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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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prequel to Honey I’m Home

master list

summary: a peek into the lives of our love birds back in 1985

w/c: 4k

tw: no minors, underage drinking, drug use, party behavior. hinted at: rape

Engine roaring hot with the early dog days of summer, Eddie’s van skids to a stop sliding against black asphalt of Piney Wood Lane.

“Eddie! What the fuck?!” A church mouse voice that resembled nails on a chalkboard shrieks when the van halts to a stop. Peach colored lipstick is smeared in a wavy line across her pale skin, Chrissy glares icy blue daggers into the curly haired metal head.

Stoned and nearly asleep, Eddie forced his tired lips into a grin, pearly whites gleaming against the backdrop of the setting sun through the dirty windshield. “Oh babe you’re so pretty, here let me help.” Grabbing the tube of lipstick Eddie draws a matching line across her other cheek, “all better,” he yawns as she snatches the lipstick tube back and shoves the lid back on slamming it into her purse. Using a dirty t-shirt by her feet that she knew was used to wipe Eddie’s cum off her stomach some time last week after one of his shows, she rotates it to a cleanish spot and works the black cloth gently across her face, muttering to herself.

“Where are these little shits anyway?” She grumbles as she avoids Eddie’s lips on her neck, shoving him away with the heel of her hand.

“Fuck Chris, relax,” Eddie says, arms up in a surrender and lowering slightly to light a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the open warm air through his window, “little Tooty said they have to sneak out of the basement window.”

It had been a full year since Eyeball had left town and graduated without Eddie. His best friend was always smarter than he was, never having to repeat senior year, he left Eddie’s trailer park ass in the dust— never to be heard from again.

A scoff breaks from Chrissy’s pastel pink lips as she swipes more powder blue eyeshadow on her lids in the mirror. “I don’t know what my brother sees in her.”

The high encompassing Eddie falters for a split second. Chad Cunningham? What the fuck would Tooty want to do with him?

“Damn, tell me how you really feel,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and inhaling from his cigarette, “don’t hold back.”

Chrissy flips the visor up with a thud and crosses her arms, her lips twisted in a sneer, she opens her mouth to speak but Eddie shushes her when five moving figures run across the neatly mowed lawn of the Wheeler’s.

Opening the sliding door is a pimple-faced Mike Wheeler, accompanied by Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, and you.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Eddie says holding his hands up in protest, “watch the carpet yeah? Won’t be a shaggin’ wagon if the carpet is stomped all to hell you little gremlins.”

“Fuck dude,” Dustin speaks, sliding next to Mike on the floor, “you gonna give us upholstery lessons or are we going to this party?”

Mike and Lucas laugh as Eddie takes off before the door is even shut. Screaming into the night like a bat out of hell. Passing out cigarettes from a crumbled pack you kept in the breast pocket of the same ratty flannel you wore almost daily, everyone leans forward to catch the flame at the same time. Inhaling deep and choking back smoke against baby pink lungs.

Eddie wasn’t your favorite person but if he was one thing: it was reliable. He’d show up in his van, rolling up on the last remnants of weed whenever you called him. Day or night, rain or shine wherever you were— he’d drop whatever he was doing to pick you up.

Like the time Mike had left you at Benny’s after falling asleep in the red cracked booth following a late night movie premiere of Cujo. A quick dial to the Munson trailer, with a worried Benny behind you, after a couple of monotonous dial tones an out of breath Eddie answered grumpily reassuring you he’d be there soon.

Ten minutes later the blaring tunes of DIO were heard faintly as his van roared down the street, foregoing stop signs and swerving all over the place.

Benny raised an eyebrow and gave Eddie a pointed finger grunting: get her home safe.

Eddie greeted you with a stupid smile and deep dimples, threatening Mike’s life and his Hellfire spot for leaving you behind.

“Don’t make this a habit,” he scolded lightly, eyes red and higher than a kite, his boots were untied and his hair was sticking out in every direction, “Eyeball will skin me alive.”

You roll your eyes and put your feet on the dash, “Kev doesn’t even know I’m gone.”

Tapping the brakes Eddie laughs deep when you lunge forward, millimeters from almost smacking your head on your knees. “You know my rule, feet down little T.”

The night was young and you were filled with a naivety that coursed through your veins. With Eyeball at college your parents were rarely home, and you spent every waking minute you could with the boys, Max and El. A group of unruly teens, knobby knees and bad haircuts. The summer was barely at its peak, and you couldn’t wait to live it.

“Alright you little brats,” Eddie joked, pulling into Rick’s driveway, “no humping, no grinding, don’t take anything if you aren’t sure of what it is, and you all owe me $5 for the ride here and supplying you little degenerates with the best weed and warm beer in all of Hawkins.” He goads with a warm smile and jumps out of the van, leaving Chrissy to readjust her hair and makeup for the tenth time in the fifteen minute drive to get out to Lover’s Lake.

Filing out of the van one at a time, everyone slaps an Abe Lincoln into Eddie’s upturned palm. When it’s your turn he quickly closes his hand and you give him an annoyed look.

A look of concern colors his brow as he peers into your face, “Are you seriously dating Chrissy’s brother?”

Turning your lip up in defense, you scowl at the accusation, “so what if I was?” You gonna run and tell Kev about it?”

Eddie didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Eyeball’s fury, having seen for himself how Eyeball could fight the biggest of assholes at the Hideout, and he damn sure as hell didn’t want to see you on that end either. “Nah,” he chides, pocketing the bills into his chain wallet and standing with his hands on his hips, chest out, “what the hell do you think I am some shithead narc? I just didn’t think that you’re old enough to date.”

Snarling a grin and pushing his shoulder you answer sarcastically, “Are you my mother? Stop smoking Munson, you’re turning into a softie.” Traipsing past him you quickly run inside to find your friends, feet crunching on the gravel.

What the hell got into him?

—

The party is buzzing and so are you, two drinks in and a hit from Jonathan’s blunt and you’re dancing with Max, El and Will around the living room.

Tears flood Will’s eyes but he won’t say what’s wrong. Lately when he drank, he always seemed to get a little gloomy and dark. Whatever was bothering you he’d never tell, just going on about how it’s not fair. Only for the next day to claim he didn’t remember.

In a blurring spin from El’s outstretched hand, you can make out Steve Harrington. His tongue was wrapped around some blonde girl’s throat. Hands cupping her ass like she might float away. He wore his sunglasses in the house pretending like he really was fit to be “King”.

King Douche of Hairspray Island

Nancy and Jonathan are whispering close together slow dancing to a song no one can hear but them. Her stylish hair and clothes always fit her like she was straight from a Gap catalog.

Eyeing you, she waves and blows you a kiss. One you pocket and blow back. You’ve come to know Nancy quite well this last school year. Being one of your best friend's older sister’s she was cool and grown up.

Showing Max, El and yourself the proper way to wear makeup without looking like a cheap tramp.

“I don’t care if it is popular, blue is not a shade for anyone’s eyes.” Her makeup lessons earned an eye roll from Max, but you and El took special interest in it.

Collapsing onto the couch after Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ended; Will, Max and El all fall into a fit of giggles, you are breathless and your legs feel like freeze pops before they’re frozen. Being drunk and spinning around wasn’t the best of combinations but it was a blast.

A wayward glance towards the makeshift poker table in the small kitchen has Will wiping his eyes, rushing to the bathroom, excusing himself with a rushed “gotta pee.”

Finishing the last swallows of a lone beer sitting atop the barely standing coffee table, Max tosses the empty can behind her and leans forward, turning her head towards your direction, her eyes squinting into a serious glare, “you really gonna date that weasel dick Chad Cunningham?”

El’s face lights with devilish delight and you roll your eyes. Chad Cunningham was in your grade, and more popular than anyone you hung out with. Exceptionally good at sports and school, he was a dreamboat for any girl to set sail with. A future of wealth and riches lying at your feet. And he had been laying on his advances thick.

Plucking a cigarette from the crumbled pack in your shirt pocket, you offer the redhead a drag after taking a long inhale.

“Jesus,” you breathe through a cloud of smoke, “I swear I’m gonna kill Lucas.”

Max only laughs, poking your ribs with a slight jab of her unpainted fingernail, red from a picked stubborn hangnail, “Lucas couldn’t keep a secret if someone paid him too.”

Lucas and Chad played on the same baseball team, and it was he who said he would put in a good word to you for Chad. Apparently they were talking about more than just batting averages at practice.

Stealing the cigarette from your mouth, Max slots it between her own chapped lips, inhaling and blowing the smoke upwards as she falls back into the couch.

Lighting another cigarette, you listen to Max’s scoffing noises as Eddie runs through the living room, shirt off wearing cutoff denim shorts and boots, a screaming Chrissy over his shoulder as he trots towards the dock. Her high pitched whines are faint as there are two splashes into the lake, one after another.

“We’ve talked on the phone once, maybe twice,” you offer the small information as a gift, waiting for your two best friends to pull the pink satin bow and open it revealing the secret surprise. “Just lucky my mom didn’t get to the phone before I did.”

“No shit,” El hums around a can of Pabst, a wicked smile evident on her lips, “so what did he say?!”

The three of you dive into a giggly drunk conversation about boys, laughing at how awkward they were, how dumb they could be, ending the conversation still unsure whether or not you would give in to Chad’s charm. He was cute after all.

He wasn’t like you, while your family wasn’t poor, Chad’s family was extremely wealthy. They were all matching outfits for family pictures and lately your parents were gone more than they were home. Hushed whispers and teary eyes from your mother.

You didn’t know what was going on, maybe they would be getting a divorce? Maybe you’d be like Max and live in the trailer park after whichever parent decided to stay in Hawkins. Between the choice of living with your mom or dad, you’d rather sleep in a dog kennel.

Of all the girls in the school, Chad had chosen you. The sleepless nights on the phone were nothing but sweet talk. Telling you how pretty you were, calling you honey bun, how he couldn’t get you out of his head. Teasing him and telling him he was crazy, his flirting only deepened. Creating a pocket of desire and questions of what if? burrowed deep into your skin. Warming your heart with each peel of his words cozying inside of it.

He even left flowers on your window sill in the middle of the night so you could wake up to the smell of wildflowers drying in the growing sun of the dewy morning.

He was a charmer. And he’d charmed you right to a fit of heated cheeks and butterfly stomach aches.

When you saw Chrissy’s blonde hair in Eddie’s van you almost expected to see him in the back. Stomach sinking when he wasn’t stuffed into the grungy van.

Last night he made you promise to call when you were done hanging out with your friends. A promise you weren’t sure if you would keep or not.

El slinked from the couch and joined Mike and the rest of the boys playing their drunken hands at poker. Losing every cent of allowance and weeks worth of mowing yards in Hawkins to Steve and a piss drunk Tommy.

Max and Lucas were wrestling on the floor now, his deep skin turning a violent shade of purple only seen on plums from Max having him in a headlock, making him swear to stop calling her Pippy due to her choice of hairstyle.

The scent of murky lake water infused with green algae and harsh whiskey fogged your brain, tiny droplets of water slid down your cheeks, making you question how many beers you actually had. Putting your head on the cushion and looking back revealed Eddie, standing behind you in all his stupidity and brainless head banging to Heaven and Hell. One hand clutched around a bottle of Jack Daniels by the neck, his rings clacking loudly around the glass, the other pinched a fat joint. One wet boot on the back of the couch.

“Trailer Park run out of water again?” you spit, making a show of wiping your face with the back of your hand and sitting farther away from the metal head menace. Kev’s friend or not, Eddie was a special kind of jackass. Loud, ruthless, a real mother fucker, but come hell or high water, he was loyal to his friends. But shit, even an old porch dog is.

Eddie made a voice and chuckled deep, taking a large inhale from the joint, the paper crinkling against the orange burnt end. Blowing big O’s around your face, he merely grins, “you’re too kind to me little T,” he gathers his hair and wrings it out over your head, leaping over the back of the couch landing next to you with a sopping squelch sound of wet denim slapping against polyester, “better ease up on that sweetness or someone might think you’re not made of piss and vinegar.”

Kicking him away from you he only laughs harder ow stop you’re hurting me ow, he breaks out through choked laughs at your attempt to throw him off the couch.

When you have him pinned against the arm rest, your dirty white converse pressed into the slab of graffitied alabaster that makes up his back, he gently grabs your ankle and tosses your feet off of him in a swift throw.

Crossing your arms in a stubborn fashion you deliver one more kick into his side before retreating your legs in a pretzel beneath you, taking the joint from his outstretched hand as a peace offering. Hard to deliver kicks when your feet felt like they were stuck in brownie batter thick mud.

After a few hits, droopy eyes, and Eddie’s dripping curls down his back and onto the woven beige fabric of Rick’s couch, Eddie lets out a loud sigh, taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he still was nursing.

“Thought Eyeball was supposed to come home this summer?”

The question is more of a statement from Eddie as you lazily shrug your shoulders and find intense concentration on the frayed edges of your shorts. Fingers rolling the edges until the fabric is warm and sweaty.

“Dunno, precious Kev hasn’t said much since he went out East, nobody has.”

“Ohh c’mon,” Eddies velvet voice hums deep through his high, eyes barely open, “your rents aren’t that bad.”

Blowing hot breath through your lips you mimic a balloon, giggling at the way your lips feel with each wiggly vibration against your them. “Next. I’m not talking about my feelings with you when you’re higher than Willie fuckin’ Nelson.”

“Rocky Mountain High,” Eddie grins, tipping the neck or the Jack Daniel’s bottle to his lips.

Heckling him you correct, “That’s… John Denver …dumbass— ,” a yawn escapes your mouth, brain functioning on low as the high creeps into your brain, an unannounced nap knocking on your eyelids.

The couch dips with Eddie’s weight as he reaches for a blanket and tosses it to you, “Kid, I don’t know how you and Eyeball are related,” he presses, laughing at the way your eyes heavily blink back at him, “you can’t hang.”

The slowest fuck you rolls of your tongue, the living room fading in your vision you can almost taste the insult rolling around your mouth.

His idle smile falls into a frown, eyebrows pulled inward, eyes looking over your head you train your eyes to follow his gaze.

The noise of Chrissy’s bubbly giggle as she emerges from Rick’s bedroom, catches your attention. She’s wearing a pair of his boxers and a worn heather gray shirt, faded kelly green writing reading, Hawkins Athletic Dept 1980. Her eyes are twinkling with each murmur from Rick’s slack mouth, bent low to her ear, neither of them seeing Eddie sitting on the couch.

Stepping into the low hanging lights in the living room, Rick quickly gestures to Chrissy’s nose and she hastily wipes at it with the back of her hand.

You knew very little of Chrissy other than her family lived on the golf course in a lavish house with a perfectly manicured yard. One boy, one girl, perfect cookie cutter JC Penney catalog assholes.

Last year, you, Dustin and Mike threw three dozen perfectly shaped, white eggs at their front door on Halloween. While Will and Lucas rang the doorbell and Max lit the brown papered sack filled to the brim of Forest Hills Trailer Park’s finest dog shit.

There were wanted ads in the Hawkins Post for weeks about any known whereabouts of the “hoodlums” who defaced private property.

And Joyce Byers stood her ground on not knowing anything when Chief Hopper begrudgingly stomped his way from his police cruiser to the lonely woman’s door. Nevermind her receipt from Bradley’s Big Buys that was identical to what was used in the Halloween crimes of 1984.

It truly was a mystery.

Chrissy didn’t talk to you or any of your friends when you all hung out with Eddie and that was perfectly fine with you, she seemed on edge and would scowl anytime Eddie wasn’t paying her attention or waiting on her hand and foot. At the very least she looked to be in desperate need to fucking relax.

Her wide pupils scan the living room and stop on Eddie. The innocence of Bambi struck the blues in her eyes.

The couch shifts as Eddie stands on firm boots and makes his way to Rick and Chrissy. And before you can crane your neck to hear the conversation, Dustin throws himself down beside you, grabbing the blanket in a yank.

“Pretty sure I’ve figured out the physics of the beer bong,” he says as he flips your legs on his lap.

Before long your eyelids have taken the shape of sandbags and you’re fast asleep. Left on the couch after Dustin’s lengthy explanation of the correct number of breaths taken before the beer bong rendered you to a peaceful dream state.

When you wake by being lightly shaken by a sober-looking Eddie, his warm dark eyes swim with anger and look too wet, and his smile doesn’t match his eyes, “let’s go, kid,” he looks around wildly, on edge, “you’re drunker than a skunk— it’s time to go.”

You’re incoherent as you try to stand, a dizzy spell capturing you in a wave and you feel like you're underwater. Looking around you don’t recognize anyone but Eddie. Rick’s is packed with faces you don’t know.

Not wanting to be there for another second, Eddie grabs your wrist, squats low in front of you and throws your arms around his neck. He wraps the smooth crook of his elbows into the back of your knees, wearing you like a drunk backpack.

A piggy back ride that left your face in the curly, tangled tufts of his drying hair, the tang of weed and lake water stinging your nose as you bury your chin into his shoulder.

A cool blanket is on you when you open your eyes and become a little more alert. You’re in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van, a cigarette hangs limply from his lips as he’s muttering something to himself. It’s dark, and no music is playing. An odd thing for him.

A quick glance around and you see that no one else is with you. A street lamp shines through the windows and you can see Eddie’s knuckles are painted with a deepened glossy red substance.

“Eddie?”

He doesn’t hear you immediately so you repeat his name. His head turns sharp towards you and the blazed look of rage emits from his face. If it were a look from anyone else you’d be terrified. He quickly softens his eyes.

“Everyone’s at Steve’s,” he says quickly, “the kids, Nancy, Jonathan.. we’re heading there—that cool?”

Confused but unable to concentrate a single thought on why the fuck Eddie would be taking you to Steve mop head Harrington’s house, you nod in agreeance. Fighting sleep but losing.

“.. okay okay okay! Explain to me again what the hell happened, I was helping Lucas get Max in my car when it went down.”

“Ouch! Jesus Chr—“

“Sorry!”

“.. they were eyeing her man, all of them! — it was— fuck!”

*glass breaks against a wall*

“Who Chrissy?”

“No, Tooty!”

“Oh my God.. Munson. Who were they?!”

“I don’t know man, I’ve— I’ve never seen them before… fuck this I’m going back there— gonna snap their fucking necks!”

“Stop, this needs to get cleaned or it’ll get infected!”

“Henderson, weren't you sitting by her? Where the hell were you?!.”

“I was Steve! fuck— I just had take a piss, I was gone for like 2 minutes and then I heard the yelling…”

“Christ! Did they touch her?!”

“No,” a tearful voice warbles, “Eddie knocked out that big fucker and the rest of them backed off.”

“I fucking swear to God— Harrington, I will slit their throats if I see them again!”

“I know dude I know, me too.”

“She’s asleep. Max and El are staying with her in the guest room upstairs, I think we should all get some sleep it’s fucking 3 in the morning.”

“Nope, all due respect Wheeler— I can’t.”

“Ed—”

“Fuck! I won’t go back there, alright? But I can’t just lay down and go to bed— not after this..”

The weary eyed stubborn watchdog waits til dawn, aching back from the wall he’s propped up against and bruised knuckles sting with tightness. Flipping the steel end of an old pocket knife open and closed.

Steve stayed up with him for a while, a bat with nails protruding from every which way in a death grip in his fist.

Eddie didn’t think he actually was all that bad, underneath all that hairspray he could tell he’s a genuine person— lost on the surface of money, name brand clothes and expensive cologne.

The two of them made a pact that night that the kids would be protected at all costs, two guardians in the halls for them in high school in the fall. The jock dickheads who crashed Rick’s party amongst them, but the threat behind Eddie’s fist evident in the broken jaw of the football captain behemoth. No longer able to to take the Tigers to a state championship or try to have his way with a younger drunk girl at a party.

Both Eddie and Steve decide that in the morning if you didn’t remember what happened— it would die there, a protective secret amongst new friends.

🧡

see you in volume xi

#honey im home #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfiction

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nonobadcat · 10 months

Text

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Chapter 4: The Bag - 3k words

TW: Quirk discrimination, sexual harassment, AFO is a grade A enabler but a terrible parent, Tomura does not appear in this chapter

"Honey? Are you feeling all right?"

Your head snapped up, eyes focusing in on the slender fingers waving in front of you.

Nyanko pursed her lips and pulled her hand away. "Girl, you've been anywhere but here," she teased.

"Oh," you murmured, shoving aside your hoodie to dig to the bottom of your bag. "Sorry. Spaced out for a minute."

She hummed, teasing the tufted tip of her left ear into an artful point. When you pulled out the designer gloss oil, she sneered. "Hero-boy coming tonight?"

"Every Wednesday after his shift, " you declared matter-of-factly before popping your lips. "He's very punctual."

"...after his shift?" She cocked her head. "Wait, weren't you out on a paid date?"

"Yup." You coaxed your eyelashes out of their clump before smoothing your hair.

She narrowed her eyes. "So why didn’t you drag the date guy back here to drink his wallet dry? It's kinda the whole dang point."

"Crusty boy," you explained.

"Oh." A catty grin broke on her face. "Decided you were no good too, huh?"

"I did my best to ensure it." You tossed your bag into your locker and headed for the door.

Nyanko raised a painted brow. "Wait, was he actually into you?"

You paused, a small smile playing on your lips. “Hopefully not."

Before she could ask any more questions, you slipped out into the hall. Spike heels clicked down the tile floor. From the main bar room, Usagi's fake giggles put your teeth on edge.

"Oh, Tano-san! You're so funny!"

Behind his back, she mouthed 'kill me'.

You flashed her a quick salute before dipping behind an ornate vase. Burning eyes drifted shut as you massaged the man-sized headache building in your temples.

"Think manic pixie dream girl, think manic pixie dream girl," you chanted to yourself.

Inside your head, a war raged. On one side, images of every genki girl-next-door that ever graced a video game cried out in voices that never tired, never worried, and certainly never nagged. On the other side, an exhausted, clinically depressed spinster snuggled into her oversized kigurumi and sipped her fourth cup of coffee. You willed the flood of powder pink passion to consume her in waves of giggling happiness. As their over exuberant perfection swallowed her whole, her only reply was "this is exhausting".

You flexed your smile a few times, shooting for cute and attentive over forced and creepy. Your mouth felt weighted tonight, as if each stretch of the cheek took twice as much effort. Muscle memory refused to cooperate. No matter how you tried, it screamed insincere.

“No, what I don’t like is… this. Whatever this is.”

You slapped your cheeks and shook off the memory like a dog shaking off mud. “He’s just a weirdo,” you muttered. “Stick to the routine and get that rent money.”

The door chimed. You glanced at the clock behind the bar. 9:30 PM on the dot.

Hiking up the front of your tight, white dress, you hoisted the girls front and center. Electric charm sparkled from your smile as you bounced around the corner.

“Oshida-san!” you squealed, tackle-hugging his thick, muscular arm. You nuzzled your cheek into his silk shirt while giggling. “Welcome home!”

The tall, dark brunette patted your head. “I’m home, Honey-chan,” he answered with a glittering grin.

Towering over the average Japanese man at 190 cm, Oshida Hideki, also known as Buster Man, looked like a king among peons. While not high in the hero rankings due to a low arrest rate, his cut, lean muscles put him front and center on every designer boxer-brief modeling campaign since he hit the market a half decade ago. Add a chiseled jawline dubbed “the most ideal miso face since Watanabe Ken” and his pet pack of three ribbon wrapped Papillons, it wasn’t hard to see why he topped the “wholesome heroes who can get you pregnant with one look” list for the past five years.

You wondered if his fan club would still find him “wholesome” after they heard that little line about cum in the lip color.

“Come on, come on!” You tugged his arm, pretending to drag him along to the bar. “Tell me some fun stories tonight, okay?”

Oshida-san allowed himself to be swept along by your excitement. “Fun stories, huh? Aw… Don’t tell me my little Honey Bunny is feeling down?”

You pouted. “Of course I’m down! I had to wait a whole week to see you!”

He chuckled, flopping onto the leather seat. “Guess I should come more often, huh?”

“Yay!” you cheered. With an exaggerated bounce, you hopped into the seat beside him. Then, touching your lips with your finger, you pressed an indirect kiss to his nose. “But don’t stress yourself out to do it, okay Oshida-san?” Big, round eyes stared up at him. “You work so many hours already...”

With a weary smile, he laid his head back on the top of the booth and patted your head again. “You’re very sweet.”

You giggled. “My name is Honey after all!”

All at once, his voice pitched into a hard grumble. “Are you ever going to tell me your real name?”

Sure! Right around the time you decide being stalked by a horny client was both romantic and desirable.

“Aw…” you teased, kicking your legs like a child. “...but I want the guy I like to call me something cute and Honey is a super cute name.”

He frowned before tossing his shoulders to throw you off. “Where’s the beer menu?”

Great. And now pushy-mc-grumpy-pants is gonna buy beer over champagne just because you wouldn’t give him what he wanted. You’d think that someone who wears a mask in all his photoshoots would appreciate keeping a secret identity secret.

With a smile more plastic than a Licca doll, you opened up the menu and flipped to the craft beers section. You tapped a white ale with a patchwork cat on the label. “Since it’s a Wednesday, I’d recommend Suiyobi no Neko! The mild citrus aftertaste is supposed to be good for the mid-week hump.”

He smirked. “Did you just pick it because the label is cute?”

…no, you picked it because Mama-san is offering an extra 10% bonus on it for the next month since it costs 1.5x what a basic Sappro does.

You stuck out your tongue and thunked your own head with a playful fist. “Got me!”

“You’re so silly, Honey-chan.” He chuckled. “You never think too much do you? Must be nice.”

Your fur bristled. “I’ll order those drinks then!”

As you started to rise, he caught your wrist. You turned. On his face was a perverse smile, one he never showed to the cameras. A husky voice purred at you from below the come hither stare. “You’re wearing my lipstick, Honey-chan.”

Ah, so it was going to be one of those nights. Great.

He loosed your hand and gave your tail a fast squeeze. “Go on, bunny girl. Hop to it.”

As soon as you turned your back, a cloud of loathing fogged your expression. You flagged the waiter for the drinks before schooling your face into an empty headed smile. By the time you settled back at Oshida’s side, any lingering irritation lay buried below a professional’s mask.

“Neh, neh, Oshida-san,” you prodded his meaty arm. “Tell me about your week? I always love hearing your stories.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, last Friday was a bit exhausting.”

“Oh no! What happened?”

“Some kid got lost and we spent several hours hunting for him.” He sighed again, this time even more dramatic than the last. “Turns out he was just playing around, hiding under his bed. The parents swore they checked there, but clearly they did not. It was stupid.”

…oh no. He was inconvenienced by a kid being a kid. Better call the fun police.

“Wow, that sounds rough,” you agreed. “You put in all that effort too…”

“I know!” Another sigh. “Such a waste. I should have been patrolling the city.”

What he meant was “showing off for the ladies”. After all, peacocking in spandex while adoring fans swarmed him was clearly sexier than chasings kids with dust bunny energy.

“You know—" you touched his shoulder "—I think that the fact you worked that hard just for one little boy's sake is amazing. You're so kind."

He paused mid-rant and smiled at you. "Sometimes, I think you're the only one that appreciates me." He tapped your nose. “My sweet Honey…”

You giggled to hide the grimace.

The waiter set an oversized, weeping bottle of white ale beside your elbow along with two tall glasses. You tilted the glass and poured the beer to a frothy head. Oshida took his drink and gulped down half of it in one blast.

“Go Oshida-san! Go!” you cheered.

“Heh,” he grinned, wiping his full lips. “Like that do you?”

“Super manly,” you cooed, snuggling into his shoulder. Then, you took a delicate sip of your own. “I dunno that I can keep up.”

He threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his body. Wafting from below the slim-fit Hugo Boss suit, two sprays too much of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue clocked you across the nose with “fresh, colorful, citrus and bamboo”. It did little to hide the pungent smell of “stale, muddy, sweat and locker room” that a simple shower could have fixed.

“That’s okay, babe, I’m not into those girls that drink like fish and swear like sailors. I like you for who you are.” His fingers walked up your bare thigh. “You know. A real lady.”

Oh? He likes you for who you really are, huh? Bet this cunt wouldn’t say that if he watched you pound your fifth sake bomb.

“I want the girl from the alley.”

As the raspy voice replayed in your ears, you shivered.

"Cold?"

No, but you nodded anyway..

Oshida shrugged off his sport coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. You sneezed and smiled through watery eyes.

"You're kind, Oshida-san."

Brown eyes locked on your lips. His cheeks flushed from the beer, he leaned in. "I wanna taste that lipstick I bought you."

With a strained laugh, you twisted out of his hold. "No! Bad boy!"

"Aw…" he whined, trying to pull you back in. "I could be real good to you though, if you'd let me."

Not this again.

You gulped, glancing away. "Oshida-san… Your fans would freak out if someone like me was your girlfriend."

"So? I don't care about that."

Of course he didn't care. He wasn't going to get harassed by rabid, ugly-jealous housewives for being "the whoring slut" that took their fantasy husbando!

"Honey-chan, I love you."

Ugggghhhhhhhhhh…

"A nice girl like you shouldn't be working in a place like this."

You wouldn’t have to if the Nice Guys™ who interviewed you spent more time staring at your resume than at your tits.

He thumbed his broad chest and beamed proudly. “So, why don’t you let a real hero save you from all this?”

Wow… he said that with a straight face and everything.

With a forlorn smile, you shook your head. “I owe Mama-san so much for hiring me despite my inexperience. Until I can repay her generosity, it wouldn’t be right to just abandon her. She’s basically my family, you know.”

Oshida wrinkled his nose. With a huff, he slammed back the last of his beer. You tried to refill his glass, but he clamped his hand over the top. “You could be a little more grateful when a man buys you something nice,” he snarled at you.

Seriously?! This guy actually thought a 3,000 yen lip stain was such a great gift that you would risk your job to give him a gratitude bang!? Pochi-chan’s simp brought her a diamond encrusted Rolex last week just for the chance to touch her wrist.

“Oshida-san…” You tugged at his silken shirt sleeve, letting your burning eyes well with crocodile tears. It wasn’t hard. His jacket reeked. “Please…”

Please stay and spend more money because rent is due next week.

One look at your quivering lip and he collapsed back into his seat. “Oh Honey-chan. I just get so frustrated because I know I can give you a better life.”

Ma’am! Enemy troops are playing the “I’m only angry because I love you” card.

Quickly, deploy countermeasures!

“Thank you for worrying about me, Oshida-san.” Smiling through the painful lie, you dabbed your tears with one finger. “Someday, I hope things will be different.”

Namely, that he can learn to be content with the client-professional relationship he pays you to have.

“So—” you poked him in the chest “—can I hear more stories now?”

“Anything you want.” He lifted his glass. “Fill a guy up, would ya babe?”

Biting your tongue, you poured the thirsty man another drink.

The three hours after you helped Oshida’s drunk, handsy self into the back of a cab passed by in a blur. After the less-than-heroic departure, Mama-san paired you with a short, balding ophthalmologist who owned a pet rabbit as a child and, apparently, had never maintained a meaningful relationship since. He spent most of the evening asking your opinions on birthday presents for his estranged thirteen year old daughter. It took exactly three pictures from her social media to notice her obsession with cute manicures. By closing time, your client was armed with a full analysis of his daughter’s favorite colors, what shades of polish would pass the “my school is run by prudes'' test, and which couture brands were worth the money (Dior Vernis - always a classic) and which were not (Louboutin’s packaging is too hard to control). Even champagne bubbles could barely lift the worry weighing him down.

“So, where is the closest location again?” he asked with a hiccup.

“Ginza,” you answered with a glittering smile.

Flushed to the tips of his ears, he pressed his greasy head into his shaking hands. “W-what if I pick wrong?”

“That’s why we’re leaving the box half full, silly,” you reminded him. “When she notices there are three more spots left in the carrying case, you tell her that you wanted to take her to the store so she can pick the rest out herself.”

“Can’t you just choose them out for me, Honey-chan?” he begged. “We could make it a paid date! You can pick some out for yourself too!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” You tutted with a playful tap to the tip of his nose. “Papa-san needs to sweat a little over the gift or it's not sincere. ❤”

“You’re right,” he sighed and hung his head.

With a giggle, you patted him on the back. “It’s hard to have a good relationship with your kids when you live so far away. The key is that the money is used to buy the experience with you, not her affection. That, you have to earn by showing her you are paying attention to things she likes, even if you live apart. Understand?”

He nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He paused in the entrance to pump his fist. “I’ll do my best, Honey-Sensei.”

“Fight on, Papa-san!” you cheered.

As soon as the glass door slipped shut, Mama-san snapped the deadbolt into place. Sooty lashes and a knowing stare peaked over the edge of her black, lace fan. “Very energetic, for two in the morning.”

“Tell me about it,” you groaned, slumping against the countertop. “He drank two high balls and an entire bottle of champagne by himself! That man’s liver must be pickled!”

Mama-san’s eyes narrowed. It was the closest she came to smiling. “We need to talk. Follow me.”

The round, sweeping train of Mama-san’s emerald green mermaid gown snaked back and forth across the pale tile as she led you to her small, corner office. By the time she’d ushered you inside, you were sweating bullets. She reached below her desk. Rows of sequins winked from her long, lace sleeves. Without a word, she placed a fiery orange box tied with elegant brown ribbon in your hands. Just beside the tiny caricature of a handsome horse cart were two words: “Hermès - Paris”.

Your jaw dropped. “Huh?!”

She held out a small red trimmed envelope crafted from elegant ivory linen. Scrawling calligraphy read: “For Honey Bunny”. Shaking hands peeled it open.

Thank you for your attention to my protégé this afternoon. It has been a long time since I have seen him so animated. Please accept this small token as compensation for any social skills he is yet lacking. I do hope you will continue educating him in the future.

You raised an eyebrow. “There’s no name on this card?”

She set her fan down before draping herself across her dark, wingback chair. “Can you not guess?”

“May I open it?”

She waved her permission before folding her hands under her chin.

The brown bow slipped loose. You lifted the lid. Inside, creamy tissue paper lay neatly folded over a bulky, beige dust bag emblazoned with the horse drawn carriage and the letter H. You tugged open the draw strings, only to find a rectangular leather tote in a shade of dark grey-brown with white top stitching and palladium hardware. As you pulled it out, a small card holder flopped onto the desk. Mama-san picked it up and inspected the contents.

“Interesting.”

“What is it?”

She held it out to you. “The bill of sale. It’s from this evening.”

“So?”

Long, golden talons tapped the desk. “Birkin 35s are in high demand and Etoupe is a popular neutral. They are almost always out of stock.” She snorted. “Though apparently, not for him.”

“Shigaraki-san’s mentor?”

She nodded, passing you the receipt. “I bought myself the Noir version to celebrate opening this club. The consignment store in Ginza found a thirteen year old model for me. It was a good deal at 2,000,000 yen.”

Hands shaking, you lowered the purse back into the box like your very breath might tear it to pieces. “I-I can’t accept this!” you protested.

“Do not be ungrateful to our patron. It reflects poorly on the club,” Mama-san stated. “Also, I would not recommend reselling it. He will find out.”

You gulped.

“I will email you the website for the organizer I use.” Mama-san slipped to her feet, lifting the black enamel phone on the corner of her desk. “However, a drunk woman should not walk home alone at night with that box. You’ll be taking a cab with my compliments on a job well done.”

Despite going drink-for-drink with two men for the past five hours, you found yourself entirely sober.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Expected Completion Date: Aug 17st, 2023

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imaginesandbandfiction · 2 years

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Night Changes

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: Past, present, and future collide in a conversation with your childhood best friend.

Warnings: Very (very) brief mention of teen pregnancy and abuse.

A/N: I have been listening to a lot of One Direction lately and this idea came to me fully formed so I had to get it out and share it with you all! Obviously, it's inspired by the song Night Changes.

Masterlist

You adjust the strap of your red slip dress with a sigh, staring with dead eyes at your reflection in the mirror. You look good; by now you could take yourself from PJs to full glam in forty-five minutes like a lipstick-wielding robot. The process of getting ready, slathering thick creams and brushing soft powders against your skin, really soothes you but the end result is underwhelming. You end up looking like every other girl on Figure Eight, copy-and-pasted into a frothy pink bedroom with silk sheets and a light-up vanity.

“Y/N! The driver’s here!” Your mom yells up the stairs at you. Her voice echoes through the wide hallway outside your door and it makes your ears ring.

“Coming!” You call back. Shaking your head to bring yourself back to reality, you spring into action, slipping into a pair of heels and grabbing your purse on your way out the door.

At the bottom of the stairs, your mom is waiting. She’s wearing an elegant, pale gold, floor-length gown and your stepdad's tie matches it exactly. When your mom catches sight of you coming down, she frowns.

“What happened to the white Oscar de la Renta dress I bought you?” She asks, fluttering over to meet you as you step into the foyer. Before you have the chance to answer, she continues, looking you up and down as she speaks. “Well, we don’t have time for you to change, and you’d have to swap out your lipstick to something lighter, so I suppose this will have to do.” Her frown smoothes into a straight line and you can see the muscles in her jaw as they clench. “You look like I did back in high school. A cheap hooker.”

You bite your lip to hide the smile that was threatening to break across your face. The dress was from the thrift store in the Cut where you did all your shopping back in the before times. Before your mom married Chaz Anderson, an investment banker with a private jet and a grown-up son from his first marriage. Before you were forced to change schools and leave your best friend behind. So, yeah, maybe you had picked it because it reminds you of where you came from. Your mom had worn something similar to homecoming in her senior year of high school just a few months before she got pregnant with you. It didn’t hurt that JJ Maybank, your aforementioned best friend, had been rendered speechless when you had tried it on.

“It’s okay, honey,” Chaz says as he leads your mom outside. He rubs her shoulders and leans in to kiss the exposed skin behind her ear. “She looks beautiful. The boys won’t be able to take their eyes off her.” She lets out a “hmmph” in return, placated by that fact. Pairing you up with one of the Chubby short-wearing Kook boys is her main goal in life now that she has secured a rich husband for herself. You roll your eyes and follow them out to the town car waiting in the driveway. Even though the country club is only a few blocks away, you used to walk further to elementary school, your mom insisted on driving (“Appearances are everything, darling,” she had said when you asked her about it, which had been her signature catchphrase since the moment the marriage license was signed).

When you arrive, the party is in full swing in the club’s ballroom. Immediately, you’re swept up in a stream of heavily-perfumed women and men wearing Rolexes. You follow your mother as she greets everyone she knows, kissing cheeks and shaking hands like she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. For all her flaws, you had to admire the way she was able to meld seamlessly into this new world and make everyone forget she used to be poor. The other kids your age were in similar situations as you, standing silently to the side while the adults talked. When you end up near the girls from school that you don’t hate, you catch their gaze and roll your eyes at the tedium of it all.

That was one of the things that caught you off guard the first time you’d attended one of these things. In the Cut, parties were laid back, usually taking place in someone’s backyard or on the beach, and all of the kids banded together immediately to get a game of kickball going or see who could chug a soda the fastest. Kook parties, on the other hand, are a delicate dance of social niceties, and children, no matter how old, are expected to stay with their parents until after dinner is served.

After your mom has properly greeted everyone, she takes you over to the Camerons and your chest tightens, squeezing your lungs until you can’t take in a full breath.

“Ward, so good to see you,” your mom gushes, leaning in to give the man a kiss on the cheek. Then she turns to the blonde woman at his side, grasping her hands. “And Rose! You look stunning, as always.”

“Y/M/N, lovely to see you as well,” Rose says, kissing your mother on both cheeks.

“I was just telling Chaz that we should get together soon! You know how the kids get along so well.” You share a look with Sarah, rolling your eyes. She’s your best friend in Figure Eight, but both of you know that your mom isn’t talking about your friendship with her.

“Rafe, how is your internship going? Y/N is thinking about studying finance in college, and I’m sure she’d love to hear more about it,” your mother addresses the boy standing to his father’s right. Yep, there it is. The ulterior motive. She gives you a pointed look and you straighten up, turning towards Rafe.

“Well, you know how it is, I need to keep all my options open,” you say with a chuckle, eliciting a frown from your mom. Rafe flashes his wolfish grin at you and launches into an in-depth description of his internship at a fancy capital investment firm on the mainland that you only half listen to. Your eyes wander around the room until you catch a glimpse of a shock of blond hair emerging from the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. The boy lifts his head up and his blue eyes scan the crowd before locking on you. His annoyed grimace, probably from something his manager said, melts into a grin. He’s got a tray of bacon-wrapped dates in his hands, but you see him wiggle the ring and pinky fingers on one hand in an attempt to wave and have to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. You nod at Rafe to make him think you’re listening, but at the sight of the familiar face of your best friend, your mind is spinning down memory lane, back through the first fourteen years of your life.

That same blond head is bobbing up and down in front of you. At age eight, he’s hyperactive and bounces with each step. His little legs speed up as you near the boardwalk, and you practically have to run to keep up with him.

“JJ!” His mom yells from behind you with laughter in her voice. “Stay where I can see you!” His steps halt for a split second, and then he slows back down to fall in step with you.

“I’m not a baby,” he mumbles, quiet enough so that only you can hear. You nudge his shoulder and send him stumbling to the side of the path. He nudges you back, lighter than you did, when he regains his balance.

“Bet I can win more prizes than you,” you taunt as you enter the boardwalk, which has been turned into a carnival for the end of the summer. Both of your eyes are shining under the blinking lights of games and rides, and JJ breaks out into a grin.

“Loser has to buy the other ice cream!”

Then, he’s ten and you see the top of his head sink down as his legs collapse, sending him tumbling into the sand. His beat-up old flip phone falls out of his hand and bounces close to the rising tide. You scramble to grab it before the water can claim it, and settle in next to JJ with a hand on his back. His body shakes with the force of his sobs and you pull him in for a hug, pushing his head into your shoulder.

“JJ? What happened? Is it your mom?” You ask, a spike of adrenaline rising within you. His parents had been fighting a lot lately, and he’d been taking refuge on your couch most nights. He always went back home in the morning, though, to make sure his mom ate breakfast. There were bruises on her skin and bags under her eyes, but one day, he came home to find her collapsed and bleeding on the floor, and JJ stopped spending the night at your house after that. He was afraid that his dad was going to kill her one day. You had wiped the blood off his lips more times than you could count, since then, and stolen your mom’s concealer to cover up his bruises.

“She’s gone, Y/N,” he cries, burying his face into your neck. You feel stinging behind your own eyes but blink them back. You have to be strong for your friend. The two of you stay there, kneeling in the sand and clutching onto each other for dear life until the tide comes in and nearly sweeps you out to sea.

John B, from your class at school, starts coming over more often, and the three of you form an unofficial “absent parent society.” Your mom had already taken JJ under her wing and she welcomes John B into the fold without question, sending you to school with three PB&Js in your lunch box instead of two. Though those years were blanketed in a heavy layer of sadness, as John B’s mom had only just died and JJ was a little bit of a wreck after his mom left, they were also some of the most fun. The three of you roamed the Cut like a pack of stray dogs, stopping in to visit your friend Pope at his dad’s restaurant where Heyward would set you up with sodas and a basket of fries, or heading to the Chateau where John B’s dad would take you out in his fishing boat. Most nights were spent watching movies on your couch with a bowl of popcorn and 99-cent Slurpees from the gas station a few blocks away. Your mom bought middle school boy-sized pajamas and extra toothbrushes to keep at the house. Though you only had two decent parents between the three of you, the Cut provided everything else you needed.

When your mom met Chaz, however, everything changed. It was a whirlwind romance, and in just eight months, they were engaged. He was twenty years older than her, with a son ten years older than you in college on the mainland, and after their courthouse wedding, the two of you slipped quietly into Figure Eight.

The next year, you were sent to the Kook Academy and told to keep your friendship with JJ and John B on the down low, lest someone figure out that you had grown up on the other side of the island. It felt like your mom had made a 180-degree turn, caring more about designer clothes than the boys she had practically raised. But you still got glimpses of who she had been before; she gave you two hundred dollars in cash for “pizza” whenever you went over to the Chateau, and when Chaz was out of town for work, she’d fill the fridge with their favorite snacks and let them spend the night on the plush couches in the theater room.

But things were spiraling out of control the longer you were separated from your childhood best friends. They have inside jokes you don’t understand and have even started hanging out with the Kook girl whose parents own The Wreck. Kiara is nice, but whenever you and the boys talk about your childhood, she gives you this look, like you’re betraying her.

The now-familiar sound of her laugh pulls you from your thoughts and you whip your head around. Kiara is in the corner by the kitchen doors, throwing bacon-wrapped dates into JJ’s mouth. He lets out an excited yell when he catches one, and your heart squeezes in what feels like fear. When his manager comes out and yells at him, you feel bad, but the horrible person deep down inside of you is grateful that he interrupted. Kiara slips back into the crowd with a frown, and you see JJ’s jaw tighten as he grinds his teeth. He mumbles something to his boss and shoves the platter into the older man’s hands before storming out the back door. Rafe is still prattling on as your mother listens intently, so you slip away and yell “Bathroom!” over your shoulder so she doesn’t panic.

A wall of heat engulfs you as soon as you open the sliding door, and you shut it behind you as quietly as you can. You can see JJ’s silhouette on the far end of the patio, leaning over the railing. A plume of smoke rises above him, dissipating in the salty air.

You stand still for a minute, feeling the beat of your heart speed up with every second that passes. The blood rushes through your ears and you’re half-convinced that JJ can hear it. Part of you wants him to hear it, wants to believe that the two of you are connected by some invisible string of fate that will keep the two of you close no matter where life takes you.

After taking a deep breath, you walk up to JJ and lean on the railing next to him. He nods at you from behind the safety of his cigarette and takes a deep drag. You wait a few minutes, settling into a familiar, comfortable silence, letting him just be for a while. After helping him through his emotions for nearly sixteen years, you know that he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. But there’s something else bothering you, a stray thought in the back of your mind that won’t go away. You feel it radiate off your skin, causing a shift in the air between you and your oldest friend. It makes you feel itchy and you fidget with your necklace to distract yourself. It doesn’t work, and eventually, you pluck the cigarette out from between JJ’s lips and take your own hit.

“How did we get here, JJ?” You ask, letting the burn of the harsh smoke entering your lungs distract you from your thoughts.

“Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much,” JJ starts. You send a cloud of smoke his way in a huff of laughter.

“I don’t mean here on earth, I mean here here. Smoking a cigarette outside of a Kook party.”

“Well, I was always destined to serve the more fortunate. You on the other hand…” He trails off and shakes his head, stealing the cigarette back from you and taking a long drag.

“I know, I know. Mommy seduced a rich man and now I’m a Pogue in Kook clothing. But seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and sometimes it drives me crazy just how much my life has changed.”

You elaborate at the sight of the wrinkle of confusion between JJ’s eyebrows.

“It’s just… I’ve been having this recurring dream since I was a kid, where we’re all grown up, in our thirties or whatever, and we’re at the beach with a little blonde boy who acts just like you did as a kid, diving into the waves, completely fearless, and a girl with my eyes who chases after him like he’s the center of the universe. It’s not really clear if they’re our kids together or with other people but it doesn’t really matter because we’re happy. Sometimes we’re teaching them to surf, other times building a sandcastle, a few times we’ve taken them to get ice cream or to Heyward’s Seafood and it’s just…nice.” You pause to take a breath and sneak a look over at JJ to gauge his reaction. His lips are turned up in a slight smile and his eyes are glossy and unfocused as he stares at the ocean in the distance. The cigarette is dangling in his left hand, forgotten and spitting ashes onto the sand.

“It’s always made me happy, like no matter what else changes, it will never change things between me and you. But lately, my mom’s been super pushy, trying to set me up with Rafe Cameron, and I feel that dream slipping away. I don’t want a marriage like hers, but it’s starting to look like I won’t have a choice in the matter. I just don’t want to get to that point in my life and have regrets, you know?”

You take a deep breath and let your confession hang in the air between you and JJ. He’s quiet for a few minutes and you can feel him thinking. He’s got a reputation for acting on his impulses, but when he stops to think something through, he really thinks it through. His eyes are narrowed in just the hint of a glare, nearly imperceptible if you don’t know what to look for. The wrinkle on his forehead has deepened into a crater and he’s got his bottom lip tucked up under his top teeth. Around you, the night air is still humid, and yet you can still feel the heat radiating off of his body, seeming to grow hotter by the minute.

“Would it really be that bad if things changed between us?” He asks finally, his voice just a step above a whisper. That sends you into a full panic spiral; the familiar prickling sensation builds up behind your eyes, your breaths are heaving in your chest, and you turn your head away from JJ so he can’t see the effect his words are having on you. It was a mistake, opening up to him like that. Clearly, things have already changed, and he thinks of you as a full Kook, with no turning back. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself enough to make your exit.

“No, sorry, I shouldn’t have…” You mumble, turning to look at him one last time. You’re shocked at how close he is to you, having scooted closer when you weren’t looking, and before you can get a full sentence out, his lips are pressed against yours. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer, and it’s like there’s something in his touch that sets off a chain reaction in your body, traveling from your lips down to your toes in a wave of pleasure. It settles deep into your bones, satisfying an ache that you hadn’t known was there until now.

You’ve seen JJ kiss Tourons countless times, but this is nothing like his usual strategy. He’s soft and gentle, and his tongue remains securely inside his own mouth, even when your lips fall apart in a quiet “oh!” You try to use this to your advantage, but he pulls back, leaving just an inch or two between you that feels like a chasm. Your eyes blink open and you stare up at him through your eyelashes with your lower lip stuck out in a slight pout.

“Was that okay?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, uncharacteristically nervous. You respond by sliding your hand up his chest and around the back of his neck to squeeze his hand in your own.

“Do it again,” you say, “but don’t hold back this time.” His serious face cracks and he flashes you his signature shit-eating grin as he leans in again.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he mutters as his lips linger in the empty space between you. They brush against yours, just barely, yet it’s enough to send a shiver up your spine. He slips one hand around your waist to steady you, pressing his palm against your lower back. There’s just a thin layer of satin between you, yet it feels like a brick wall blocking the full extent of your desire. A soft sigh escapes your lips and you feel JJ smirk as he leans in to capture it, finally pressing his lips to yours again. This time, he’s more aggressive, and he scrapes his teeth against your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. You can’t help but moan a little bit, and after it happens, you can feel a shift in his actions. He takes a step forward, slotting one of his legs between your thighs as his hands slide down to your ass. Your fingers find his hair easily, tugging lightly to encourage him.

Before you can take things any further, you hear your mom’s voice yelling out for you from the doorway. You’re thankful to the darkness for shielding you from her sight and let your lips linger against JJ’s for a few seconds before pulling back. As you turn to head back inside, his arms tighten around you, holding you in place, and he whispers a promise into the night air between you.

“Nothing will ever change me and you.”

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valentinoappreciator · 3 months

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Doing hard drugs for the first time with Valentino 💞

Valentino grins at you as you enter his living room. You're visibly nervous; tugging at your earlobe and biting your lower lip. Yet, for all your nerves, if not downright fears, your steps are measured and confident as you walk over to sit next to him on the massive, overly spacious, red leather couch. Your high heels click against the polished floor.

"Good girl," he grins, immediately grabbing your chin to force you to look at him. He kisses you roughly, and the taste of his cigarettes lingers on his tongue as he shoves it down your throat. It makes you moan without even thinking, without even needing a script.

Your eyes close, and only when Valentino laughs mockingly, do they open again. Realizing you must've looked comically blissful, you blush a bit.

"So, baby cakes," he purrs and strokes a long, clawed finger down your cheek, "I hear from... reliable sources, that you've never done drugs. Are my sources to be trusted on this? Have you really never tried anything fun?"

You shake your head.

"N-No, I haven't. Some guy at my previous job offered me weed, but I... refused."

Valentino tilted his head slightly, grinning, but clearly confused.

"And why did you refuse, honey?"

"Well, I... he was a colleague. I wanted to remain professional with him. I didn't know him. If I'm to do drugs, I want it to be with someone I trust not to hurt me."

"Aawww, and you chose me to do drugs with for the first time? Darling, you flatter me," he purrs, tilting your head back with a finger under your chin. He kisses you again, but this time without tongue. There's not tenderness to it, because Valentino doesn't do tender, but, you think to yourself, if it was anyone but Valentino, it would have been tender.

But you don't want anyone but Valentino.

No, you want him. With all his deranged talk, all the debauchery he has you put up with. It's all him, and that's who you want. It's who you desire.

"Yes," you breathe against his lips, closing your eyes a sliver once more.

"Well then," he grins and pulls back, simultaneously pulling out a small bag of white powder from a pocket in his long coat.

Your heart skips a beat, and you suck in a breath. Valentino hears, of course, and skewers you with his sharp gaze.

"Nervous?"

"Yes," you repeat.

He grins.

"Aaww, baby, no need to be. Daddy will take good care of you. Don't I always?"

"Yes, Daddy. You always take such good care of me."

His grin widens, pulling his eyes into narrow, red slits. From another coat pocket, he withdraws a folded stack of bills. They're as crisp as a winter morning back on Earth. Probably as new as they come, too. Hot off the press.

"Now, doll," he begins in a sultry drawl, removing the clip from the money, and puts the notes on the coffee table. "You just let Daddy take care of this, okay? Don't want nothing to happen to my favorite girl, now do we?"

You giggle nervously.

"Of course not, Daddy."

"That's a good girl."

He shakes out a - to you - sizeable amount of coke. When you had said that you had never tried hard drugs before, you had assumed you would start out with a small dose. Not... this much. This looks like it could and would put you six feet more under the ground.

But, being a good girl, you don't say anything. Nothing to disturb Valentino as he uses some of the bills to line up the coke in several neat lines. Nothing to suggest that you're getting cold feet. Because, oddly enough, while it is scary, you aren't getting cold feet.

No, you're actually... excited about the idea of doing drugs with Valentino.

So, when he pulls you between his long, skinny legs, asking if you're comfortable, you snicker and nod.

"Yes, Daddy. Very comfortable." As if to emphasize just how comfortable, you snuggle back against him with a loud, dramatic sigh of content. He purrs, kissing your cheek.

"There's a good girl," he murmurs. With his insane height, he can easily loom over you, and he does. His body towering above yours, two of his hands help yours to grab a bill.

"Here, baby," he coos. "You want to do it like so." He shows you how to fold the bill to form a sort of tube. For once, he is actually gentle with you as he guides you.

"That's it. And then you just sniff it up into your pretty, little nose."

You're trembling - quite a lot, actually - by now, but Valentino is stroking your back and hair soothingly.

"All.... all of them, Daddy?"

He laughs. There's no mocking undertones this time.

"God no, baby! I don't want you to die again, however temporary that might be. No no, you start with this one," he points out a small, thin line in front of you, "and then you can do this one, if you're feeling brave." He points to another line, roughly the same size as the first one, but maybe a bit thicker.

You nod and swallow heavily.

"O...Okay."

He squeezes your shoulders before letting go of them again.

"No rush, baby doll. You can take your time," he purrs into your ear. "Daddy won't be mad. Promise."

You smile weakly.

"Thank you, Daddy," you mumble.

Squeezing the crisp bill a bit tighter, but without crumbling it, you lean down over the table. You position the hole of the tube over the start of the line, the other end of the tube at your left nostril.

"Remember, move quickly. Don't give the scary thoughts time to settle, baby." He sounds... excited.

You nod slightly and let out a deep, careful, shaky breath.

Then you do it. Moving quickly, while sniffing deeply, you end up snorting the entire line without difficulty. However, it stings something awful, and you wince once you sit back up.

Valentino is instantly over you, pushing you on your back and shoving his tongue in your mouth once more. You moan excitedly, grabbing the front of his coat, and return the kiss as best you can.

"That's it. I knew you could do it, baby," he purrs once he pulls back. "I knew I did right by making you my favorite."

The coke isn't kicking yet, but you know that Valentino has access to, and only dishes out, the purest drugs. Something tells you it won't take long before you're high out of your mind.

#text #my post #hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel fic #drugs #suggestive #???#i dont fucking know #first time doing drugs and its with valentino??? SWOONS <3 #of course he wont debase himself with actually doing drugs himself #he just wants me to do it so i'll be pliant and high and needy #AND BY GOD I WILL LET HIM DO WHATEVER TO ME #also mandatory disclaimer: i have never tried drugs.#ive never even smoked weed. idk what its like to snort coke #i just went off what i always see in movies and stuff

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comiiical · 9 months

Text

FASHION / APPEARANCE STATS

BODY Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Sixpack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders. Underweight. Average Weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm ( 5 foot ). 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

EYES Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set

HAIR Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

TATTOS/PIERCINGS Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Shin tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Lower back tattoo. Hand/finger tattoo. Foot tattoo. Neck tattoo. Face tattoo. Back tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

SCENT Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Natural soap. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain. Grass. Ocean. Autumn leaves. Baked bread. Freshly baked cookies. Smoke. Campfire. Lavender. Trees. Pumpkin Pie. Musk. Rose. Gingerbread. Peppermint. Oak. Honey. Lemon. Vanilla. Coffee Cake. Mint. Raw hyde.

CLOTHES Jeans. Tight pants. Over-knee socks. Tights. Fishnets. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tank-top. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Plaid. Black. Dark colors. Fur. Faux fur.

SHOES Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.

#→ rico

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biancabeautybrainsbrevity · 2 years

Text

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ.

Bold what applies. Italicise what somewhat or sometimes applies

BODY / long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. toned arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. average-length nails. long nails, manicured nails. painted nails. dirty nails. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. soft feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight.

HEIGHT / shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN / pale. fair. rosy. olive. dark. tanned. brown. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled. scarred (mentally. probably).

EYES / small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. green. gold amber. hazel. violet. doe-eyed. almond. close-set. wide-set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. down turned.

HAIR / thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. silky scruffy. frizzy. curly. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie-cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. vermilion. mohawk. white. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. dyed red. dyed any “ unnatural color ”. streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows. renaissance brows.

COSMETICS / light eyeliner. heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick. lip gloss. lip balm. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eye shadow. neutral eye shadow. smoky eyes. colorful eye shadow. blush. lip liner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. shiny foundation. concealer. wears make up regularly. wears makeup from time to time. no makeup (as sometimes nature and perfection needs no gilding)

SCENT / floral. fruity. perfumes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer. natural soap. shampoo. cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. cologne. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. freshly baked cookies. smoke. campfire. lavender. trees. pumpkin pie. musk. rose. gingerbread. peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla. coffee cake. mint. rawhide. chemicals. expensive

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS / ears pierced

CLOTHES / jeans. tight pants. over knee socks. tights. yoga pants. pencil skirt. tight skirt. loose skirt. tight / formfitting dress. cardigans. blouse. button up shirt. band t-shirt. sports t-shirt. sweatpants. tank top. cut off t-shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. long skirt. miniskirt. maxi dress. sun dress. tie. tuxedo. slacks. cocktail dress. high slit dress / skirt. loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. sweater. sweater vest. khaki pants. suit. hoodie. harem pants. basketball shorts. boxers. briefs. boxer-briefs. hot pants. hipster panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. ballerina skirt. leotard. polka dot. stripes. glitter. silk. lace. leather. velvet. cotton. chemise. patterns. florals. neon colors. pastels. plaid. black. dark colors. fur. faux fur. stockings. suspender belt. leggings.

SHOES / sneakers. slip-ons. flats. slippers. sandals. high heels. kitten heels. ankle boots. combat boots. boots. cowboy boots. knee-high. platforms. stripper heels. bare feet. loafers.

Tagging: @pandoratheancient @fanatiquee anyone who wants to try

//I added some my own in brackets or at end of categories. Swing beyween 5ft 4" - 5ft 6" for her height

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auburnandamberangel · 2 years

Text

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ

Bold what applies. Italicise what somewhat or sometimes applies

BODY / long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. toned arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular* frame. voluptuous (booty) frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. average-length nails. long nails, manicured nails. painted nails. dirty nails. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. soft feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. elegant fingers. broad shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight. *good core strength from active harsh early life

HEIGHT / shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN / pale. fair. rosy. olive. dark. tanned. brown. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled (maybe inUV club lights faint?) scarred.

EYES / small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. green. gold amber. hazel. violet. doe-eyed. almond. close-set. wide-set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. down turned.

HAIR / thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. scruffy. frizzy. curly. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie-cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. vermilion. mohawk. white. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. dyed red. dyed any “ unnatural color ”. streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows.

CLOTHES* / jeans. tight pants. over knee socks. tights. yoga pants. pencil skirt. tight skirt. loose skirt. tight / formfitting dress. cardigans. blouse. button up shirt. band t-shirt. sports t-shirt. sweatpants. tank top. cut off t-shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. long skirt. miniskirt. maxi dress. sun dress. tie. tuxedo. slacks. cocktail dress. high slit dress / skirt. loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. sweater. sweater vest. khaki pants. suit. hoodie. harem pants. basketball shorts. boxers. briefs. boxer-briefs. hot pants. hipster panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. ballerina skirt. leotard. polka dot. stripes. glitter. silk. lace. leather. velvet. cotton. corduroy. chemise. patterns. florals. neon colors. pastels. plaid. black. dark colors. fur. faux fur. vintage *steals Daniels

SHOES / sneakers. slip-ons. flats. slippers. sandals. high heels. kitten heels. ankle boots. combat boots. boots. cowboy boots. knee-high. platforms. stripper heels. bare feet. loafers.

Tagging: Everyone have at it!

#ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ.#//i cut out the tattoo and piercing section

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authorspress · 7 months

Text

youtube

2023 Manila Bookstore Visibility | Featured Book | Dr. Rose Maria McCarthy Anding

Check out this featured book "High Heels, Honey Lips and White Powder" by Dr. Rose Maria McCarthy Anding!

#Youtube

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readersmagnet · 1 year

Text

High Heels, Honey Lips and White Powder by Dr. Rose Maria McCarthy Anding

Dr. Rose Maria McCarthy Anding's "High Heels, Honey Lips and White Powder" is a strong and inspiring memoir about overcoming addiction and finding hope through Jesus. With heartfelt storytelling, this book beautifully captures the journey of personal transformation, igniting a flame of hope and providing invaluable guidance for those walking a similar path.

If you're having similar struggles, this book is a must-read! Grab a copy at www.restorationaddictionsupportcommunity.com.

#Rose Maria McCarthy Anding #High Heels Honey Lips and White Powder #ReadersMagnet #OvercomingAddiction #Inspirational Books #Memoir #Addiction Recovery

0 notes

leclerqueen · 1 year

Text

BODY.

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Sixpack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders. Underweight. Average Weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT.

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN.

Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

EYES.

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set.

HAIR.

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS.

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Shin tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Lower back tattoo. Hand/finger tattoo. Foot tattoo. Neck tattoo. Face tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS.

Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

SCENT.

Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Natural soap. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain. Grass. Ocean. Autumn leaves. Baked bread. Freshly baked cookies. Smoke. Campfire. Lavender. Trees. Pumpkin Pie. Musk. Rose. Gingerbread. Peppermint. Oak. Honey. Lemon. Vanilla. Coffee Cake. Mint. Raw hyde. Gun Powder.

CLOTHES.

Jeans. Tight pants. Over-knee socks. Tights. Fishnets. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tank-top. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Plaid. Black. Dark colors. Fur. Faux fur.

SHOES.

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.

#♕ 〢「 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘆 」 ⇾ self study

0 notes

lock8key · 2 years

Text

APPEARANCE HEADCANONS.

body.

long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. long nails. manicured nails. dirty nails. flat ass. toned ass. bubble butt. thick ass. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips.big feet.average feet. small feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands.small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders.underweight. average weight. overweight.

height.

shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. taller than 2 m.

skin.

pale. fair. rosy. olive. dark. tanned. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled. scarred.

eyes.

small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. pink. green. gold. hazel. doe — eyed.almond. close — set. wide — set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. downturned.

hair.

thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. curly. frizzy. wild. unruly. straight.smooth.wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. mohawk. undercut. white. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. unnatural colour. streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows.

tattoos / piercings.

full sleeve. thigh tattoo. shin tattoo. wrist tattoo. lower back tattoo. hip tattoo. hand / finger tattoo. foot tattoo. neck tattoo. face tattoo. chest tattoo. one tattoo. a few here and there.multiple. no tattoo. monroe piercing. nose piercing. septum. nipple piercing. genital piercing. industrial piercings. earlobe piercing(s). prince albert piercing. eyebrow piercing. tongue piercing. lip piercing. tragus piercing. angel bites. labret. gauges. navel piercing. inverse navel piercing. cheek piercing. smiley. nape piecings. no piercings.

cosmetics.

light eyeliner. heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick. lipgloss. chapstick. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eyeshadow. neutral eyeshadow. smokey eyes. colourful eyeshadow. blush. lipliner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. shiny foundation. concealer. wears make up regularly.wears it from time to time. never wears make up.

scent.

floral. fruity. perfumes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer. natural soap. shampoo.cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. cologne. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. smoke.campfire. lavender. trees. musk. rose. gingerbread. peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla.coffee. cake. hyde.

clothes.

masculine. feminine. androgynous. jeans. tight pants. overknee socks. tights.leggings. yoga pants. miniskirt. loose skirt. formfitting dress. cardigans. blouse. button up shirt.graphic shirt. sports shirt. sweatpants. tank top. cut off shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. maxidress. sundress. suit and tie.cocktail dress. highslit dress.loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. sweater. sweater vest. khaki pants. hoodie.harem pants. basketball shorts. boxers. briefs. thong. hotpants. hipster panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. leotard. polka dots. stripes. glitter. silk. lace. leather. velvet. chemise.patterns. florals. neon colours. pastels. neutral colours. black. dark colours. faux fur.

shoes.

sneakers. slip-ons. flats. slippers. sandals. high heels. kitten heels. ankle boots.combat boots. boots. knee-high boots. platforms. stripper heels. bare feet loafers. Oxfords.

#hc.#bold crossed are private clothes lmao no one know about

0 notes

shadowworks · 3 years

Text

Compulsion

Pairing: Mafia!Dabi X Reader

Warnings: dubconish themes, flirting with Hawks, blood, murder, blackmail, fingering. NSFW, quirkless AU!

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Alright! This piece is for The Smut Pile Mafia Collab

I have to give my wholehearted thanks to @hisoknen @some-kindofgnome , @pleasantanathema, and @ever-enthralled for reading this over the last couple weeks, and making sure it reads well! I am so happy to have you beautiful souls! Also a special shoutout to Raph for brainstorming with me when I was stuck at the very end. 💕

Edit: This has fanart! Beautiful @maewoahoah created a Mafia!Hawks piece right here and a Mafia!Dabi piece here! She’s very talented! ;)

On this ominous winter evening it begins snowing.

You readjust your peacoat and step through the frosty glow of the street lamp to your front door. Your muscles ache a little more than usual, your steps a little heavier. It’s been a long and tedious day at work; far less stimulating compared to Toga’s position working for a bootlegger named Tomura. But both jobs pay the rent. You push papers and withhold your scowls towards clients. Now, you want a bath.

The sound of a muffled radio plays on the other side, and it floods your ears as you walk in with warmth and an iron smell wafting your chilled nose.

“Folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary...

Seeeee, my baby there;

She's stretched out on a long, white table

She looks so sweet, so cold, so fair.”

Toga’s playing blues again. It’s a routine she has before the graveyard shift across town. At this time, she’s in the kitchen making something before she goes, but you’re having trouble figuring out what food smells like copper.

“He-e-e-y,” you call lazily, a sing-songy tone in your voice.

She doesn’t answer, though you hear the clacking of stiletto heels on wood, which makes you amble down the hall to see what she’s doing.

“Think you can smuggle some whiskey tonight? I thought we had some, but Keigo probably polished it off last—“

You stop in the doorway.

There’s a poor bastard lying flat on his back, head twisting too far towards the sink. Ribbons of blood streak down his colorless skin, pouring out from a dark and glossy hole just beneath his jaw. You see it puddle and stain the edges of his hair a sticky red, the only sound besides your heart thudding is the soft thrums from the parlor.

“ When I die please bury me in my high top Stetson hat

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain

So the gang'll know I died standing pat.”

You’re in a daze, one where you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring. It doesn’t seem real. Is it real? But it’s not until you hear the sound of heels clicking against the wood floors that you drag your gaze to the noise.

Toga’s standing near the stove, her features vacant, shoulders slouched, and she’s holding a knife that’s still wet.

What the fuck?

You want to scream, berate her, seethe what the fuck was she thinking, or if she was thinking for that matter. But the blonde speaks up before you do, with a voice above a whisper.

“He was going to leave me. Said he was too dangerous.” Toga doesn’t look in your direction, moving to the rim of pooled blood which has stopped spreading out, “I told him I wouldn’t let anyone come between us, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Your jaw goes taut, staring incredulously at her steely face. The lack of emotion gives you a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The man wasn’t a random suit who bled out on your floor, this moron was seeing Toga on and off for months and had been trying to be more present.

Nights spent arriving at your door with flowers and sweets, and driving her to work was becoming a staple in his routine. He preferred staying in Toga’s room if they had the day off, and he always slipped out when the morning frost dusted the grass, a soft bluish hue painting the streets before sunlight.

But that’s not the problem. See, he was a core member inside the Mafia running the northern side of the city, ‘The League’ they like to call themselves. The only men above this guy was his boss Tomura, and the underboss Dabi. You don’t know the former, but you’ve spent time with the latter.

You’re aware of his sadistic nature that flashes behind those teal eyes, and he doesn’t try to hide it, either. The sideway glances during a poker match before he fucked someone over , the smile he wore when you asked about the purple bruises on his knuckles.

So fan-fucking-tastic, the broad has some nerve.

You curl your lip, already shrugging your shoulders from your coat. You toss it over the table and start rolling up your sleeves to the elbows.

Toga finally turns towards you after catching movement by her side, brows raising confused, “What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna grab his feet and we’re gonna move him onto the rug in the hall.”

You step in the blood, grabbing him by the rusty black colored jacket and dragging him from the puddle. Of course it leaves drag marks, your heels making tracks alongside, but you can deal with the clean up later.

Toga hurries over to help, carrying him by the legs and letting you guide the body to the floral rug.

“You don’t want to know what happened?”

You stop. Immediately dropping the dead weight, his blond head lolls off to the side. Your palms sheen with red, but you straighten up and push a beach curl from your cheekbone with the back of your hand.

“Not really. All I want is this fucker out of my house.”

It’s her turn to stare at you incredulously. This is completely out of nowhere for you to be assisting in hiding a dead boyfriend, even if you two are roommates. You’ve only been living together for four months now.

“Toga, I need you to listen, okay?” you say, a bit mockingly, “I can look past the murdering business by pretending you acted in self defense, but if you don’t have the goddamn brains to realize this idiot has friends, then I suggest you don’t stab people!”

Toga flinches slightly at the lilted pitch in your voice, already suggesting panicky, “We can take him to the woods and hide him there?”

“That’ll work.” You don’t think Twice about it.

Working together, you both hoist him a couple feet onto the rug, refusing to look at his face. You didn’t need to be feeling a pang of guilt. It doesn’t take long for you to roll him towards the front door, as the material wraps around his figure.

The hardest part is retreating to the car. The moment you push through the door, you see the distance from where you stand and the car parked a little down the sloping street. You both give a hard look to the powdery snow dusting the ground, quiet and enchanting. It would be beautiful...had you not been carrying a corpse.

“Stop being a little bitch and heave!”

“I can’t! You’re making me hold all the weight!”

“He’s off the ground! How the fuck are you holding all the weight?”

“But my arms hurt!”

“Fucking hell, Toga. What if I had stayed at my sister’s tonight? What then?”

“Stop yelling at me! I get it, alright? I shouldn’t have done it in the house!”

Your bickering toils through the winds, muffled by the falling snow. The burst of cold air is running through your buttoned blouse while crossing to the 1929 Chevrolet causing a shiver to roll down your back. When you reach the car Toga plops the rug down onto the snow first, then you. Your wet fingers feel numb against the metal handle.

There’s one entrance on each side, which likely will make shimming the body to the backseat much harder. You pause, looking at the front in thought.

“I’ll go first,” you say, “when he’s in, you go and grab our coats.”

“Are we burying him?”

“Think the lake’s faster.”

“What if it’s icy? They’ll see the hole if we throw him in.”

You both ponder your options for a little while, this isn’t exactly something you’ve done before...You can’t say the same for Toga, but she seems just as puzzled, almost clueless on how to get rid of her ex.

Meanwhile, the rolled corpse behind you starts to slip downhill, little by little. The slanting street gives speed and the rug starts to roll.. Red droplets trail behind in its wake.

You just happen to see it first.

“Toga—Toga, the body! The body!”

Toga cries out, taking off after the rug as best she can on a frozen sheet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The graceful snowfall flutters with pain and chaos.

Toga skids against the fresh ice, feet stumbling under her navy blue dress. She falls to the ground with a hard thud, and you see she isn’t stopping. She keeps going alongside the body, sliding until the two disappear under another parked car.

You don’t have time to think, a chill strikes up your spine in your panic.

“Toga!” you call out, taking off after her. Unfortunately you find yourself abruptly on your back, pounding hard on the stones and stealing the breath from your lungs.

If you could sigh right now you would. Or rather, if you could punch Toga right now you would, as rage twists with a throbbing pain in your chest. Was all this worth having a mobster roommate? The odds were piling against her. You have a mind to push her in the lake when you get there.

Several silent minutes go by with you staring up at the cloudy sky. It’s brighter from the illuminating white snow, and despite the icy powder prickling your flesh, you have no choice but to wait for the ache in your chest to fade.

“Enjoying the view?”

You hear a new voice, male, and the suave tone tells you who it is before he treads near. He looks over you with half lidded eyes of honey gold.

He’s very pretty. The drifting snow flakes above his wheat coloured head manage to enhance this, though the uplifted eyes lined in black, and nicely sharp features are the last thing you want to see. You’re nowhere near ready to start lying out of Toga’s mess.

“That can’t be too comfy down there,” Keigo says, bending forward with an outstretched hand,“C’mon, upsy-daisy.”

You take his hand, feeling another leather glove hold your waist and lift you onto your feet. When you settle, he starts brushing the caked snow off your back. Mobster or not, he’s at least a gentleman.

“You alright?” he asks, giving you a once over for any fresh scratches.

You give a slow nod, crossing your arms over your chest. Fear’s got the better of you, and you look anywhere but him., “What are you doing here? I thought you were working tonight.”

“Oh I am! You could say I’m on patrol, need to pick up a few things.”

Your gaze stills to your left, heart skipping. Keigo’s not alone. Standing nearby, a slim figure dressed in black from head to toe is watching you two lazily. A thread of smoke seeps from his parted lips, clouding a handsome face and spikes of black hair. Keigo keeps talking, but you can’t take your eyes off the ghostly presence you know to be Dabi.

“Unfortunately that includes loverboy. He was supposed to be back hours ago, but we figured he’s still fooling around,” a little smirk tugs at his mouth, suggestively “He’s still inside, right?”

You blink, turning back to face Keigo, “I wouldn’t know, I just got home,” you lie.

“Look at you! You look like you’re about to freeze to death.” He starts suddenly, swiftly slipping his arms out from his heavy coat, revealing a black three piece with pinstripes, and a brighter crimson tie. In one smooth motion he twirls the long, beige coat over your shoulders, letting it rest over your figure.

“Thank you,” you say, before your eyes catch something.

Dabi moves towards the clumsy skid marks, head tilting down to the red dots in the snow near his polished shoe. You stiffen.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Your gaze flashes from Dabi’s retreating back to a politely smiling Keigo, “Yeah, I’m fine! I’m really cold is all.”

“Well, we should get you inside. You know you left your door wide open?” Shit, the door. You forgot about the stupid door—

(Dabi looms across the indents in the snow and follows down the hill like a dark shadow against crystals illuminating bright.)

“Ah yeah, I thought I left my purse in the car. It was just for a second, and then I slipped,” You force a smile. Relax. You need to relax. Keigo doesn’t seem convinced, reading something off in your features.

“Is that right?”

(He gets the edge of the old Ford, and notes the specks of red soak wider here. The spots lead underneath.)

“I know, it’s pretty foolish. It’s um...It’s a good thing you showed up when you did, or...”

Your eyes drift over Keigo’s shoulder. The underboss starts to crouch low. Your pupils shrink, a new wave of panic tingles the back of your neck. Damn him, why was he so clever?

“Dabi, wait!” you shout, pushing past Keigo’s shoulder. In your hurry you kick up the snowy crystals, rushing to the taller mobster in his long obsidian coat. Dabi quickly turns, standing up.tall before you hook onto his upper arm like a lover. “I saw an animal go under there that looked hurt. You shouldn’t mess with it.”

A smirk that breaks into a grin spreads on his face, a look of amusement blooming from your look of fright. You want to glare at him, though that could be dangerous. Why does he like seeing you scared?

“An animal, you say?” he parrots back, adopting the same mocking pitch you gave Toga earlier. He’s not in the least bit on edge, and you really don’t like that. He flicks his teal eyes up to look behind you just then, “Good thing I have the city’s best exterminator right here.”

As if on cue, you hear the crunching boots of Keigo walking to the car. “Give me a break with the dirty work, will ya?”

“What, scared of a little pest?” Dabi taunts back coolly.

“I’m not too fond of getting my knees wet, actually,” Keigo returns quite dryly, sharp eyes studying the long pattern marks. He places his gloved hands on his thighs and drops himself to a crouch in front of the vehicle.

You desperately hope Toga proves you wrong. Maybe she had the common sense to bail while no one was looking. It’s all you can do at this point, while Keigo dips his head underneath. You don’t realize, but your grip on Dabi’s arm presses tighter into the wool.

Keigo inspects below for a moment. There’s a long pause like a winter evening should be. Silent. Calming. You can almost believe in the soothing little lie. Then Keigo coughs a laugh that echoes through the street. Bursts of manic giggles grow louder from the mobster, leaving you tilting your head at his pushed back hair, confused.

“There’s a pest, alright! I think I caught something—“

Keigo reaches under, and with an impressively strong yank, Toga’s head pops out in a doe eyed stare. Her arms are wrapped around a bundled rug with a fairly familiar head sticking out.

“Hey there, Toga!” Keigo exclaims, “When did you become a rat?”

Dabi tips his head down, drawing the lit cigarette back to his lazy smile. He’s shockingly calm which does nothing to ease your shivering panic. Toga however, seems fine. In fact, she’s moved on to livelier feelings.

“Hey! Does it look like a rat could’ve done this?!” she snaps, shaking the body in her arms. It bangs against the bottom of the car sending loud echoes through the nearly empty street. Specks of blood dribble on the white ground, and a couple more drops spray her cheeks.

You stare up at the clouds, rolling your eyes. Goddamnit Toga.

“Yeah, I guess a rat can’t hold a knife, huh? Ya got me there.” Keigo turns and beams you a smug look, eyes half lidded in an expression that reads, nice try, but you failed.

You scrunch your nose, quietly shooting him back a glare. Asshole might’ve caught you both red handed, but he didn’t have to be so fucking cocky about it. It’s only charming when he has a winning hand at cards. Beside you, Dabi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, though you don’t have the guts to flash him the same glower. He is second in command after all.

“Yeah, see? That’s what I thought!” Toga says in victory.

You blink very, very slowly at Toga when she finally meets your vastly unamused gaze,“...Nice work, Toga.”

It comes suddenly. A fiery warmth ghosts the dip in your waist as Dabi leans in. It’s not unwelcomed, raw and soothing even, but it hardly lasts. His hand curls around Keigo’s coat collar and pulls it off your shoulders. The crisp wind rushes to your exposed arms.

“You got any rat poison on you, Hawks?” Dabi tosses the coat to Keigo.

He catches it mid air as he rises to stand. “Nah, fresh out. But we have some back at the house.”

“You want to take care of our rat problem then?”

“Can do, boss man.”

Before you can figure out what they mean–what they have planned for Toga–Dabi’s pristine leather glove presses at the small of your back and directs you toward the pouring light of the open door. “Don’t wait up.”

It’s barely there, but as you shift your eyes to Keigo, his features take on a darkened look toward Dabi.

“Play nice, now,” you hear Keigo say. This time though, the joyous tone is gone.

A new song hums on the radio when you’re pushed through the threshold, you listen to the richly solemn blues as Dabi closes the door. He turns the lock with a click and pockets the key.

“I forgive you

'Cause I can't forget you.

You've got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea”

He doesn’t give you a passing glance, instead he turns and strolls down the freshly bare hall. He hasn’t removed his coat, and each room he passes he tilts his head in to search for something, stopping by the parlor. With a twist of a knob, he shuts off the radio.

“Where’d she ice him?” he asks, still not looking at you by the stairwell.

“In the kitchen.” You return. No point in hiding it now.

His steps creak the wood as he ambles further down, knowing full well where to go. He’s been here a handful of times; of course, those were happier evenings filled with drunken laughs.

You watch him stand by the doorway, staring at the vibrant mess of a crime scene. He pops the tip of his cigarette in his mouth before slipping from your line of sight. Dabi’s got the key to the door, so it’s not like you can run away—especially with Keigo just outside. It’s too risky to try and you know it, but it does cross your mind.

Summing up the courage, you decide to follow Dabi with measured steps, “What are you going to do with Toga?”

When you face the kitchen, Dabi’s near the table where you threw your coat. He has a hand in one of your pockets, and he’s fishing for something inside. It jingles in his grip as he stuffs it into his own pocket. Your car keys.

“Are you going to kill her?” you try again, a little irked he’s swiping your things left and right. He doesn’t release your coat either, laying it over the crook of his elbow.

He draws a final inhale from the dying bud, and crosses to the sink to snuff it out. An exhale of smoke blows out from his lips, “Killing her seems like a favor, don’t you think?”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

He turns, flicking teal eyes sheening with energy at you, “That lunatic’s no longer your concern. Right now, you ought to be more worried about yourself.”

Your features go taut, which in turn makes Dabi’s sadistic smirk return.

“I didn’t help her kill him.”

“No,” he agrees, taking a few strides around the blood to approach you,“but you were willing to stash the stiff.”

“Yeah, for this very reason. I didn’t want you coming after me!”

Dabi draws dangerously close, mere inches apart as he glances down with lidded eyes, the smell of tobacco perfumes from his shirt collar nestled under a violet tie. He crooks his index finger, embellished with a silver ring, ghosting it under your chin. “How’d that turn out for you, babydoll?”

With a ruthless smile, he breaks the fixed stare and rounds you to the hallway. He seems to be making his way towards the parlor again, but the swish of your peacoat in his arm, set you off.

How dare he? You don’t like how he’s walked inside, claiming what’s yours. You might have your life screwed over, but at the very least you want your coat back as some semblance of control.

You stalk after him, picking up pace to aim for his arm. The clacks of your heels are loud, but you currently couldn’t care less about being sneaky, “Give it fucking back. You’re not keeping that!”

You lunge for the black wool, but as your fingers brush the material on his left elbow, Dabi whips the coat, rotating arms. You’re not fast enough, but you try a second reach for his right arm, huffing out a growl at his stealthy reflexes.

“Dabi, I’m serious! You’re such a—”

In a twirling motion his newly free palm shoves at your shoulder, pinning you against the stairwell’s wall. He’s close, so close, the blue flames in his eyes are absurdly intense.

“That makes two of us. You’ll get this back when I say so.”

His voice is low, soft lips almost connecting to yours. You tilt your chin up, glaring at him with fearful, tentative eyes. His gaze flashes with mirth, and he huffs a small laugh at you.

“I’ve always liked this about you. That spark inside you.” He muses. The peacoat spills to the floor. Dabi lifts his slender fingers, pushing back a loose curl from your cheek.

Your stomach flips, as shocks tickle your skin. There’s been subtle flirting between you two before. You just wrote it off as overthinking the moment. Even though he only called you, babydoll, and he sat next to you at gatherings. How he filled your glass with water instead of booze as the nights waned. Now, you feel foolish for denying the little signs.

“You have a horrible way of showing girls you like ‘em,” you counter back, your voice’s quiet but leveled.

“Yeah?” he asks. The arm holding your shoulder tightens, while the other lowers to collect your long skirt. He traces his knuckles on the soft flesh of your thigh. As his hand trails up, his eyes remain fixed on your facial features. “Maybe this will help.”

His slim fingers reach the cotton slip, and it’s easy to pull off to the side, exposing the lips of your warmth. He tests the waters, sweeping the tips of his fingers across your folds. Your mouth parts in a breathless hitch in your throat. Dabi parts his own lips drawing near, ‘til his lips touch yours but not quite pressing together yet. His pierced nose bumps yours.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” he starts, just before sinking two fingers between your folds, pumping deep and slow inside. “You’ll go upstairs and pack what you need. When you come down—”

He thrusts particularly hard into you, sending a gasping moan to fall from your open mouth. His voice remains calm, a hint of glee can be detected. Fucking bastard.

“—You’ll be leaving with me. You’ll work for me...Live with me…And you’ll do everything I say. You got it, babydoll?”

He adds a third finger, soaking his knuckles deep with your slick. He’s hitting the right spots, the perfectly deep pressure. Your attention turns hazy as wakes of pleasure tighten just below your stomach. Your hips buck against his thrusting hand, yet still, you manage to nod your head.

Moans flutter from your lips and vibrate onto his smiling one. To heighten the pleasure he begins swirling your wet clit. “Ah, Dabi...Oh god, Dabi—”

He slows his fingers suddenly, which makes you cry out. He pretends to ignore it. “If you try to escape me...I will hunt you down and hurt you in ways that will marr that pretty skin of yours. I’ll make you scream so loud, and no one will be there to save you. Tell me you understand.”

He curls his knuckles, pressing into a rough spot at the top, pumping fiercely against your slippery, muscular walls. You cry out, squeezing at his shirt collar and coat. “Fuck—I understand, I understand! Baby, right there, ah!”

Dabi gives you no mercy. He tugs and twirls the bud of sensitive nerves, swirling with driven circles that clench your walls in wonderous pressure. You’re close, he’s so close to sending you in high bliss. Your moans get heavier, and your clenching more and more and—

He removes his fingers. Another cry of protest sobs from your mouth only to be swallowed by Dabi’s lips on yours. His tongue massages the moans from your breath, his scent of cigarettes and smoke immerse your senses as you drown in the kiss.

He slowly breaks apart with a wet sound, looking deeply in your lust-glossed eyes. His voice is low and arousingly husky. “Now get your things.”

Before you know it, Dabi pulls away from your shoulders, and turns for the parlor. You try catching your breath, watching his slim, muscular back...Did that happen? Did he rob you of everything? Your home, your life, your orgasm?

Eventually, with light steps you do as you’re told, and turn to climb up the stairs. What choice do you have? He has your life in the palm of his hand. And right before you make it to the top, your hand drawn on the railing, the spinning clicks of your house phone perk your ear.

A long pause. Then finally, Dabi’s rich voice speaks up from the parlor,

“Hey, I’ll be needing a few guys at Togas...Yeah, we found him….Toga did him in pretty good...No, we’ll need the good bleach for cleanup.”

***

P.S, this might be a mini series 👀

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #dabi #touya todoroki #my hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfics #mafia!dabi #tw blackmail #tw blood #keigo takami #bnha x reader #the smut pile #tw dubcon #shadow tales

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comiiical · 9 months

Text

FASHION / APPEARANCE STATS

HEIGHT Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm ( 5 foot ). 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

EYES Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set

SHOES Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.

#→ gale

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 3 years

Text

Drowning | JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: JJ saves your life.

A/N: I had this idea this morning and just thought it would turn out into a great fic. I hope you guys enjoy! xx

!!!! Warning: curse words, drugs, drowning and resuscitation

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

Your parents were throwing a party to celebrate your dad’s growing company and the guest list included most of the kooks on the island. You were okay with going to the party because you thought Sarah would be the one to accompany Ward and Rose, but instead it was Rafe who showed up in her place. Sarah was hanging out with John B.

That’s where you would like to be right now, except you wanted to be hanging out with JJ instead of John B of course. You and JJ had grown into close friends the last few months. Your car had broke down on the side of the road and out of everyone who passed by, JJ was the one to stop and help. He offered to look at your car and see if he could figure out what was wrong and since then your friendship grew.

Your family didn’t mind you hanging out with JJ or the rest of the pogues for that matter. Your family didn’t follow the other kooks in hating the pogues because most of your dad’s employees were from the Cut. He actually knew them as a person and didn’t judge them for what side of the island they lived on.

It was only 30 minutes into the party, Rafe had come out of your guest bathroom with bloodshot eyes and the remnants of white powder on his nose. You knew he’d just done a line, which meant he was drunk and high. He’d already downed three drinks.

“Seriously, Rafe? My bathroom?”

“What? Scared your parents might think it’s you doing coke?” He jokes, wiping his nose.

You roll your eyes, “They know me better than that. Why did you come tonight anyways?” You made your way outside, Rafe following.

“My dad asked me. Said there could be a potential job opportunity.”

“So you decide to snort a line of coke? What a great first impression.”

“Who are you to judge me? You’re the one who slums it around with those nasty pogues on the cut.”

“Hanging out with the pogues is better than doing drugs, Rafe. That’s not even a good comparison. Plus, they’re better people than you kooks.”

“Last time I checked, princess, you’re one of us too.” He continues to follow you down to the edge of your dock.

“Last time I checked, I don’t snort cocaine and disappoint my parents.” You fire back, turning to face him. Okay, maybe that was a little too far on your part, but sometimes Rafe needs it instead of being babied.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You fucking bitch.” And with that he slams his hands into your chest, sending you into the water.

When Sarah had arrived at John B’s, JJ questioned her where you were. She’d explained that you were at your family’s party. JJ then suggested going over there to pick you up on the boat and then do a little evening fishing. He knew you loved being out on the water so you could watch the sunset. The rest of the pogues agreed and headed out to the boat.

It wasn’t a long drive out to your house. John B had slowed the boat when they entered the wake zone and JJ spotted you heading down the dock, Rafe following behind.

“Well that makes it easier for us to pick her up.” Sarah says with a laugh when she saw you at the end of the dock.

“They look like they are arguing.” Kie shields the sun from her eyes, “Someone yell out for her.”

Before anyone could yell, they watched as Rafe pushed you into the water and then turned around and headed back to the house.

“Oh my god!” Sarah was up from her seat in seconds, worry in her voice, “She can’t swim!”

“hang on!” John B gassed the boat and got as close as he could without getting too close to the area you could be in.

JJ had already pulled his shirt and shoes off and was diving into the water. Your body came floating to the surface, face down. JJ surfaced nearby and flipped your body over, but you weren’t responsive.

“Y/n?! Shit shit..” JJ swam your body to the dock as John be got close enough to the dock. Pope jumped off the boat and onto the dock, pulling your body up on the dock.

JJ exited the water and began tapping on your shoulders and shaking you, “Y/N?! Y/n can you hear me?!” He leaned down and put his ear against your chest but you weren’t breathing. There wasn’t a pulse felt either. “She’s not fucking breathing!” JJ immediately began CPR, panic setting in.

“Someone call 911!”

“Help! Someone help!”

The ruckus down at the dock caught the attention of the party goers. Soon you could see your parents running down to the dock.

“Come on, y/n! Breath!” JJ alternated between mouth to mouth and chest compressions. About the third alternation, you finally coughed and JJ could breath again. He cradled your head to the side as you coughed up the water, “Good good..”

Your eyes met JJ’s, “What..”

“Shh..” His hand went to your cheek, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He held you in his lap until your parents got to you asking what happened. Your mom had took JJ’s place, giving you a look over, checking for any other injuries.

You could see Rafe’s sober face at the front of the crowd, “I.. I tripped and fell in.”

“Oh honey.” Your mom holds you tightly in her arms, “I’ve told you to never wear those heels on the dock.”

JJ had to hold back the urge to jump at Rafe and beat the shit out of him. He knew Rafe had pushed you in. If JJ hadn’t suggested to pick you up, you’d be dead right now because of Rafe.

“You saved her life.” Your dad placed a hand on JJ’s shoulder, pulling JJ from his thoughts.

JJ ran a hand over his wet hair to get it out of his face, “We’d seen her fall in.” He motioned to the rest of the pogues, “Sarah said she couldn’t swim.”

Your dad holds a hand out to JJ, “We’re forever grateful.”

JJ shook your fathers hand, with a nod, “I’m just glad we were here.” He took the towel from John B to dry off.

Sarah had took a moment with you next, hugging on you. She’d given you a towel to wrap around yourself. It was after Sarah was done, you went to JJ, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

He returned the hug, “You scared the shit out of me.” He gave you a tighter squeeze.

“Thank you.” You felt him kiss the top of your head.

“You weren’t breathing.” He pulled away enough to look down at you, caressing your cheek with his knuckles, “I’ve never been so terrified.”

You were well aware of the crowd watching. However, your parents attention was on the police who’d just arrived. They’d explained what had happened. “This is the second time you’ve saved me.”

“The first was your car. Not your life.” He fixes the towel back around your shoulders.

You let out a soft laugh, “Well, either way you’re always saving me. How can I return the favor?”

“Well, I know how to swim.” He teases, “So you don’t have to save me from drowning.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, “How about...” You bite your lip in thought and finally the idea comes to you, “A date? I mean I don’t really know how to pay you back that would live up to you literally saving my life.”

“A date?” He hums, “I think that would work as a great payment. Only if it’s maybe a weekly date kind of thing.”

You laugh and nod, “I can make that work.”

Obx taglist: @poguestyleskye , @alexa-playafricabytoto , @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @prejudic3 , @turtlee-says-rawr , @outrbanks , @k-k0129 , @annedub , @rockyyc77 , @ilovejjmaybank , @treestarrrrrrrr , @thedarkqueenofavalon , @write-from-the-heart , @lasnaro , @ircnwitch, @normatural , @kaylinfayezink , @lordsagittarius , @moose-squirrel-asstiel , @thelovelydreamer17 , @chasefreakinstokes , @fanficscuziranout , @diverrdown , @tregua-oca , @junkiemuppettxx , @afterglowsb-tch13 , @hardyxlove , @cinnamon-roll-seth , @copper-boom , @dpaccione , @themaddies-obx ,

JJ Maybank // Rudy Pankow taglist: @thatweirdblondesword , @saltwatercowb0y , @popcrone818 , @thee-sex , @coni-martina , @pm-my-hubbies , @timotaychalabae , @katiaw2 , @maybebanks , @sataninsatin , @obx-beach , @fangirlvoice , @lolitstiana , @teamnick , @danicarosaline , @losers-club6 , @bananasfromtarget , @rudypankowswife , @fratboystark , @notmcchkn , @obx-beach , @ifilwtmfc , @mk15x , @ameeravandijk , @bibliophilewednesday , @irdkwhatimdoinghere , @maybankbby , @halobaby , @lilsiswinchester , @iccyyyybitch , @http-cherries , @tovvaa

All my works tag list: @blossomreed , @mggstyles , @simonsbluee , @thewolf-and-thesheep , @obxrafe ( @obxrafejjwhore ), @abbiesthings , @itstaskeen , @reniescarlett

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years

Text

Fic: The Company Woman 1/1

Title: The Company Woman

Pairing: CEO Henry x YOU

Summary: No other company has made you want to become a Company Woman. No other company made you want to surrender to your boss. I would suggest trying to get a position in this luscious Company, but only if you’re good ;).

Rating: Explicit. Unprotected sex, cock-warming, strict rules, Soft Dom Henry, giddy and willing participants

And thank you to my ever loving @lightsidecalling.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Puckering your lips against one side of a small square of pink tissue, you watched yourself lightly dab at the other side with a soft powdered brush until you were satisfied you’d absorbed enough excess moisture from the matte lipstick. Carefully peeling the tissue from your dark cherry red lips, you tapped them with a clean manicured fingertip and then smiled at your reflection.

Perfect.

Picking up the parfum atomizer you layered yourself with a light floral scent. Not too much. Just enough so that the boss could smell it, appreciate it, but not be distracted by it.

Replacing the bottle on the vanity tray, your eyes drifted to the large pink sticky note affixed to your broad wall-length bathroom mirror. You leaned in to briefly consult it, as you had done every morning since landing a coveted position with The Company last year.

In your neat print, you’d copied the ‘Requirements for personal hygiene and workplace presentation’ instructions from your personalised employee handbook.

1. A bath or shower must be taken the night before bed and in the morning after rising from bed. Cleansing must pay close attention to delicate areas where unwanted scents can accumulate during general activities.

2. Hair must be neat no matter the style.

3. While professional whitening is not expected, you will maintain clean healthy teeth. At-home whitening strips are recommended.

4. Trousers are not allowed in the office and all clothing must be form-fitting, but not constricting or ‘tight’. Heels and nylons must be worn.

5. Makeup must be natural and unobtrusive and any scents must be light.

6. All foundation garments must not be detected beneath the outer clothes.

Mentally you ticked off the six boxes, stood back, and admired yourself in the brightly lighted mirror. You tucked the back of your rose coloured silk blouse into a darker rose coloured pencil skirt and made sure that the zipper that ran the vertical length of the skirt was centered on your backside.

Flicking off the bathroom light and picking a pair of matching shoes from the upper hall closet, you padded down the stairs to the lower level of your townhouse. Your work mobile was charging on the kitchen counter and picking it up from the cradle, you saw that you had a message.

A flick of your thumb across the dark screen revealed what Mr. Cavill wanted for lunch:

CUISSE DE VOLAILLE FARCIE AUX HERBES, JUS A L’ECHALOTE from Le Gavroche.

You hadn’t even had your own breakfast yet, and here he was requesting lunch. However, the thought of ensuring that your boss got whatever expensive meal he had a taste for that day, was exciting.

In fact, everything about working for the extremely posh company headed by five brothers was exciting. Everything was required to be of the highest quality and it was up to everyone involved to maintain the aesthetic of The Company. After all, appearances in that world were everything. One wrong move could spell the end of them. Nonetheless, you relished the strict nature of your working environment and eagerly submitted to your superiors.

Stepping into your shoes, and grabbing your handbag, you shrugged into a light jacket on your way out of the front door.

As a personal assistant to the middle (and in your opinion the smartest and most attractive) brother, Henry, your job afforded you the kind of luxuries of which you’d only dreamed.

When Henry travelled for business, you travelled for business. When he dined in impossibly decadent restaurants and slept in extravagant hotels, well, so did you. You didn’t always dine with him, (and you never slept with him), but you had unfettered access to all of the amenities that he enjoyed. The Company did well enough to, in turn, pay their employees handsomely and offer generous year-end bonuses.

You loved it. No other employer had been able to turn you into The Company woman you were now and make you like it. You loved your job so much that you barely blinked when, during a late afternoon meeting with Henry, he slid a neatly formatted document across his glossy desktop towards you.

You leaned in, but did not pick it up. You read it where it lay, white and crisp against the deep cherry mahogany.

‘This is a non-disclosure agreement,’ you said and let your eyes drift up to Henry’s face.

He looked cool and perfect in his bespoke icy blue three-piece suit, offset by a creme coloured necktie knotted in a full Windsor. The ticking of his wristwatch was loud in the silence and he held your gaze wordlessly.

Henry was all raw masculine power and you were aroused by him. Constantly. When you performed your morning and nightly routines, you thought about him, wondering if he appreciated the extra effort you put in just to impress him.

Had he noticed?

You sucked your lower lip and lowered your eyes to the document again.

‘Um..’

‘I want you to read and sign it,’ said Henry in his warm honeyed voice, and you were startled a little by the clack of the Montblanc coming down next to the document.

‘Is this different from the disclosure documents I signed when I first started?’

Henry leaned back, relaxed and the leather chair creaked softly.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve been with us for what, nearly a year?

‘Yes. A great year!’

His rosy pink lips lengthened into a charming smile and you thought about how his nipples and his cock must be that very same colour. The heat of arousal rose in you and tingled between your thighs. It was a familiar and welcomed feeling, the muted buzzing that signalled the beginnings of your body awakening. You crossed your legs.

‘A great year,’ he agreed. ‘And, we want to continue to have more great years with you.’

‘I hope so too, Mr. Cavill.’

Henry’s blue eyes lowered to the document and you followed his gaze.

Picking up the pen you realised that your hands were damp. You were nervous and there was something tantalising hanging heavily in the air, something that you became much more aware of as you finished reading carefully through the document.

By the time you looked up, your heart was crashing against your ribs and it was hard to catch your breath. Without signing, you put the pen down, and neatly lined it up with the edge of the paper. You took in a long breath, held it and then let it out between perfect lips.

Your eyes finally met his and the shift in your relationship suddenly became very clear. It was no longer he who held the power in that room.

It was you.

Holding his gaze, you picked up the pen again and then looked down to carefully sign on the dotted line above your printed name.

You set the pen atop the document and with two fingers, slid it back across the desk to him. You saw him swallow hard, but that was the only crack in his impassive exterior. Henry picked it up, slotted it into a pale blue folder and stored it in the top drawer of his desk. The pen was capped and secreted into an inner jacket pocket.

He stood then and watching him walk around the desk to stand directly in front of you, you wet your lips and followed suit.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you,’ Henry purred leaning in to murmur against your ear. ‘Your smell, your lips… that beautiful arse.’

His broad hand came down hard on your bottom, grabbed you possessively and gasping with delight, you swayed against him.

‘Lucky for you,’ you answered and earned a soft chuckle from him.

You thought about resisting, pulling back to teach him a lesson for being so eager. You wanted to play a little, a little slap, and a little bit of rough. What was he like under that cool crisp exterior? Was he dull? Or was he fiery? You knew he played rugby in his limited free time and made regular use of The Company’s private gym.

So, just what was he like?

You lifted your face and moaned softly beneath the pressure of his kiss. He tasted just as you imagined. Expensive, masculine, luscious.

You pushed him back then, face brightening into a look of shock and faux outrage. Holding your hand against his broad chest you teased in a soft voice,

‘You. Didn’t. Ask.’

Henry gave you a sly grin and you were glad that there was nothing within reach on his desk because he effortlessly spun and then sprawled you across it. He dug his fingers into your hips and pulled you back just enough so that your bottom was presented perfectly to him.

You let out a squeak of surprise and bliss.

Well, you thought belatedly as he unzipped your skirt from the hem up, at least the zipper on the skirt was finally making its fantasy debut. You had purchased that skirt in the hopes that one day he would be doing exactly what he was doing now.

‘Mr. Cavill!’ you exclaimed, trying to swallow down a giggle as you attempted to press up from the surface of the desk. He chuckled, sounding smug behind you as one big hand eased across your back and pressed you down again.

‘Mmm,’ he murmured, voice soft with praise and anticipation as he stroked his fingertips up beneath the elastic of your garters, starting from where the laced edge of your thigh-highs ended, gliding elegantly up your overheated flesh, before fanning his hands to grasp you beneath your ass. He squeezed. Hard. And you let out a shuddering groan, only to bite down on the noise and jerk forward with a surprised gasp when Henry swiped a sturdy finger up the wet crotch of your panties.

You closed your eyes and when he leaned against you, you felt the press of his heavy erection through his expensive gabardine. You squirmed, and he leaned away to lightly slap your bottom.

‘Please… please Mr. Cavill,’ you whimpered when he stepped back.

God you felt so cold without him against your skin.

You reached back, scrabbling trembling fingers up under your flagrantly open skirt, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties, and attempted to pull them down. Henry stopped you and, grasping the edge of the thin pink scrap of material, giving it one sharp tug until it ripped easily.

Fuck.

His hand came down on your back again, holding you, and he licked the pad of his thumb before sliding it into your slick warmth.

‘Look at you. Look how wet you are. I love hearing you, baby,’ he growled, sucking your juice off of his fingers. ‘Taste so good.’

You heard him unbuckling and opening his trousers and bit down on your lower lip, ready for it. Yes, God. Yes, God, yes.

‘Do you remember rule number 10?’ he asked, leaning in close now, covering you with his hard body and rocking you up to your tiptoes. The scent of him made it hard to think.

Rule number 10 – internal contraception only.

‘Yes,’ you managed to say, your voice barely over a broken whisper. ‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. I remember. I ha-haven’t broken it.’

‘Good.’

Henry made a low noise in the back of his throat, a sound that rippled deliciously through you, and using both strong hands, he opened you. With a low growling gasp, he pushed so gently into you that you stilled suddenly and closed your eyes, shutting out every visual distraction in order to be able to deeply experience the heat and power of his sex. You arched and against the desk, splaying your hands but failing to hold onto anything. Seeing this, Henry lightly grasped your wrists and pulling them behind you, he pinned them together against your lower back.

‘I like you like this,’ he rumbled. ‘Be a good girl. You’ll be a good girl for me?’

It took a moment for your brain to start working enough to form a coherent response, but even when your brain engaged with rational thought, straying away from the thick, delectable cock easing hot and insistently into your body, you could only choke out,

‘Y-yes! Yes, Mr. Cavill. Yes. I’ll be good!’

Henry seemed satisfied with your enthusiastic compliance and then a short amused laugh came out of him when the phone on his desk twittered gaily.

You both stilled and you whimpered like a denied little puppy, your hands flexing against the slick, glossy desktop, nearly reaching out for the phone out of habit. It was your job to answer the phones for Henry, after all.

‘Answer it,’ he said and was magnanimous enough to release your hands and stop fucking you.

You naughty boy, you thought and with a trembling hand you reached for the desk phone.

The slim narrow plastic slipped a bit in your sweat-slick hand but your voice was surprisingly steady when you spoke between clenched teeth,

‘This is Henry Cavill’s office. How may I help you?’

A young woman’s chipper sounding voice started rattling off information that you were sure you should have been writing down, but all you could think about was that stiff cock nestling just that much deeper inside you. Henry rolled his hips just then and you clamped down on a squeal.

‘Bless you,’ the woman said.

You gasped and made a belated attempt at sniffling to support her assumption that you’d sneezed and not that you were getting a thorough seeing to by your boss.

‘Th-thank you. Is ahh.. is there anything else?’

There wasn’t, and when she ended the call, you just dropped the receiver and shoved back against him. Henry took this as a cue to redouble his efforts and you soon came apart beneath his expert handling.

Your orgasm took you quite by surprise as if a switch had been thrown and you buried your face in your arms, biting down on your forearm to keep from screaming as Henry gushed into you. Blood rushed to your head and you lay there, collapsed against the desk and didn’t move even when Henry finally drew back.

You listened to him cleaning himself up and then putting himself back into place.

‘Shall I?’ he asked and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him reach for the small box of tissues in that lacquered wood box you’d always admired.

You made a soft, blissful sound of assent and basked in the pleasurable strokes of impossibly soft tissues on your tender delicate areas. And you giggled at the final kiss Henry placed on your skin when he was done.

With clothes righted, and skirt securely zipped, you leaned against the desk and looked at him. He didn’t seem chagrined at what had just transpired, only satisfied and content.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you admitted after a stretch of silence.

With the edge of his thumb, he stroked your cheek and curled the rest of his fingers beneath your chin. His kiss was tender and full of promise.

‘Have an early evening and tomorrow we need to discuss the Zurich trip.’

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill,’ you grinned and turned to leave the now overly warm office.

‘Come in early so that we can have breakfast together.’

Your heart leapt, but you kept your cool.

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. Anything in particular that you want?’

‘Just you,’ he said.

Nodding, you closed the door behind you and did a full body dance.

The Company Woman indeed.

-end

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #ceo henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #man of steel #clark kent #mob boss #ceo #geralt #sherlock holmes #enola holmes

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