eddie's pre-cum that resides there, as I inch him closer to me.

It was either the intimidation or excitement in my lower belly that lead me to stop.

"Can you help me?" I mumble.

"What?" Eddie says, cuffing his hand behind his ear. Whatta prick.

"You heard me." I said.

"I believe I didn't sweetheart, you were mumbling."

He knew for a fact he heard me; we were so close to one another that I could listen to the fluids swishing around in his belly. But for the sake of it,

"Can you help me?" I repeat, this time loud and clear.

"Ohh, that's what I thought you said." He decides to play dumb, desperation pulls on my face. "Thought you wanted to ride me, huh?"

"I do, but I'm scared it won't fit." I say.

"It fit all those other times." He rebuttals.

"But all those other times weren't like this." I stare deep into his eyes and poke out my bottom lip. "Please, just help me."

"Oh, don't cry sweets, you know I was gonna help ya, y'know." He tells me. "But first, take off your top fr'me."

I comply, watching him watch me take off my "Margaritaville" shirt and discarding it onto the floor.

Now completely bare, I feel my nipples start to pebble at the cool breeze of my apartment.

Eddie's mouth latches onto my left breast like a moth to a flame. I feel his hand give my right breast a firm squeeze. As his lips and tongue revolved around my sensitive buds, the tips of his curls tickled my chest.

"Eds." I gasp, bringing his head closer to my chest as if I were trying to feed him.

In the next moment, he spilled a few drops of saliva on my other nipple and flicked the newly wet nub, and started to suck on the puffy skin.

"Eds, baby, you're doing so good." I moan. Eddie hums in acknowledgment, concentrating on my left nipple like it was his guitar and notebook.

"But please, Eddie, I need you inside of me; I'm dripping here." I whine.

Eddie slowly detaches himself from my right nipple, a string of saliva connecting his lips from my nub. He looks down at the slickness that coats his and my thighs.

"Shit." he curses. He looks at me with those chocolate brown eyes of his, and a look of flattery on his face. "And I didn't even have to touch that little clit of yours to have you dripping like this."

"Eddie, please!"

"Alright, alright." He says. "By the way, y'know you're beautiful when you're all whiney and struggling on me."

Before I can rebuttal, I see Eddie gripping the thick base of his cock; as he brings his tip to my entrance, I bite on my bottom lip out of pure anticipation.

A faint sigh of relief died on our lips as Eddie melded inside me. I let out a shaky gasp at the sudden stretch. For a brief second, I sit on his cock, taking in his size, taking in his heat.

Involuntary, I clench around his girthy length as a response his cock throbs inside of me. I think if we knew morse code, our private parts could have a flirty conversation without each of us knowing; I giggle at this thought.

Eddie wraps his arms tightly around my waist "You got this mama." He pecks the skin of my collarbone.

With doe eyes I slowly nod my head, before slowly starting to grinding my hips onto his.

"That's it, baby, keep going." Eddie praises, looking up at me with such admiration. I start to quicken my pace, feeling my slick and clit coat his torso.

As Eddie's lips ravishes the dip of my neck, he breaths against my skin: "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now."

"Then do it." I say. "Fuck me."

And with the quick placement of his large hands groping the plush fat of my waist, Eddie starts to slam my body up and down on his cock in a bouncing motion.

I mewl at his relentless thrust. Groaning every time I feel his ridged cock dragging inside of my gummy walls, I whimper when I feel him graze my sweet-spot, only for him to draw himself back and slam right back into me.

The only sounds to fill the air was skin on skin, hard smacks coming from each time our bodies thrashed.

"Fuckin' shit." Eddie groans. "Look at my girl, taking me so well." Butterflies swarm inside of my belly.

I look down to where Eddie and I connected once again, I see the lips of my cunt touch the base of his cock and then back up to his tip. Eddie fingertips graze the meat of my ass, he gives my cheeks a tight squeeze.

My cup runneth over.

My eyes begin to flutter close. "M'close." I murmured against Eddie's lips. I was tottering on the edge of my climax.

Eddie switches from mercilessly slamming me unto his cock to grinding, rubbing me against him. With the palms of his hands splayed across my ass cheeks, he rubs me closer to him in fast, greedy motions.

"Eds, M'close!" I whine.

"Finish f'me, sweets." He says, voice hoarse like he was on the edge of his climax too.

It was the hoarseness in Eddie's voice, the bead of sweat sloping down the side of his face, and then the delicious feeling of his cock finally bumping into my sweet spot.

A plethora of moans escapes my lips. My back arches at the shockwaves of pleasure that ebbs and flows throughout my body. There's a ripple of orgasmic delight all over. My cunt starts clenching and unclenching around Eddie's cock.

Accompanied with the sounds of our skin slapping is the wet slick coming from my spent cunt.

Lazily, I collapsed into Eddie's chest and bury my face in the croak of his neck, giving him quick little pecks on the hot flesh--my body twitching every now and then.

Eddie still fucks into me.

"Almost there, sweets." he elongates. "You're so good to me." He kisses my cheek. "Always taking me so well in that little cunt of yours, always letting me use you, even when you're on top."

You would think Eddie was talking me through my orgasm, but he was talking him through his, I think his own praised turned him on twice as much.

I start to feel Eddie's cock spasm inside of me. I'm too spent to do anything but pull him tighter to me.

He pushes himself all the way in and stills himself. I feel his cock swell up, and in those two seconds of stillness I can feel just how large Eddie really is.

With each spurt of cum, Eddie's cock pulsates. I feel the warmth and pressure of his cum coating my cervix. With each spurt, Eddie lets out low (gravelly) groans.

Eddie kisses my forehead.

I lay on his chest, listening to the fast paced pumping of his heartbeat. My eyelids start to fall and I start to feel that post-coital weariness.

I try to move myself off of Eddie, but my sore and stiff hips and limps makes it hard.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks me as I try to move beside him.

"Eddie, I have to get off of you, we can't stay in this position all night." I say.

"Says who?"

And as I snuggled back into Eddie's lap, his semi-hard cock starting to soften inside my warm cunt, I told Eddie he was right.

Who said we couldn't stay enveloped in each other's warmth for the rest of the night? Two lovers wrapped around one another in a cold bed in the cold Luminary. With no money, dead-end jobs, a guitar in hand, and dreams not only of each other but dreams of making a difference someday.

Eddie didn't need to be famous to make a difference in people's lives when he'd already made a difference in mine, my beautiful boyfriend.